To-night Lopez was suspicious. The empty house annoyed him. Francisco had left a few days before, in
unobtrusive fashion. Now, whenever Lopez entered, he became suspicious. Perry smiled at the sharp
glances which Lopez threw in all directions. They reached the little room on the second floor.
Perry sat down in a large chair, and drew his cigarette holder from his pocket. Lopez grinned.
Unconsciously, the false Alvarez Legira had adopted the habits of the real. Perry smiled, too, for despite
the monotony of his new work, he was enjoying this taste of luxury and pretense.
Lopez looked around the room with sharp eyes. Suddenly, he spied something by the window sill. It was
by a mere chance that he saw a thin green line that disappeared behind the radiator. Like a cat, the
sallow-faced secretary sprang across the room and snatched at the little wire. He pulled it away from the
wall, and his dark eyes flashed with anger as he pulled a knife from his pocket and severed the slender
connection.
Lopez stared at Perry. Legira's substitute returned the gaze in mild surprise. Suspicion and mistrust were
plain on the countenance of Lopez.
“Who has put that there?” he demanded.
“What is it?” asked Perry, trying to see what Lopez was holding.
“A piece of wire!” snarled Lopez. “It must be a telephone—that goes somewhere—outside!”
Perry arose and approached the window. Lopez stepped back suspiciously; then, as he surveyed Perry
closely, he decided that his companion was as surprised as he himself.
“Some one has been listening,” declared Lopez. “They can hear what is said in this place. I do not know
how long it has been here.”
“It doesn't matter,” said Perry. “I don't recall any conversations of importance. You and I have talked
very little, Lopez. Generally when riding in taxicabs, or dining at a hotel.”
“That is true,” admitted Lopez. “Yet this is very bad. It should not be here. It can make much trouble—”
The secretary stopped suddenly as he heard the ring of the doorbell. He motioned to Perry to sit down in
the chair. Then, in stealthy fashion, Lopez went downstairs.
WHEN he returned, a few minutes later, Lopez wore a grave expression. He stared at Perry as though
undecided what to do. Then, leaning cautiously forward, he whispered brief words of instruction.
“This man who is here,” he said, “you must see him. His name is Pete Ballou. You will say but
little—understand? Keep me in this room with you. Be careful and let him make all the talk. Eh, senor?”
Perry nodded. Lopez went downstairs. In a few minutes, he returned with Pete Ballou. Perry looked up
while lighting a cigarette. He nodded a slight greeting to the stocky man.
Ballou took a chair and stared at Perry with steely eyes. Perry met the gaze. He gave no evidence of the
elation which he felt. He knew that Pete Ballou had no suspicion that this was not Alvarez Legira.
Lopez was starting toward the door. Perry called to him, in an easy manner, a perfect affectation of
Legira.
“Ah, Lopez!” The secretary turned at the words. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to stay here.”
Ballou threw a sidelong glance toward Lopez.
“You need him?” he demanded.
“Lopez is my secretary,” said Perry. “When I choose for him to be here, he remains.”
“Have it your own way,” remarked Ballou. “I guess he knows why I'm here, so it doesn't matter if he
sticks around. I've just come to remind you that time is getting short.”
Perry smiled and stared at a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“You've got until to-morrow midnight,” continued Ballou. “Savvy?”
“It is kind of you,” remarked Perry. “Very kind of you to come here to remind me.”
“Look here, Legira,” said Ballou, in a bulldozing tone, “there's been enough of this funny business.
