now
gone from the South American's visage.
“You—you—” he began.
“I am all right,” interposed Perry. “You made a mistake, Lopez. You lost your head. You were choking
me. I had to knock you out to save myself.”
The man's eyes glowed with momentary suspicion.
“You tried to knife me,” added Perry. “Do you think I would have let you live if you and I were enemies?
We are friends. Do you understand? Friends!”
Lopez had arisen to his feet while Perry was talking. He leaned weakly against the wall and looked about
him, staring toward the window. Perry followed his gaze with momentary alarm. He had forgotten The
Shadow for the time. Now, he expected to see the man in black. To Perry's amazement, the shade was
nearly drawn; and below it showed the outer barrier.
Lopez was struggling to recall the details of the fight. He remembered that he had been strangling Perry
Wallace; then he recalled a quick scuffle in which the tables had been turned. No one else was in the
room. Perry's story had been convincing.
Lopez looked at the man before him. He realized now that he had made a mistake—that his suspicions of
Perry had been unfounded. Perry's hand was stretched toward him. Lopez accepted it with willingness.
Truce was declared.
But while Lopez was still recovering from his befuddlement, Perry Wallace's brain was surging with
confused thoughts. To him, The Shadow was a strange reality. He had seen the man in black. He had
told his story. He had accepted orders.
He had watched The Shadow receive a report from some unknown informant. Then, silently and
invisibly, the man of the night had departed. He had come here to rescue; he had stayed to discover vital
facts that pertained to the schemes of Alvarez Legira and others.
Perry Wallace realized that The Shadow had departed on some unknown mission; that even now, the
stranger in black was on his way to cope with other situations.
CHAPTER XI. HENDRIX DECIDES
JOHN HENDRIX was sitting at the big desk in the office of his apartment, the clock beside him showed
twenty minutes after eight. The financier was making a notation on a sheet of paper when Jermyn entered.
Hendrix did not appear to notice Jermyn until the man stood directly in front of him. Then the financier
glanced up with an inquiring expression on his face.
“He has gone, sir,” announced Jermyn in a low voice.
“You made sure that he went downstairs?” asked Hendrix.
“Positively, sir,” replied Jermyn.
Hendrix leaned back in his swivel chair and glanced at the clock again. For the first time he appeared
restless and nervous. He began to drum upon the desk with his flabby fist. He made no comment, and
Jermyn stood by, a perfect figure of a mechanical man. Jermyn was always calm and expressionless.
Hendrix became more restless as seconds ticked by. One minute passed; then two. Hendrix was
watching the clock.
A short ring interrupted his drumming. He looked up quickly and spoke to Jermyn.
“Answer the door, quickly, Jermyn,” he said, “that must be Powell, now.”
Jermyn was methodical even as he hurried. Hendrix watched him impatiently as he crossed the room.
The financier's nervousness continued until Jermyn reappeared, followed by Martin Powell.
In the light, Martin Powell made a square, chunky figure. His face was fine and chiseled. He looked
