had called.
“That was it, Lopez,” said Legira. “You know me well. I am always thinking ahead, am I not?”
“Yes, senor.”
“I was thinking ahead that night. I am still thinking ahead. I have a plan, Lopez, a wonderful plan!”
Smiling, Legira turned and stared at the mirror in the same manner that he had employed on that other
night. He swung back toward Lopez, and the secretary's face began to gleam with understanding.
“Ah, senor,” he said. “I do not know what your plan may be, but it seems to me that it must be wise.
There are men who watch you—all the time. There is that man called Powell. There are others which we
do not see; but we know they are with that man Ballou. If you should do anything which they should
suspect, it would be very bad. While you are here, you cannot do what you might wish. But if—”
Legira's hand came up in warning. He shook his head as a sign that Lopez should say no more.
Significantly, the consul pointed to the walls of the room.
“There are eyes outside this house,” he said, in a low tone. “There may be ears within. Let us forget these
matters, Lopez. To-morrow we shall go to the consular office as usual to take care of minor business.
Little details must go on, even when large events are looming.”
Lopez nodded. He walked across the room and raised the window shade slightly. He wanted to make
sure that the iron shutter without was still securely barred. His inspection proved satisfactory. But there
was something which even the keen eyes of Lopez did not observe.
WHERE the side of the window frame met the sill, there was a narrow crack. Deep in that crevice ran a
thin green wire, which became visible only beneath the sill. There it extended to a spot behind a radiator.
Legira smiled at his secretary's apprehension. The consul, like Lopez, did not notice the thin wire. It, too,
had made its appearance in that spot on the same night when Pete Ballou had called to deliver his
ultimatum. It had been left after Ballou had gone. The Shadow had placed it there for future use.
“Remember this,” said Legira, speaking quietly to Lopez. “When a man has important work to do, it is
well that he should deal with one - not with many.”
Lopez nodded.
“There is nothing more to-night,” declared Legira. “I shall resume my reading. You may go, Lopez. The
office, to-morrow, at nine o'clock.”
The secretary left the room. Alvarez Legira took a book from the table and commenced to read.
Lopez, however, did not share his master's calm. He went to the dark front room and peered out from
the depths of the window. He was looking for vague shapes of watching men—those who were always
there, yet who could know nothing of what transpired within these walls.
Despite his concern, Lopez did not for one moment suspect that there were other ways whereby tabs
could be kept on what was happening at this house. He did not know that everything that he and Legira
had said had been heard by a man stationed in the front room of the house next door—a man who could
also see the street below.
Lopez ended his inspection of the street below. All was quiet to-night; quiet, as it had been for one week.
The secretary returned and passed the door of the room where the consul was reading. A clock on the
mantel was chiming twelve.
AT that very moment, the exact stroke of midnight, a light clicked in a room in another part of New
York, far from the residence of Alvarez Legira. The rays of a green-shaded lamp fell upon a
