“Just an old Mexican custom,” remarked Mullrick, with a laugh. “It will do well in New York, too. I always send Pascual in ahead of me to make sure that the place is empty.”
Herston grunted understanding as he hung up his coat and hat. It was plain that Herston recognized some reason for caution in Mullrick’s actions.
As Mullrick entered the living room, Herston turned to follow him, and with the same motion swung the closet door shut. As Herston reached the living room, The Shadow’s tall form moved after him; then stopped as it reached the archway between the entry and room. Here, from a new vantage point, The Shadow could remain unseen.
IN the light of the living room, Harland Mullrick and Jerry Herston seated themselves and lighted cigarettes. Neither man observed the long streak of blackness that extended from the entry across the carpet of the living room. That patch of ominous darkness was the only visible token of The Shadow’s presence.
The opening statement of the conversation came from Jerry Herston. It was something in the nature of a query, although Herston took the answer for granted.
“Everything went well, I suppose,” said Herston. “When you wrote me that you were coming back from Mexico City, and wanted an apartment here, I figured you had made out as you expected.”
“Yes,” returned Mullrick suavely. “I am more interested, for the moment, to learn what you have been doing in New York.”
“The same old game,” returned Herston. “Picking up jobs here and there—”
“With any complications?” interjected Mullrick.
“None,” assured Herston.
Mullrick’s gaze was steady. He was watching Herston’s face to make sure that his companion was not bluffing. Satisfied, Mullrick leaned back in his chair.
“Jerry,” he said, “I have work for you. I can’t run risks, however, by employing a man who may be in wrong with the police. So far as your connections with the underworld are concerned, I can see definite advantages. But if you have been implicated in any trouble during my absence—”
“Not a bit of it!” broke in Herston emphatically. “Listen, Mullrick, I can get anything I want from the big shots. Anything. That’s because I keep away from crime. You know what I do for them. When they want a little private detective work done, they don’t pop in on an agency. They come to me. They know I can keep mum.”
“Exactly,” responded Mullrick. “I know it, too. That’s why I have used you for previous investigations. I just wanted to be sure that you hadn’t stepped over the boundary line during my absence. I may need you for various purposes, and when the pinch comes—”
“I’ll be Jerry on the spot. I can give you anything, including alibis. I know the ways of these New York dicks. I only ask you one thing, Mullrick. Give me the whole lay right at the start. If I know what’s been doing in Mexico, I can work better when you need me.”
“I’m coming to that,” declared Mullrick, with a slow smile. “I’m satisfied now that I can count on your aid from the start. So here’s where we begin.”
Mullrick arose abruptly and went to the telephone. He called a number, and Jerry Herston heard his end of the conversation.
“Hello,” said Mullrick. “Tribune Hotel?… Room 918. Hello… Hello… Ah, is that you, Santo?… Mullrick speaking… Yes, here in New York… I have an apartment, listed in my name… In the lobby, yes… Belisarius Arms. That’s it. Right away. I’ll expect you…”
Mullrick hung up the receiver. He turned to face Jerry Herston. He noted the quizzical look upon the ex-detective’s face.
Mullrick smiled as he sat down. He produced a large sheet of paper from his pocket, and unfolded it upon a small table. Jerry Herston found himself staring at a map of Mexico.
“We have a few minutes,” explained Mullrick. “In that time, I shall give you the inside information. Look at this map, Jerry. Here is the state of Durango.”
“You were there?” questioned Herston in surprise. “That’s a long way from Mexico City—”
“I was in Mexico City,” interposed Mullrick quietly. “My business, however, had to do with affairs in Durango. That, Jerry, is one of the richest portions of all Mexico. The mineral content of its mines is fabulous.”
Herston’s eyes gleamed as they stared at the map. The man listened intently as Mullrick continued.
“THIRTY years ago,” said the man who had come from Mexico, “the Mexican government located the famous lost mines of Durango, which had been covered up by Indians during the Spanish conquest. The mines were regained during the period in which Porfirio Diaz ruled Mexico as virtual dictator. Diaz wisely decided to keep their discovery unknown until the time should come for their development.
“The mines were watched by secret agents. When the Diaz regime was overthrown in 1911, the agents remained loyal, and retained their posts, confident that Diaz would be restored to the presidency. Mexico was in chaos. No one sought to ferret out this little group of men.
“In 1915, however, Pancho Villa gained partial control of three Mexican states: Sonora, Chihuahua, and Sinaloa. One of Villa’s lieutenants penetrated from Sinaloa into the neighboring state of Durango. There, by pure accident, the roving bandits found and massacred the small Diaz garrison which still protected the lost mines of Durango.”
Mullrick’s finger was upon the map. It indicated the shield-shaped state of Durango, and ran along the border between Durango and the Pacific state of Sinaloa.
“At that time,” resumed Mullrick, “General Obregon was battling Pancho Villa. The bandits who had located the lost mines cut back toward Sinaloa, were engaged by Obregon’s forces, and were wiped out. The few who were not killed in skirmish were executed by firing squads. However, certain of Obregon’s soldiers learned that they had found the fabled mines.
“A few months ago, the Mexican government began to investigate this old story of the lost mines. The present government is opposed to granting concessions to foreigners. Hence, when I arrived in Mexico City and offered to exploit the lost mines, my proposal was rejected until I played my trump card.”
Mullrick paused and looked at Herston. The ex-detective stared in a puzzled manner.
“Your trump card?” he questioned.
“Yes,” announced Mullrick. “In return for the concession I promised to tell them the exact location of the lost mines of Durango!”
“You did!” exclaimed Herston. “But how — where did you learn—”
“The location of the mines?” questioned Mullrick, with a smile. “That, Jerry, is a matter of speculation. I do not know exactly where those mines are located, although I have information which might aid me in finding them. I gained a six months’ option from the Mexican government. If, within that time, I can place my finger on that map and touch the exact spot, I shall be worth millions of dollars as my share of the concession!”
“Why are you here, then?” asked Herston “It seems to me you should be in Mexico — in Durango—”
“Looking for the mines?” interrupted Mullrick. “Not a bit of it! That would merely be an exposure of my doubts. No, Jerry, the clew to those mines lies here in New York!”
“In New York? How?”
“OLD Porfirio Diaz,” explained Mullrick, “placed a great deal of confidence in Americans. He never feared that they would sell him out to other Mexicans, because he was all-powerful. He knew they could never cut in on his possessions, because they were foreigners. Hence any men who might have known the secret of those mines would probably be Americans. That was my assumption.”
“But why,” demanded Herston, “wouldn’t such Americans go to Mexico and treat with the new regime?”
“Because,” returned Mullrick, with a knowing smile, “Mexico was extremely unhealthy for those who had once been friends of Diaz. Until the present government took hold, there was no opportunity; and when the opportunity came, the present government announced that it would not deal with foreigners in the granting of concessions. Hence those who knew have lain low. It remained for me to show the necessary enterprise. I gained the option while others slept.”