rushing in—the burden placed upon him.
“All right,” he said calmly. “I'll listen.”
DESMOND thumped the revolver on the desk as Perry took his seat. The gun was close at hand. Perry
realized its threat. Desmond had spoken of danger. It was beginning now.
“One thousand dollars a week,” declared Desmond, in a low, emphatic tone. “Does that interest you,
Mr. Wallace?”
Perry smiled, but did not reply.
“If you have qualms”—Desmond's voice was sneering—“you can forget them. You are going to take this
job, Mr. Wallace. You're going to take it whether or not you like it—simply because you are the only
man who is suited to it!”
The offer of money had struck no responsive chord. Broke though he was, Perry Wallace was not
impressed. Desmond had threatened. He had tried to entice. In both he had failed. But, unwittingly, the
smug man had said something which aroused Perry Wallace's interest.
“You say I am the only man”—Perry's tone was sharply quizzical— “the only man suited to this job?”
“Yes,” declared Desmond.
“Why?” asked Perry.
Desmond smiled cunningly.
“That,” he said emphatically, “is one thing that you will learn within five minutes after you take the offer.”
Perry began to nod reflectively. Desmond saw that he had gained a point. He spoke persuasively.
“Forget the thought of crime,” he said, in an easy tone. “If any occurs, it will not be your fault. I do not
know the details of this plan myself. I am simply acting for another. I have no qualms. Why should you?”
“Well—” Perry was hesitant.
“This gun is a threat,” declared Desmond quietly. “Whatever you do can be attributed to force. I am
threatening you now. That lets you out, if it comes to a show-down.”
“Perhaps.”
“Absolutely. It gives you a perfect alibi. You have no alternative. You say you like excitement. You say
you do not mind danger. You are on the verge of a real adventure—with a thousand dollars for every
week you are engaged. Your part will be an easy one. But—most important—you are the only man who
can play it!”
The strangeness of the situation had its effect. Perry Wallace arose. Frank Desmond reached for the
revolver.
“Drop it in your pocket,” said Perry. “Don't worry. I'm taking the job—”
Desmond arose and proffered his hand. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he stared directly at Perry's
face. He pocketed the revolver and picked up the telephone.
“Do not send any one to my office until I call you again,” he ordered. “You understand, Miss Johnston?
Very well. Now give me this number—”
Perry watched while Desmond spoke into the mouthpiece. The employment manager uttered only one
word.
“Right,” was all he said.
Then he hung up the phone. He beckoned to Perry and led the way to the side of the room. There he
opened the door of a closet and stepped in. Perry saw him press a hook. The wall of the closet slid
away. A passage was revealed beyond.
“Enter,” said Desmond.
Perry stepped forward. He passed the other man, and Desmond followed. The panel closed noiselessly.
