to
Perry Wallace. He realized, of a sudden, that the weird visitor was speaking Spanish.
The question came again. Despite himself, Perry could not control his blank expression. The Shadow
laughed.
“You are not Alvarez Legira!” The accusation came in a hissing tone. “What is your purpose here?”
Perry could think of no reply. By questioning him in Spanish, The Shadow had cunningly forced him to
betray the fact that his identity was false. Lopez —until recently Perry's standby—still lay unconscious on
the floor.
The Shadow was pressing his advantage. Coming forward, he towered above the man in the chair. Perry
found himself staring into the tunnellike muzzle of an automatic, gripped in a black-clad hand. Cold
perspiration dewed his forehead.
“Speak!”
The command was one that could not pass unheeded. Between duty and self-preservation, Perry
Wallace was leaning to the latter course. Mad thoughts were running through his brain.
What did he owe to Alvarez Legira? Why should he attempt to keep up the pretense now that it had
been discovered? Lopez was Legira's henchman. Lopez had tried to kill him. What loyalty could he owe
to Legira now?
“Where is Alvarez Legira?”
The Shadow's question was demanding. It prompted Perry to reply.
“I do not know,” he answered.
“Who are you?” quizzed The Shadow.
“My name is Perry Wallace”—the words came mechanically—“and I am being paid to take Legira's
place—”
This beginning brought relief to the nervous tension which had dominated Perry since the entrance of The
Shadow. In short, abrupt phrases, he blurted out his story, starting with the strange offer given him by
Frank Desmond, the secret agent of Legira.
In conclusion, Perry recounted the recent interview with Pete Ballou, and the ensuing conflict he had had
with Lopez. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced the sheet of paper that told the location of Ballou's
headquarters. The Shadow received it with outstretched hand.
IN spite of himself, Perry Wallace had come to regard this black-clad stranger as a friend. The danger
and uncertainty that surrounded him seemed to be fading in The Shadow's presence.
Exhausted, Perry slumped in his chair. For a moment, The Shadow stood motionless; then, with a
sweeping swing, the man in black whirled to the other side of the room and picked up the telephone.
Perry could not hear him as he spoke into the mouthpiece. The whispered voice carried a low, sinister
note that could have been detected only by the man at the other end of the wire.
Perry could only divine that The Shadow had given and received some important information; for, with a
quick movement, the man hung up the telephone and again turned toward the chair. The automatic was
gone from view. The long right arm pointed toward the form of Lopez.
“Stay here,” came The Shadow's commanding whisper. “Look to that man and regain his confidence.
Say nothing of my visit here. We shall meet again.”
Perry nodded. He noted that Lopez was moving slightly. He heard a groan from the man on the floor.
Moving from the chair, Perry went to his assistance. Lopez opened his eyes, and managed to raise his
body from the floor. He stared in bewildered fashion when he saw Perry. All traces of anger were
