“Suggest that his scheme for continental transportation in South America is dependent primarily upon favorable international relations. Its success should, therefore, be greatly aided through cooperation with the International Peace Alliance.
“Give him a bit of information: namely, that the International Peace Alliance has begun a drive for millions of dollars to be spent on commodities that will be shipped to foreign lands. The lack of inland transportation is the one factor which may prevent South America from gaining the chief benefit of these funds.
“Our promise to ship steadily to South America, should rail facilities be provided there, will certainly be of interest to Alvarez Menzone.”
Maurice Twindell nodded. He glanced at his watch and noted that it was half past five. Darvin Rochelle smiled.
“Try to get Menzone before dinner,” he suggested. “Call there in person. Report to me by telephone.”
Maurice Twindell departed.
Shortly before six, he arrived at Athena Court. He went up to the third floor and rang Menzone’s bell. A young man of keen-cut appearance answered. It was Harry Vincent, Menzone’s new secretary. Twindell inquired for the South American. Harry informed him that Menzone would not be in until half past seven.
Twindell promised to return at that time. He went down to the street, found a drug store and entered a telephone booth. He called Rochelle and made a brief report.
“Kay zay eef kire,” declared Twindell, in Agro. “Kay zee kire rema. Sake goda. Seek coda joda. Alk keed.”
Twindell went on to a restaurant.
It was just half past eight when he returned to Athena Court. This time, Harry Vincent announced that Alvarez Menzone was at home. The South American was seated in the living room; he recognized Maurice Twindell immediately and arose to greet the man whom he had met at the Club Rivoli.
A few words passed in Spanish. Harry, partly familiar with the language, grasped that Twindell wanted to discuss some matter privately. Menzone ushered the visitor into a small room that served as his study. He closed the door.
HARRY, listening from outside the barrier, could not distinguish the low, buzzing words. He slipped back into the living room when he heard the scuffle of chairs. Menzone and Twindell appeared. They shook hands at the outer door.
“Tell him,” declared Menzone, in Spanish, “that I shall call shortly after nine o’clock tonight — it is almost nine now. You are sure that the hour will not be too late—”
“No, indeed,” interposed Twindell. “He will be glad to see you, Senor Menzone. Buenos noches.”
Menzone returned to the living room. He remarked to his new secretary that he intended to go out for a short while. He did not, however, mention his destination.
Maurice Twindell, when he reached the street, entered the same drug store where he had gone before. He put in another call to Darvin Rochelle and this time reported:
“Alk oto kay. Kay deek exat vodo. Sake ita.”
This done, Maurice Twindell strolled from the drug store. He hailed a passing cab and ordered the driver to take him to the Union Station. In accordance with Rochelle’s order, Twindell was taking a trip out of town.
Meanwhile, Alvarez Menzone was dressing for an evening visit. He called Harry Vincent and ordered the secretary to bring maps and mimeographed sheets. Harry left these on the study desk. Menzone appeared from his own room, carrying a bulky brief case. Harry saw him thrust the printed data into its interior.
As soon as Menzone had gone, Harry sat at the desk in the study. Drawing a pen from his pocket, The Shadow’s agent inscribed a coded message in blue ink. Sealing the message in a small envelope, Harry carried it to the hall outside of the apartment.
Beyond the elevator, at a corner of the stairway, hung a fire extinguisher. Harry tucked the envelope behind the big cylinder and returned to the apartment.
MINUTES passed. Blackness moved on the obscure and little-used stairway. A shrouded form appeared; a gloved hand that seemed like a thing of living blackness extended to the wall. It plucked the envelope that Harry had placed in readiness.
Shortly afterward, a cab driver pulled up at the curb near Athena Court in response to a whistle. He looked about for the person who had summoned him. He saw no one. He was startled, however, to hear a voice from the interior of the cab. He realized that despite his alertness, his passenger had entered without his knowledge.
The driver nodded, as a voice gave him an address. He started the cab. Paper crinkled in the rear as hands opened an envelope. Harry Vincent’s message appeared between black-gloved fingers.
By the light of street lamps which the cab was passing, The Shadow read the meager report which his agent had been able to obtain regarding Alvarez Menzone’s visitor and the subsequent departure of Menzone himself.
The coded writing faded. The paper and the envelope fluttered from the window. Blackness shifted within the gloom of the cab. Then came a whispered laugh. It was a token of keen understanding.
The Shadow, despite the little that he had learned through Harry Vincent, seemed satisfied with the way affairs were going. The meshes of his web were strung. The unseen network was ready to ensnare its prey!
CHAPTER XII
THE NEW GAME
“BE ready, Thurk.”
Darvin Rochelle uttered these words as his dwarfish servant came creeping through the door at the rear of the office. Rising, with a smile, Rochelle gave new instructions: these in Agro.
“Co kay dake.” Rochelle was limping toward the anteroom as he spoke. “Bole zee fela. Bole teeba teen alk bata.”
With these words, Rochelle clumped through the doorway. He crossed the anteroom, opened the further door and held out his hand as a man arrived at the top of the marble stairway. It was Alvarez Menzone.
“Senor Menzone?” Rochelle’s welcome was a friendly one. Then: “Come in, senor. You are welcome.”
Limping through the anteroom, Rochelle conducted his guest to the office. Thurk was no longer in sight. Rochelle motioned Menzone to the chair beside the huge globe of the world. Menzone, like every other visitor, seemed intrigued by the huge sphere with its large scale map.
Rochelle seated himself behind the desk. Menzone, turning, picked up the briefcase that he had brought with him. From it he extracted his own map and its accompanying papers.
“My friend Twindell” — Menzone was using English, the language which seemed familiar to Rochelle — “has told me that your plan and mine have mutual points. Both of us are concerned with the creation of international good will.”
“My plans are philanthropic, senor.”
“And mine are commercial. That does not change the fact that they are very much alike.”
Rochelle began to eye the plans which Menzone had shown him. He shook his head, half doubtingly. Finally, he faced Menzone and smiled as he saw a steady gleam in the South American’s eye.
“Futile!” exclaimed Rochelle. “These plans could never work! The transportation facilities that you suggest would take rail lines to districts that will never thrive, even though developed. Millions would be lost through your plans, senor.”
“You are wrong!” retorted Menzone, in harsh accents. “You do not know the facts, senor! You are not acquainted with the work that I have done!”
“No?” Rochelle’s utterance showed contempt.
Rising from behind his desk, Rochelle limped in halting fashion to a large filing cabinet in the corner of the office. Menzone could hear him mutter as he opened a drawer.
“L — M -” Rochelle paused on the second letter. “M — E; M — E - N; ah, here it is, Menzone!”