“War, Herkimer! There lies the real profit. Millions, man! Think of this — a continent at war — munitions and supplies coming from a single source! You and I tapping the unending spring of wealth. Does that interest you, my friend?”
Herkimer’s jaw had dropped. The man was gaping in profound astonishment. Rochelle arose, seized his cane and hobbled around the desk. Herkimer turned and watched him reach the big globe.
ROCHELLE spun the sphere, then stopped it. With his left hand he pointed to the enlarged map of South America.
“Here is my plan,” he asserted with a gleaming grin. “Bolivia and Paraguay are at war. Why? Over a strip of useless land called Gran Chaco. A boundary dispute — which seems small to us here in the States — but it is only one of many that exist through South America.
“Let us start here with Colombia. That country has never forgotten Panama. Should Colombia begin a war, mediation from the United States would be of no avail. What has Colombia to gain? This portion of Brazil. See — the Colombian claims are here plainly marked.
“Ecuador, which adjoins Colombia, claims this portion of Peru. Suppose that those two nations should be stirred to work together, each to claim its own desired portion of another country. I shall tell you exactly what would transpire.”
Rochelle’s finger ran down the map to indicate a territory marked Acre, on the Brazilian side of the Peruvian border. He tapped that spot with significance.
“Brazil and Peru,” he stated, “would settle their boundary dispute in amicable fashion, so that they could form a natural alliance to resist Colombia and Ecuador. Bolivia, who feels that Paraguay started the Gran Chaco dispute, would join the alliance. So would Venezuela, for that country claims a portion of Colombia.
“Four countries: Brazil, Venezuela, Peru, and Bolivia, forming a belt across South America. Listen to the next step. Bolivia and Peru, gaining tremendous power and backing, would seek to regain the territory that they lost to Chile during the disastrous War of 1879 to 1883. Bolivia would seek Antofagasta, the port that she lost. Peru would fight to settle the Tacna-Arica dispute once and forever!
“A continent at war! All except Argentina and Uruguay, with reason to suppose that they would become embroiled in conflict. In every country, Jingoists would rule. And I, Herkimer” — Rochelle swelled proudly — “control a secret cabal of Jingoism throughout the continent of South America.”
Croydon Herkimer was gripping the arms of his chair. Darvin Rochelle’s change from enmity to friendship had captured the profiteer’s imagination. Herkimer was nodding like a toy figure, drinking in every word that Rochelle uttered.
“South America,” resumed Rochelle, in a tone both confident and persuasive, “would become a vast empire. Only through that step could peace be guaranteed. Those out of power would come in — for official governments would break as they did in Europe.”
“And then—” Herkimer’s voice was breathlessly expectant.
“I shall be the emperor,” announced Darvin Rochelle, in a solemn tone. “By proxy, perhaps even, if circumstances so decide, through my affiliation with different men who will rule portions of the continent. But whatever the ultimate outcome, I shall be the controller. I shall be heralded as a bringer of peace — I - the man who shall have brought chaos to a continent!”
TURNING from the spot where he stood, Rochelle gave the mammoth globe a parting spin. While the sphere revolved, the dreamer of empires stumped back to his chair behind the desk. Crouching there, he eyed Croydon Herkimer with challenging gaze.
“Remember!” Rochelle’s tone carried a fierce warning. “I hold you helpless, Herkimer!” The speaker clenched his fist with a crushing motion. “I am giving you the opportunity to gain millions only because your past record shows you capable of playing the game that I have played.
“As soon as war is launched, we shall begin a tremendous scale of profiteering. By building fortunes while war is in progress, I shall be able to dominate when peace arrives. You will be rewarded for your part.”
“I understand.”
“Remain in Washington. While you are here, prepare a complete scheme for the furnishing of padded supplies to the nations which will be at war. When men fight, they forget expense. Munitions, tractors, field equipment, uniforms — everything, Herkimer, must be provided. You will be my appointed agent to handle the profits that will come through war.”
Rochelle arose and limped to the front of the desk. He gripped Herkimer’s arm and drew the visitor toward the anteroom. All the way to the marble steps, Rochelle was buzzing encouragement into his new agent’s ear.
“The scheme is ready,” was his final statement. “I have gained nearly all that I require. The making of war is my task; the reaping of the harvest will be yours. But remember!” Again Rochelle’s voice took on its tone of insidious threat. “One false step will prove your ruin!”
“I am with you,” affirmed Herkimer, in a positive tone. “With you, Rochelle, to the finish!”
The man with the limp rested on his cane while he watched his portly visitor descend the marble staircase. Then, with a quick twist of his body, he swung back toward the anteroom, halting with each of his peculiar strides.
When the stenographer arrived in Rochelle’s office, in answer to a ring, she found the head of the International Peace Alliance beaming benignly as he sat behind his mahogany desk. The mask of kindness had replaced the face of evil. Once again, Darvin Rochelle had become an advocate of worldwide peace.
There was no sign of Thurk, the dwarf. The monster who aided the fiendish master had departed. Schemes of murder were on the shelf. Darvin Rochelle, man of integrity, was ready to resume his day’s routine in the cause of international welfare.
CHAPTER VI
AGENTS OF MURDER
THE brilliance of early evening had come anew to Washington. Darvin Rochelle’s headquarters showed somber in the gloom of its side street when a young man, strolling from the bright lights, ascended the steps of the mansion.
He was evidently an expected visitor, for the door swung open as he arrived. The servant who served as usher bowed and indicated the marble stairs. The young man ascended. He pressed a button at the entrance to the anteroom.
A minute passed. The door popped open. Darvin Rochelle, leaning upon his cane, smiled a cheery greeting as he beheld the visitor.
“Maurice Twindell!” exclaimed the man with the limp. “Come in my friend. Come in.”
Rochelle led the way into the office. He took his place behind the desk. The young man seated himself at the side.
In the light of the office, Maurice Twindell presented a gentlemanly appearance. His evening clothes were faultless. His face, friendly in appearance, was a handsome one. His only fault was a shiftiness of gaze — a habit which he seemed anxious to overcome.
“Tonight,” began Rochelle in a quiet, but emphatic tone, “I want you to go out to the Club Rivoli. Play the part of a habitue of the place. That is all.”
“There is no one tonight?”
“Yes.” Rochelle smiled. “There will be a victim. I have arranged, however, for Anita Debronne to take care of him. An attache of a South American legation.”
Rochelle paused to smile.
“You have done your share, Maurice,” he said reflectively. “Bolero, Rexton, and Tromboll. Anita, however, has figured in only two cases: those of Piscano and Clifford. It is her turn again tonight.”
“Who is the victim?”
“A young chap named Lito Carraza. Anita arranged to meet him early. Hence he has committed the folly of not going back to his embassy. He will have papers which he was supposed to copy. He does not know their value. That is fortunate.