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The interior of the vault showed various compartments, marked with South American titles. Menzone found the one he wanted. He opened it and rapidly fingered sheaves of papers. He drew forth the packet that he sought.

A few minutes later, Alvarez Menzone appeared at the door of the darkened room. He regained the hall, made his way along it and reached the reception room. Pressing a cigarette between his lips, he plucked a match from a stand. The flicker of a flame showed a thin smile on Menzone’s lips.

The South American strolled across the reception room. Vic Marquette, coming from a side room, suddenly spied the man whom he had been seeking. To all appearances, Menzone had not been out of the reception room. Yet Marquette had searched there, without finding him.

Chagrined, the secret-service operative watched Menzone stroll about, then prepare for his departure. Vic, although his suspicions still persisted, decided not to follow. He had made one bull trailing Alvarez Menzone upon another night. He knew where the man could be reached. Vic remained as Menzone left.

TEN minutes afterward, an excited attache appeared in the reception room. Most of the guests had left. Hence the man’s wild gestures were not noticed as he passed the word to another member of the legation. The second man gesticulated, motioning the informant away. Calming himself, the man who had received the news, started off to speak to the ambassador.

Vic Marquette hurried to the passage which the first attache had taken. He saw a light from an opened door near the end of the hall. He hastened to that spot. He viewed two men: one the attache who had brought the news; the second, a helpless attache bound and gagged upon the floor. Beyond was an opened vault.

The ambassador arrived. With alarmed eyes, he stared at the two men; one freeing the other from his bonds. He saw Vic Marquette. The secret-service operative showed his badge. The ambassador nodded. He made for the vault, with Vic beside him.

Scurrying attaches were entering. The ambassador addressed them in Spanish. He told them to go back to the reception room; to give no indication of the fact that trouble had occurred here. All left, save the ambassador, the first two attaches, and Vic Marquette.

As the ambassador began his inspection of the opened vault, a motion occurred at the end of the darkened hall. A window moved noiselessly upward. A dim form was outlined in the space. Silent footsteps approached the lighted doorway. Like a specter, The Shadow viewed the scene within the room.

The ambassador had turned to Vic Marquette. Soberly, the grizzled diplomat was announcing his discovery.

“Important correspondence has been stolen,” he declared, in English. “It is serious, senor. Very serious.”

The ambassador paused, then resumed:

“It is the correspondence, senor, which was carried by Lito Carraza, the night that men sought to kill him across the river.”

“So they got it, eh?” growled Vic. “What’s this fellow got to say?”

He pointed to the attache who had been found on the floor. The ambassador quizzed his aid in Spanish. The man replied. Vic understood the words; the ambassador, not knowing this, went on to translate them.

“He cannot identify his assailant, senor,” explained the ambassador. “He says that he was struck down suddenly. The man who opened the vault, turned off the lights. He used a little light of his own.

“Senor Fourrier must learn of this. We must notify him at once. Nothing must be said. Those papers are important, but their existence must be kept a secret. It would be a terrible mistake, senor, to let this be known just before the Pan-American Convention.”

“I understand,” nodded Marquette. “Do you suspect anyone of this robbery?”

“No, senor,” returned the ambassador with a shake of his head. “It is incomprehensible.”

Vic Marquette stood silent while the ambassador closed the vault. Evidently the head of the legation was anxious to suppress the news of robbery. It was Vic Marquette’s duty to comply. Nevertheless, the operative could not restrain an assurance which he felt.

At the doorway of the room, he stopped the ambassador and made a cautious statement of the suspicions which he held.

“I was watching a man who was here tonight,” explained Vic. “A South American — not connected with an embassy. He was out of sight a while before this happened. If he’s the robber, you can count on me to get him.”

“His name?” questioned the ambassador eagerly.

“Alvarez Menzone,” replied Marquette.

“An invited guest,” explained an attache, who had overheard the name. “He is here to obtain capital for railroads in South America—”

“I recall him,” interposed the ambassador. “I would not have suspected him of theft. Do you feel sure—”

“I’m going to trace him,” interrupted Marquette. “I’ll take the matter up with my chief. I simply wanted you to know that I’m starting with a clew.”

They had reached the hall. The ambassador was nodding with a show of satisfaction. Side by side with Vic Marquette, the uniformed diplomat moved toward the reception room, with the attaches following.

DARKNESS moved in the hallway past the door from which the men had come. Keen eyes beneath a broad-brimmed slouch hat watched the departure. The quartet reached the reception room. The Shadow stood alone.

With piercing gaze, The Shadow stared into the lighted room which held the closed vault. Then, with a quick turn that brought a swish from the black cloak which shrouded his form, the mysterious visitor departed by the way he had come.

The window closed noiselessly. A figure glided through the gloom at the side of the embassy building. The whispered tone of a weird, knowing laugh came from concealed lips.

The Shadow had arrived after the theft had been completed. He had seen the ambassador’s discovery that the correspondence had been stolen. He had heard the plans to keep the matter quiet. He had learned of Vic Marquette’s new suspicions of Alvarez Menzone.

The Shadow’s own agent — Harry Vincent — was covering Menzone. The Shadow, himself, had appeared in the vicinity of Athena Court. Yet The Shadow had not made his secret entrance into the embassy until after Alvarez Menzone had left, with stolen correspondence in his pocket.

Why had The Shadow failed to appear beforehand? What was the answer to the passive, hidden part that he was playing?

Only The Shadow knew!

CHAPTER XIV

THE CODE BOOK

ON the evening following the robbery at the embassy, Harry Vincent was seated in Alvarez Menzone’s living room going over statistics which pertained to the South American’s railway projects.

Menzone was also present. He had assigned this duty to Harry. Relieved of detail, Menzone was reading newspaper accounts that concerned the opening of the Pan-American Convention.

“Ah!” Menzone spoke to Harry. “Here is an account of the embassy affair. The one that I attended last night. It was very fine, Vincent. Sorry that I could not take you along.”

There was a dryness in Menzone’s tone that caught Harry’s prompt attention. It seemed as though Menzone were enjoying a little joke of his own. Harry was unconvinced of Menzone’s actions on the preceding night. Menzone had left early to attend the embassy function. He had returned about midnight. Harry, supposedly asleep, had heard him enter the study. Harry had sneaked to the door to watch.

He had seen Menzone studying a stack of papers. He had noted a gleam of satisfaction on the South American’s face. Then Harry had dropped out of sight, to watch Menzone tiptoe from the apartment. It was after one when Menzone finally returned.