As Vic Marquette turned toward the door, Fourrier swung toward the French windows. He pressed the barriers tightly shut. He saw nothing amid the blackness beyond.
As the windows clicked, a form moved upon the balcony. It rose over the edge, followed the cornice, then swung from the edge of a balcony beyond. Swaying outward; then in to the wall, The Shadow loosed his hold. He dropped silently upon the balcony outside of Room 817.
A soft laugh sounded from the windows of the room which Henry Arnaud had taken. A weird, whispered tone, that laugh was carried through the cool night air. The strange mirth, restrained in volume, was as prophetic as the words of Fulton Fourrier.
Vic Marquette had started on a dangerous task. Alone, he was sallying forth to seek the answer to six mysterious deaths. He was taking up the task in which Carl Dolband had failed.
Yet in his task, Vic Marquette would not be alone. Paralleling the efforts of the secret-service operative would be another investigator whose ways would remain unseen.
The Shadow, too, had taken instructions from Fulton Fourrier. Invisible investigator of the night, the black-garbed sleuth was faring forth in search of insidious crime!
CHAPTER V
BIRDS OF A KIND
THE next morning, a taxicab pulled up before the door of Darvin Rochelle’s massive residence. A portly, red-faced man alighted and noted the banner which hung above the entrance. He recognized its odd insignia as that of the International Peace Alliance.
Ascending the steps, the visitor rang the bell. A servant admitted him. The man looked curiously about the pretentious hallway. He eyed the marble stairs that led to the second floor.
“I want to see Darvin Rochelle,” he rasped.
“Very well, sir,” returned the attendant. “Your name, please?”
“Croydon Herkimer.”
“Wait here, sir.”
The servant went upstairs. He rang the door of the anteroom. A buzzer clicked. The servant went through the anteroom to find Darvin Rochelle seated behind his office desk. The man with the limp was dictating letters to a stenographer.
“Mr. Croydon Herkimer is here, sir,” announced the attendant.
“Ah! Excellent,” exclaimed Rochelle. “Tell him to come up at once. Usher him here right away.”
Rochelle nodded to the stenographer and motioned toward the door. The girl followed the attendant.
As soon as the door to the anteroom had closed, Rochelle pressed the secret buzzer. The door at the rear of the office opened. Thurk, the dwarf, bounded in.
Rochelle went to the door of the anteroom. He turned and spoke low, jargoned words, in the language which he used with Thurk. The dwarf nodded.
Rochelle opened the door of the anteroom and crossed the outer apartment. As he opened the door to the hall, Croydon Herkimer appeared at the head of the stairs.
“Welcome,” declared Rochelle, extending his hand. “Come into my office, Mr. Herkimer.”
HERKIMER received the handshake. Rochelle hobbled through the anteroom and leaned on his cane while he opened the door to the office. Herkimer entered. Rochelle followed and guided his visitor to a chair at the left side of the desk.
Thurk had disappeared. Rochelle, seating himself behind the desk, was alone with the man who had come to see him.
Croydon Herkimer was fascinated by the appearance of the office. He turned to eye the massive globe behind his left shoulder. His gaze roamed to the expensive mirror across the room. It finally reached the desk; then centered upon the benign faced man behind it.
“You like my furnishings?” questioned Rochelle.
“Yes,” returned Herkimer. “This peace alliance business appears to be profitable.”
Rochelle smiled at the slur.
“The International Peace Alliance,” he declared, “has many worthy contributors. Ours is a philanthropic enterprise, Mr. Herkimer. At the same time, we have money to spend — for those whom we consider to be in accord with our motives. That, I hope, applies in your case, Mr. Herkimer.”
“That’s why I came to Washington,” returned Herkimer bluntly. “I hope you remember the terms of the agreement that you sent me. Here is the itemized list for the goods on which I negotiated. I am to receive the five percent that you promised me as purchasing agent.”
“Exactly.” Rochelle smiled as he took the list. He checked item after item; then looked up with a quizzical expression. “Two hundred and forty thousand dollars?”
“That’s the total,” returned Herkimer.
“Quite odd,” remarked Rochelle. He drew another list from his desk drawer. “I gave you this assignment, Mr. Herkimer, because I anticipated that you could obtain better prices in the Middle West. At the same time, I received estimates here in Washington.
“Flour for the Far East. Woolen goods to Turkey and Armenia. Machinery to South America. On all these items you are higher. Why, the total of my list is sixty thousand less than yours. I expected it to be twenty thousand more.”
A stern look appeared upon Croydon Herkimer’s bloated face. The portly man said nothing as he adjusted a pair of spectacles to his nose. He drew a paper from his pocket, unfolded it and began to read.
“This is your letter, Mr. Rochelle,” he declared at last. “My lawyers in Chicago tell me that it constitutes a contract. Your International Peace Alliance will be liable to a lawsuit if it fails to go through with these purchases.”
“A lawsuit?” quizzed Rochelle. “For what sum, Mr. Herkimer — the amount of your commission — twelve thousand dollars?”
“More than that.”
“Naturally.” Darvin Rochelle laughed harshly. “For the amount, I presume, that you intended to take as graft. I know your game, Herkimer!”
SEIZING his cane, Rochelle arose to his feet. With his left hand, he pointed an accusing forefinger at the man across the desk.
“One hundred and sixty thousand dollars,” announced Rochelle, “should be the purchasing price that you require. Instead, you ask two hundred and forty. That means a profit to you of eighty thousand — to say nothing of the exorbitant commission you would receive — twelve thousand against the eight which is your rightful due.
“I have your figures, Herkimer.” Rochelle’s teeth gleamed in a sudden, vicious smile. “They are all the proof that I need. They fit in” — Rochelle triumphantly produced a file of papers — “with these!”
Herkimer stared at the packet in Rochelle’s hand. The man with the cane laughed in raucous fashion.
“Mr. Croydon Herkimer!” Rochelle sneered as he announced the name. “War-time profiteer — the man who made half a million by swindling the United States government — then lost it through foolish speculation. I wanted to test you, Herkimer. I did. I have found you out. Herkimer” — Rochelle’s tone was lowered — “I could send you to prison for life!”
Croydon Herkimer was trembling. Slouched in his chair, the portly man stared bewildered. He looked as though he wanted to snatch the file of papers from Rochelle’s hand. Leering, Rochelle forestalled such effort.
“There are duplicates,” he laughed. “The original portfolio is in my safe. Back to your old game, eh, Herkimer? You profited through war — now you seek to profit through peace.”
Terror showed on Herkimer’s bulbous face. Rochelle threw the file of papers on the desk. Dropping his cane, he squared in his chair and leaned both elbows on the desk while he tilted his head forward.
“I tested you, Herkimer,” he said, in a new and confidential tone, “because I need you. Do you understand? I need you. Not for this list. Bah!” Rochelle tossed aside the tabulations that Herkimer had given him. “That is trifling. Take your eighty-four thousand and let the peace hounds pay for it. That is the blind for the real game.