with this terrible affair here to-night. However, there is a very simple way in which you can learn if Legira
had anything to do with this affair.”
“How's that?” asked Joe Cardona, eagerly.
“Call at his residence,” said Cranston, calmly. “Legira conducts all his affairs in person, or through his
secretary, Lopez. Very probably Legira does not know that Hendrix has been killed.
“If you want to make sure of things, try to get finger prints of both Legira and his secretary. If they give
them and they do not correspond with the marks that you have, you will know definitely that Legira and
his man are not connected in this matter.”
“That sounds logical,” agreed Cardona. “I'll do it, immediately. But what about this matter of the
money?”
“I shall attend to that,” declared Cranston. “My car is outside. It might be best for us to go together. If
Legira is there and all is well, I shall have no question to ask him. He had full right to obtain the money
and I shall be satisfied to find him at home.”
Cranston's plan was so direct that Cardona lost no time in accompanying the quiet-faced millionaire to his
car. They found the limousine parked outside the apartment house; Cranston gave an address to the
chauffeur. Fifteen minutes later, the detective and the millionaire alighted in front of Legira's home.
Cardona pressed the bell; a few seconds later there was a sound of bolts being undone and Lopez
opened the door to admit them.
“Remember me, Lopez?” asked Cranston. “I met you at the consular office. I am Lamont Cranston.”
“Yes, senor,” said Lopez seriously. “Do you wish to see Senor Legira?”
Cranston nodded. The secretary conducted the two men upstairs. They found Perry Wallace, still in the
guise of Alvarez Legira, seated in the chair, smoking one of the inevitable cigarettes.
The false Legira looked up wonderingly as they entered. Lopez suddenly realized his mistake in bringing
the visitors in unannounced. He spoke quickly to Perry, indicating Cranston with a gesture.
“Mr. Cranston has come to see you sir,” said the secretary. “I do not know the name of this other
gentleman—”
“Detective Cardona, from headquarters,” answered Cranston.
Perry looked at the detective with unfeigned surprise. Cardona noticed the glance and made haste to
explain the purpose of his visit.
“I have very bad news,” declared the detective. “Mr. Hendrix was killed tonight—murdered!”
“Mr. Hendrix!” The exclamation came from Perry. He did not know just what the connection between
Legira and Hendrix might be, but he realized that it was his part to show both surprise and consternation.
He did this well.
“We want to know,” began Cardona, “just what you can tell us about Hendrix. We want to know when
you saw him last.”
“Let me explain,” interrupted Cranston quietly. “The police have found evidence that will lead them to the
murderer of Mr. Hendrix and two other men. That evidence consists of finger prints. The simplest
method is to try to eliminate every one who might have known Hendrix or who might have been there in
his apartment.
“Detective Cardona called me in because I knew Hendrix. In order to help the law, I gave him an
impression of my finger prints. I think it might be a good idea, Mr. Legira, if you and your secretary
would do the same. That will make further annoyance unnecessary.”
Cardona looked at Cranston in admiration. The simple way in which his companion had handled
