was
telephoning. He heard the conversation.
“Hello—hello—”
Cody's voice seemed excited. Evidently he did not recognize the person who was talking from the other
end. A puzzled expression came over his face.
“This is Mr. Cody calling, from the Baltham Trust Company—”
There was momentary pause. Cody's face turned white.
“You mean—you mean that Mr. Hendrix is dead—killed—”
Cody dropped the telephone. He leaped to his feet and beckoned to the watchman. Without waiting for
the man to enter, Cody dashed through the door of the office.
“Hurry!” he exclaimed. “See if they have gone! We must stop them! Mr. Hendrix has been murdered!”
Both men rushed to the side door of the bank. When they reached the street they found it empty. Legira
and his companions had driven away during the brief interval.
“I should have called him before,” moaned Cody. “I didn't realize that this might have happened. He may
even have been dead long before nine o'clock!”
Cody stood in a daze, his mind filled with conflicting thoughts. He was perturbed, despite the fact that he
had followed instructions as they had been given. The only lulling thought in his mind was the fact that,
after all, the transaction had probably been concluded as Hendrix had intended it.
Cody stared along the deserted street, seeking vainly and hopelessly to see some sign of the departed
car.
IN that very car, some blocks away, Legira, leaning forward in the back seat, was speaking to the driver
in a low, tense voice.
“We must hurry, Desmond,” he said. “You made a great mistake in being late to-night—”
“I had to be careful,” growled Desmond, who was at the wheel of the car.
“You told me not to be conspicuous while waiting for you at the corner. A cop ordered me to move
along so I had to. Thought I better give you plenty of time. Then I got caught in a traffic jam. That's why
you had to wait for me.”
“Well, it's all right now,” responded Legira. “Just the same, a man is generally on time when he has a
transaction involving mill—”
The consul stopped abruptly. It was not his policy to reveal any more of his plans than necessary. Frank
Desmond was a useful man to Legira. Much of his usefulness depended upon the fact that he knew very
little of what Legira was doing. Legira was depending on Desmond's help now, chiefly because he
needed an undercover agent whom his enemies could not possibly suspect.
“I am nervous, Desmond,” remarked Legira in a more friendly tone. “You have no idea of the problems
which have confronted me. People up here in New York can go about their affairs in a simple manner.
That is not possible in Santander. I am of Santander and I must do as they do in my country. You
understand?”
“Certainly,” replied Desmond. “Sorry I caused you trouble, Legira. You can depend on me to help you
from now on. Just so long as I get what's coming to me.”
“You will receive full payment tonight,” said Legira. “We shall go to the house immediately,” he added in
a commanding voice. “You are sure that everything is safe out there?”
“Absolutely,” declared Desmond, full of assurance. “I was out there this afternoon. It's the best spot on
Long Island; no one around; no neighbors to bother you.”
“I chose the place long ago,” declared Legira, “and I chose it with a purpose. Since I have conducted all
negotiations through you, Desmond, there is not the slightest possible chance that any one should know
