“But the bond issue—”
“Was entirely handled by Birafel. No one — not even the Secretary of Finance — knew the amount of issue. There were rumors that all was not well. But rumors, senor, could not go far in Garauca while Birafel was president.”
“So I understood,” nodded Weston. “But here in America, we do not suppress rumors. We investigate them. That is how I happened to uncover the scandal of the bond issue. I learned that Garaucan bonds were being sold by brokers of doubtful status. I discovered that they were selling under par.
“I came to the conclusion that the financial interests that had backed the Garaucan bond issue must have been guilty of some conspiracy. Although I could not determine the amount of the bond issue, it seemed apparent that President Birafel, in return for a loan of say ten million dollars, had turned over bonds that totaled double that sum.”
“That is our opinion, senor,” agreed Corlaza. “But there was no way to make Birafel admit his guilt.”
“I can understand that,” stated Weston. “In fact, I did not count upon any aid from your country. Then came the break. Birafel lost his nerve. He fled. Your cabinet took over the government and sought my aid. I have granted it; yet in all our negotiations, I have not received any information that can assist the investigation of New York bond sales.”
“Certainly not, senor,” asserted Corlaza. “President Birafel destroyed all records upon his flight from Garauca. We found a rifled treasury. No member of the new government dared make a drastic step; for all were under suspicion of being Birafel adherents. We moved with caution, senor, until some one suggested that we seek your aid.”
“And you are sure that my presence will curb political unrest?”
“Most certainly, senor. All factions will know that you are impartial. You will be free from the criticism that hovers over every other official, namely that he may be a secret agent of the tyrant, Birafel.”
Weston nodded. He strummed thoughtfully upon the top of the desk. The fingers of his firm hand seemed ready to grip the loose reins of Garaucan affairs.
UPON the desk lay an evening paper with the same screaming headlines that had brought terror to Sigby Rund. Weston eyed the huge type. He heard Corlaza speak.
“To-morrow, senor,” came the South American’s tones, “the newspapers in Garauca City will proclaim the news brought by the cables. There, the populace will be asking how soon you will come to Garauca—”
“I am thinking of New York,” interposed Weston. “I knew that this story would result, when I announced to the press that I had accepted the appointment which you offered. These headlines have been read by the very men whom I seek — the ones who were responsible for the deal with Birafel.”
“They will fear you now,” assured Corlaza. “You are going to Garauca, senor. With the power that you will gain there, you may trace these men. When you return from Garauca—”
“When I return?” Weston smiled. “I am thinking of the present, Senor Corlaza, not of the future.”
Opening a desk drawer, the commissioner brought out a small batch of reports. He thumbed these while Corlaza watched. Finding the name he wanted, Weston put a question.
“You have heard of a man named Sigby Rund?” he asked. “An American, who was in Garauca some six months ago?”
“Yes,” nodded Corlaza.
“Rund conducted negotiations with Birafel,” announced Weston. “Rund is also a stock promoter. It is possible that he was the agent for the financial interests that backed the stuffed bond issue.”
“I know that, senor. Yet we have been unable to learn the truth concerning Rund. But you, senor—”
“I have avoided questioning him. I knew that he would be too smart to talk.”
“But could you not have forced him to—”
“There was no charge upon which I could legally arrest him, or detain him for a sufficient period. Rund has been the key. He has been within my grasp.”
“It is too bad, Senor Weston.” The words came in a purr from Corlaza’s throat. “Too bad that this is not Garauca. There you could make Senor Rund — this key — speak.”
“I can make him speak here,” returned Weston, as he tapped his forefinger on the newspaper. “Right here in New York, now that the press has informed the public regarding my acceptance of your post.”
“Ah! Because you are going to Garauca?”
“Because Rund has learned that I am going there. He has covered his tracks here in New York. But he must surely know that my power as National Police Chief in Garauca will enable me to gain proof against him.”
“Certainly, senor. After you arrive in Garauca. You are right. This man Rund will be very worried.”
“And that,” proclaimed Weston, with a thump of his fist, “is why I intend to question him to-night. He will be ready to weaken. If he proves stubborn, I shall detain him.”
“Ah — and leave for Garauca at once!”
“Precisely. In fact, Senor Corlaza, the chief reason why I accepted your offer so willingly was because I saw that it would enable me to trap Rund. The man’s morale will sag from the moment he sees these headlines.”
“Marvelous, senor! It is like the move of a master. To deliver a stroke close by, you first appear to move far away. Yet by so doing, you gain sure victory!”
Corlaza’s teeth were gleaming between thin, curving lips. The glisten of his eyes was indicative of his admiration for Weston’s strategy. The police commissioner was lifting a desk telephone from its hook.
His finger was turning the dial.
“I am calling Rund,” he remarked quietly. “When he answers, I shall pass it off as a wrong number. He will not know my voice. I want to see if he is still in his office.”
BOTH men remained silent while the sound of a ring came over the wire. Weston hung up.
“Gone,” he remarked. “That is good.”
“Good?” questioned Corlaza, in surprise. “But senor, if you are anxious to detain him—”
“He will be going to his apartment. I have men stationed there. Rund is walking into a trap that I arranged during his absence.”
“Ah, senor! You are clever. Once you are in charge of our National Police, there will be trouble for those who have brought evil to Garauca.”
As Corlaza completed this brief acclaim, raps sounded at the door of the little office. Weston called for entry. His man appeared to announce that Mr. Lamont Cranston was calling.
“Show him in!” exclaimed Weston. “At once!” Then, to Corlaza: “This gentleman will interest you, senor. He has traveled everywhere. I believe he knows your country, Garauca.”
Weston arose. Corlaza followed suit. They turned toward the door as a tall, steady-faced arrival appeared in view. Weston extended a hand; then introduced Lamont Cranston to Marinez Corlaza.
THE tall visitor gazed squarely into the countenance of Marinez Corlaza. He saw every detail of the South American’s smooth physiognomy. One glance gave him a lasting impression of the curling smile — of the dark eyes, that peered from between sallow cheeks and blackened brows.
Corlaza, on his part, was swift in his impression of Lamont Cranston. The man from Garauca was amazed. He found himself staring into a visage so immobile that it seemed masklike; into burning eyes that bored from the sides of a hawklike nose. Cranston’s handshake was a viselike grip.
As Commissioner Weston resumed his seat behind the desk, Cranston stepped to a chair. Corlaza suddenly awoke to the fact that he was standing alone in the center of the room, still staring at this remarkable arrival. Rather uneasily, Corlaza returned to his own chair.
“You will dine with us, Cranston?” questioned Weston. “I should like to have you talk with Senor Corlaza. You have probably visited his country — Garauca — and I suppose you will have much to chat about.”