Perry hesitated in the darkness. He felt Desmond press against him, and the muzzle of the revolver poked
his ribs.
It was a subtle threat; yet with it came inducing words. Desmond's voice was a crackly sound as it
growled in the darkness.
“Move ahead. Keep going. One thousand dollars a week.”
Half puzzled, half elated, Perry Wallace groped his way through the darkness of the narrow passage,
bound toward a strange adventure.
CHAPTER VII. LEGIRA'S DOUBLE
ALVAREZ LEGIRA was speaking in a whisper. His hand still upon the telephone that he had replaced
on the desk, he was muttering instructions to his secretary.
“This is what I have expected, Lopez,” he said. “The door is locked?”
Lopez nodded.
Legira motioned toward the closet in the corner of the room. The secretary followed as the consul
opened it and released the sliding panel.
Together they entered the passageway. The wall closed behind them. Legira led the way through the
darkness, until he stopped before another wall. Here, he pressed an unseen catch. The wall slid back,
and the two men entered a small room, which was illuminated through a frosted-glass skylight.
Lopez had been in this room before; and he had often wondered why the consul kept it. Presumably, it
was a dressing room. It had a table, with a mirror; and at the side hung a rack of clothing.
Lopez looked about him, wondering why his chief had brought him here. Then the secretary turned,
startled, as he heard a click at the other end of the room. A panel opened, and two men entered.
They were Desmond and Perry Wallace. Perry walked first; Desmond, close behind, held the gun against
Perry's back.
Alvarez Legira was quick as he glanced at the arrivals. His eyes were upon the taller of the two men. The
consul's face gleamed with satisfaction as he observed the countenance of Perry Wallace. Then, with a
broad smile, he turned to Frank Desmond.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Legira. “Excellent! Well done, Desmond. Who is this man?”
“His name is Perry Wallace,” explained Desmond. “Came this morning - after I had been passing up
possible applicants all week. Wallace, this is Mr. Legira.”
Perry extended his hand as Legira approached. The consul shook it warmly. He pointed to chairs against
the wall. The four men seated themselves. Perry appeared puzzled. Desmond was apprehensive.
Legira looked at Perry. Then he turned to Lopez.
“What do you think of it?” he questioned.
The secretary indulged in a broad smile.
“We look alike, eh?” quizzed Legira.
“Yes, senor,” said Lopez. “Very much alike.”
“Alike enough,” declared Legira.
He gazed shrewdly at Perry Wallace, who detected a peculiar gleam in the consul's eyes. Now, for the
first time, Legira seemed to express concern regarding the man whom Desmond had brought here.
“Your name is Wallace, eh?” he questioned. “It will be different from now. Look at me closely, my
friend. I am Alvarez Legira, consul from the Republic of Santander. In a few minutes, I shall no longer be
Alvarez Legira. You will be he—in place of me. You understand?”
THE South American drew a package of cigarettes from his pocket. He proffered one to his new
acquaintance. Perry Wallace accepted it. Legira, reaching into a drawer, produced a long holder identical
