Dollar?grabbing is your specialty.”
Rydel was about to fume a reply when Releston silenced him. The stern?faced senator continued his accusation.
“IT was believed,” stated Releston, “that restrictive measures might be placed upon the sales and price of all munitions, including those to be shipped to foreign countries. To enforce that last measure, however, we needed to await the next session of Congress.”
“It was our plan to form a special committee at that time; to have it cooperate immediately with the present committee, which is not—unfortunately—permitted to interfere with exports that are free from embargo.
“We had hoped to keep that fact to ourselves. We knew that hidden interests were buying up the stock of idle munitions plants; but that they were afraid to operate while the committee report was pending, because they thought their profits might be seized.
“Coyd's statement has ended their doubt. Already the shares of those munitions companies are shooting skyward. Speculators, tipped to what was coming, are primed to make millions. During the next few months, factories will work at full capacity, pouring American?made munitions into foreign lands.
“A golden harvest, through steel and powder that will later bring blood and strife. That is the terrible part of it, Rydel. Lust for wealth has inspired those behind the game; and I accuse you as the leading instigator!”
Another might have wilted under Releston's salvo; but not Rydel. The portly magnate showed challenge in his heavy?jowled face. He came to his feet and glowered across the desk.
“Rubbish!” he snarled. “Plain guff; poor talk from a man of your intelligence; senator. I have no interests in munitions, sir. The stocks that I hold in such companies are few; and most of them are in large concerns that have already promised full cooperation with the government!”
“What about proxies?” demanded Crozan.
“Proxies?” queried Rydel, with a laugh. “Find any if you can. Prove that I have been buying munitions stocks, in my name or in any other.”
“We know you could have covered it, Rydel.”
THE magnate delivered a contemptuous growl. An ugly smile showed on his pudgy face as he resumed his chair. Thumbs tucked in vest sleeves, Rydel leaned back as if to welcome further query.
“Perhaps,” decided Releston, “the profit to your basic interests will sufficiently reward your scheming, Rydel.
We realized that you would be in a position to defy us. I merely wanted you to know the greatness of the misery that your selfishness may produce.
“Europe is in foment. Increased armaments and munitions purchases may cause destruction there. We, who think of the welfare of the world as well as that of America, felt sure that we could do our part to prevent foreign strife. Our hopes have been shattered.”
“Not by me,” announced Rydel. “Look here, senator—now that you're talking quietly, why don't you listen to common sense? Somebody's in back of the munitions game; but I'm not. I'm not an ugly octopus, trying to swallow everything.
“I wouldn't be fool enough to mix into the munitions racket, even if I were mean enough to want to. You've singled me out, senator, simply because you've been prejudiced against me.”
Rydel paused; then glared viciously at Crozan. He continued:
“How could I have been in back of it?” demanded the magnate. “Coyd did the talking, didn't he? He has it in for me just like you have. How could I have reached him? Answer that!”
“I can tell you.” Foster Crozan spoke steadily, as he arose from his chair and towered above the seated magnate. “Congressman Coyd has a daughter, who is a great influence in his life. She has visited her father at recent intervals, coming to Washington from Virginia. You, too, have a daughter, Rydel. She is Evelyn Coyd's closest friend. Do you deny that at present your daughter Beatrice is staying in Virginia with Evelyn Coyd?”
Instead of replying, Rydel bounded to his feet. He clenched his fists. Crozan dropped back, expecting a threatening gesture; but Rydel merely pounded his fists against the side of his own head and began to stalk the room, laughing like a madman. Near the door, he stopped and faced the others.
“My daughter!” he giggled. “My daughter! Mixing into politics—my daughter, with no thought in her empty head except a crazy infatuation for a conceited, penniless actor. Jove! Have the two of you gone as insane as Coyd? One would think it, to hear you advance such an absurd theory as—”
He stopped, tilted back his head and delivered another laugh.
“Perhaps,” asserted Releston, dryly, “you can suggest a better method of our learning who influenced Congressman Coyd to his ill?timed statement.”'
“I can,” assured Rydel, sobering. “Go to Coyd and ask him about it. But don't annoy me with any more of this kindergarten stuff. I am leaving for New York; I shall return in a few days, senator. Perhaps then you will have realized the absurdity of your theory.”
RYDEL turned on his heel and stalked from the room, leaving Releston and Crozan speechless. The Shadow, quiet through the tempest, was performing the Cranston gesture of inserting a cigarette in a holder.
“Perhaps you were wrong, Crozan,” remarked Releston. “The link does seem flimsy. Rydel's daughter could not be intelligent; if she were she would never have become infatuated over that ridiculous actor, Montgomery Hadwil.”
“That does not follow, senator,” disagreed Crozan. “Love and intelligence are different mental processes.
Beatrice Rydel may be quite bright. Moreover, I can see a reason why she would lend aid to her father's cause.”
“To gain his consent to her marriage to Hadwil?”
“Exactly. Senator, I think Rydel bluffed us. He is on his way to New York, he says, and he is probably going there to meet others of his kind. They will gloat over their victory.”
“Shall I have secret service operatives cover him?”
“What good would it do? He has committed no crime. You cannot arrest him. He has no conscience. More than that, Rydel has left us helpless.”
“Not quite,” observed The Shadow, in the calm tone of Cranston. “On the contrary, he has given a very excellent suggestion; one that may lead to real results. One, in fact, that may provide the antidote for this poison that has been released.”
“What was that?” queried Releston, eagerly, while Crozan stared, puzzled.
“Rydel told you to see Coyd,” returned The Shadow. “It was true advice, whether he intended it as such or not.”
“You are right,” agreed Releston. “Come, let us start for Coyd's.” Then, to Harry, at the door: “Have the car ready at once, Vincent.”
FIVE minutes later, Harry was piloting the sedan toward Coyd's. Senator Releston was riding in the back, between The Shadow and Foster Crozan. As the car spun along an avenue, the senator remembered something which The Shadow had said.
“By the way, Cranston,” he remarked. “You said something about an antidote. Is there a cure for this crisis, Cranston?”
“Perhaps,” replied The Shadow. “We shall see.”
That cryptic statement ended The Shadow's discussion. The sedan had reached Coyd's. Three passengers alighted; they ascended the brownstone steps. Releston first; then Crozan; after that, The Shadow.
Firm, disguised lips held the semblance of a smile that the others did not see. The Shadow, his keen brain at work, had found an answer to a problem.
CHAPTER X. COYD AGREES.
THEY found Congressman Coyd in his upstairs living room. His table resembled Releston's desk, inasmuch as it was piled high with newspapers. With Coyd were Jurrick and Tabbert; also a man of professional appearance, whom The Shadow knew must be Doctor Borneau.
Coyd was glum, almost apologetic as he greeted the visitors. He stared seriously at Releston when the
