ROCHELLE drew a file from the cabinet. He moved swiftly, despite his limp, as he returned to the desk. He threw down the folded file with triumph and showed elation as he stared at the perplexed South American.
“I say,” repeated Rochelle, with emphasis, “that millions would be lost through your plans. I also maintain that I am acquainted with your work. Let me add: millions lost by some are millions gained by others. You, Alvarez Menzone, would gain where others would lose.”
“You accuse me—”
“I have the facts.” Rochelle grinned fiendishly. “This file, senor, is a complete record of your past. Let us see what Alvarez Menzone has done!”
Rochelle opened the file. While Menzone clenched and unclenched his fists, the man with the limp calmly proceeded with his denunciation.
“The great nitrate swindle,” he remarked, “had its inception at Antofagasta, in 1919. A certain Alvarez Menzone was the originator of that hapless scheme. It passed into other hands — with profit to Menzone — who left Chile shortly afterward. The bubble burst; those who remained were the ones who took the blame.
“We turn to Bahia, in 1921. We find Alvarez Menzone engaged in the promotion of a steamship line for the Amazon River. This comes close to transportation, senor. Half a million was subscribed; yet steamships were never purchased. The funds of the Amazon steamship line disappeared very mysteriously.
“The defunct airport at Asuncion, Paraguay. That was another scheme of transportation which failed in 1924. Presumably, the time for such development of air lines had not yet arrived. Actually, the failure of the Asuncion airport can be attributed to the scheming of its promoter — Alvarez Menzone.”
Rochelle paused to study his visitor. Menzone’s face was set. Rochelle waited.
“Continue,” ordered the South American.
“Bogota, Colombia, 1926,” read Rochelle. “An expansion of the traction lines, to develop the outlying sections of the city. That was a double swindle. Rusted tracks — vacant lots — those alone remain as testimony to the loss of many thousands.
“Lima, Peru, in 1929. A remarkable scheme to develop air lines radiating from the Peruvian capital. Such lines now exist, but they are not the ones proposed by Alvarez Menzone. The overthrow of the existing government in Peru was given as the cause for failure; actually, the swindling methods of Alvarez Menzone were responsible.”
“Continue.” Menzone’s tone showed confidence.
“La Paz, Bolivia, 1930,” remarked Rochelle. “You were there at that time, Menzone; but something went wrong with your plans. You appeared in Caracas, in 1931. You started plans for a coastal steamship line in the Venezuelan city. That, too, came to an unexpected conclusion.
“From then on — nothing until now. But I can fill the gap, thanks to our mutual friend, Maurice Twindell. He tells me that you have come from Buenos Aires. That is quite likely. Argentina would naturally have attracted you. It was one country which you had not favored with your swindling presence.
“Financial conditions have not been good in the Argentine. So we find you here in Washington, Senor Swindler, ready to start a gigantic project in a country where your ways are not known.”
Rochelle rested back in his chair, when he had finished his impeachment. He was studying Alvarez Menzone as he had studied Croydon Herkimer. The swindler, however, was less perturbed than the profiteer had been.
“Your facts are interesting,” declared Menzone. “What do you intend to do with them, senor?”
“That,” returned Rochelle, archly, “depends entirely upon you, my good friend.”
MENZONE appeared mildly quizzical. Rochelle chuckled. Menzone was the type of man whom he had expected. A swindler deluxe, unperturbed by thoughts of exposure: such was the surface impression. Yet Rochelle knew that his visitor was actually playing a bold, though losing, game.
“Perhaps,” mused Rochelle, “I could find a way to endorse your present plans, senor. It may be that you are a leopard who can change his spots. Tell me — what has been your reception at the South American legations?”
“A welcome one,” returned Menzone calmly. “In fact, senor, I can say that they are more friendly toward plans for commercial development than they are for proposals of mere peace.
“Perhaps — this is only a suggestion, senor — I might make the way easy for someone such as yourself. The legations, senor, do not have those files which you have showed me.”
“But should they gain them,” parried Rochelle, “your visit to Washington would be ended, senor.”
Rochelle had struck home. Menzone knew it. The South American bowed. It was his signal of defeat. Rochelle understood the gesture. He arose and stamped around his desk. He came to a limping pause as he neared Menzone’s chair. Leaning on his cane, he clapped his free hand upon his visitor’s shoulder.
“Look!” he ordered.
Menzone turned in the direction of Rochelle’s gaze. The man with the limp turned out his hand and pointed to the globe of the world. He gave the sphere a twirl; he stopped it so that the continent of South America was predominant.
“There,” declared Rochelle, “is the empire which I intend to rule! Ah, senor. You are surprised! You do not see how a man of peace can gain a continent. That is because I have deceived you. I am a man who seeks war — not peace.
“You said that we had much in common. You were right — but you did not know that your pretended statement was a true one. Your game has been to talk of South American development while you pocket profits. My game has been to further international strife while I scheme for warfare.
“Look! You who know South America will understand. Paraguay has warred upon Bolivia, in hope of gaining Gran Chaco. Let us suppose that Colombia and Ecuador should ally to gain disputed territory from Brazil and Peru. What would then result, senor?”
“An alliance for defense,” responded Menzone, with a leer that matched Rochelle’s. “The Acre dispute would be forgotten.”
“And Venezuela?” Rochelle laid his finger on the globe.
“Ah, senor!” exclaimed Menzone, in crafty delight. “I see it now! Bolivar freed Colombia from Spain. He was from Venezuela. His countrymen have not forgotten the land which they think is theirs. Venezuela would join with Brazil and Peru!”
Half rising, Menzone thrust a long finger forward and tapped the portion of the map which represented Bolivia. A second finger extended widely, to rest upon Peru. Menzone’s hand moved.
“An alliance here!” expressed Menzone. “Peru and Bolivia, to regain provinces wrested from them years ago by Chile. South America torn by war, senor!”
“Exactly,” smiled Rochelle. “What do you think of Argentina, senor?”
“Neutral — for a time,” returned Menzone. “The same with Uruguay. Buenos Aires and Montevideo are close, senor.” He clasped his hands together in an indicative gesture. “But they will join, senor, on one side or the other.”
“Good,” decided Rochelle. “I value your opinion, senor. But I can tell” — he was limping back to the desk — “the question that is in your mind. A continent is ready for war. How will it start? Am I right? Is that your question?”
“Si, senor,” nodded Menzone eagerly.
“The making of war,” declared Rochelle, “is in my safe. Documents — chiefly correspondence — have been obtained to set a continent ablaze. Messages have passed between the governments of South American nations and their Washington legations. Other messages have come to the state department of the United States.
“Singly, these documents are of little value. Released at once, in different capitals, they will create havoc. In preparation for the Pan-American Convention, the authorities of every South American country have expressed their views very plainly — too plainly — on the matter of boundaries.”