“That is not for you to do!” growled Lopez. “I am the man in charge here! What you shall do is for me to
say. That is what Senor Legira has told me!”
“Don't be a fool, Lopez,” retorted Perry. “I don't know what your game is, and I'm not asking. I'm
playing fair, and I expect to be paid for it.”
Lopez became shrewd in his glance. He moved toward the window, and reached behind the radiator.
With a quick jerk, he brought forth the end of the wire, with a dictograph dangling from the end.
“You know nothing of this, eh?” Lopez uttered the words in an insolent tone. “Nothing, eh? I think
different from you. How has that been put here?”
“I have no idea,” answered Perry, with a shrug of his shoulders.
“That is a lie!” Lopez spat the words in a venomous tone.
With a mad spring, Perry leaped upon the skulking secretary. The two locked in a terrific struggle. In
weight and strength, Perry had the advantage. His one fear was that Lopez might suddenly bring some
deadly weapon into play.
THIS fear became a fact as they struggled forward and pitched headlong upon the floor. Perry lost his
hold on one of the South American's wrists. A moment later, he saw the gleam of a wicked knife that the
man had managed to draw.
With a swift, mallet like blow, Perry struck the descending wrist. His assailant's arm shot wide, and the
knife flashed across the room, free from the fingers which had clutched it.
But Lopez recovered more quickly than did Perry. With his weapon no longer in his grasp, the wiry
secretary renewed the attack with maddened fury. Before Perry could prevent it, the agile hands had
caught his throat.
In the heat of conflict, Lopez was inspired by one desire. He was determined to slay the man whom he
now believed to be an enemy.
Perry, desirous only of defending himself, realized now his error. He could not cry out; he could scarcely
resist. Those clawing fingers that gripped his throat would never cease until they had gained their
purpose. Lopez was bound upon a mission of death. He was not concerned with consequences.
Writhing on the floor, Perry was hopelessly at the mercy of Lopez. His antagonist was kneeling on his
arms. The secretary's hands were fierce in their effort as they sought to choke out the life of the helpless
victim. Perry, his eyes bulging, his mouth wide open and gasping, sensed that the end had come.
Here, in this room, he was to die—at the hands of a man who thought him a traitor. In this house, with
bolted door and barred windows, there was no chance of rescue. The room seemed to whirl about with
the madness of a nightmare. A terrific roar surged through Perry's ears.
Then came blackness—whirling, sinking blackness as the tightening hands neared the last moment of their
dastardly errand. All seemed to vanish before Perry's filmy eyes.
Perry Wallace had reached the verge of death!
CHAPTER X. THE SHADOW SPEAKS
STARING downward with maddened eyes, Lopez grinned in wicked triumph as he saw the whitened
face of Perry Wallace. The choking gasps had ended. The victim was offering no resistance. Cruel to the
point of barbarity, the vicious South American pressed his thumbs deep into Perry's throat.
To Lopez, too, this was a wild fantasy. Schooled in the harsh precepts of his native land, the desire to kill
was one that the man could not repress. There was but one way to deal with traitors. That way was
