mg.dictatorofcrime-第8章

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　　Should　they　be　forced；　under　unexpected　pressure；　to　declare　that　Cranston　was　The　Shadow；　he　could　simply　drop　that　personality　forever　and　keep　his　enemies　hunting　him　until　doomsday。　Doomsday；　in　their　case；　would　be　translated　by　what　would　probably　happen　to　them　if　The　Shadow　caught　up　with　them　while　they　were　on　the　hunt　for　Cranston；　the　man　they　could　never　find。
　　There　were　times；　rare　indeed；　when　The　Shadow　did　drop　the　guise　of　Cranston　and　bee　himself：　Kent　Allard。
　　This　was　one　of　those　times。
　　The　Shadow　wanted　to　go　to　Centralba。　He　couldn't　very　well　go　as　Cranston。　The　gatomontes；　or　secret　police　who　served　as　Castenago's　private　organization；　were　very　suspicious　of　all　wealthy　Americans　who　visited　Centralba。
　　About　all　that　such　visitors　could　do　would　be　to　buy　up　concessions　which　had　been　sold　to　half　a　dozen　others。　Through　various　technicalities；　all　such　concessions；　together　with　the　purchase　money；　became　the　eventual　property　of　Luis　Castenago。
　　Meanwhile；　the　gatomontes　kept　〃protecting〃　the　visiting　Americans；　to　such　a　degree　that　they　were　glad　to　get　out　of　Centralba；　regardless　of　financial　loss。
　　In　his　way；　Luis　Castenago　made　such　big…time　confidence　men　as　Murk　Wessel　look　like　very　small　children　who　hadn't　been　broken　of　the　habit　of　swiping　pennies　off　stacks　of　newspapers。　So；　to　meet　Castenago　properly；　The　Shadow　was　choosing　a　unique　mode　of　entry　into　Centralba。
　　He　was　going　there　as　Kent　Allard；　and　because　Margo　Lane　would　probably　escape　suspicion；　he　was　taking　her　along　as　an　unwitting　helper。
　　
　　
　　LIKE　a　great　bowl　of　bluish　chalcedony；　the　Caribbean　Sea　lay　beneath　the　speeding　wings　of　Allard's　cruise　plane。　Other　members　of　the　party；　half　a　dozen　in　all；　were　chatting　about　the　fog…tinged　weather；　while　Margo　Lane　was　watching　the　pilot。
　　In　one　of　those　vague　ways；　which　couldn't　be　explained；　Kent　Allard　reminded　Margo　of　Lamont　Cranston。　When　she　tried　to　reason　out　the　resemblance；　Margo　decided；　smilingly；　that　it　was　because　the　two　were　so　different。
　　Allard's　face　was　thinner　than　Cranston's；　in　a　sense；　it　was　almost　gaunt。　His　eyes　were　set；　rather　than　steady。　His　motions；　though　deliberate；　were　done　with　a　precision；　whereas　Cranston's　were　leisurely　to　the　point　of　indolence。
　　It　seemed　that　Allard　must　have　acquired　his　manner　from　association　with　the　Xinca　Indians；　just　as　Cranston　had　learned　a　placid　philosophy　from　the　lamas　of　Tibet。　Those　things　became　ingrown　with　a　man　who　experienced　them。
　　Margo　didn't　begin　to　realize　that　one　background　could　be　dropped　at　will；　and　the　other　taken　up。　Few　people　could　have　done　it；　however；　though　The　Shadow　did。
　　He'd　found；　though；　that　people　would　pare　Allard　with　Cranston；　as　Margo　was　doing　at　present。　It　didn't　matter；　because　the　longer　the　parison　continued；　the　more　they　would　argue　themselves　into　deciding　that　the　two　were　different。
　　The　thing　that　served　The　Shadow　best　was　his　ability　to　render　each　character　unique。　No　two　things　can　be　unique　and　at　the　same　time　alike。　Thus；　Allard　and　Cranston；　twinned　at　first　impression；　veered　from　each　other；　never　to　be　reunited　in　any　person's　mind。
　　Where　the　ship　was　at　present；　Margo　hadn't　an　idea。　She　knew　that　it　planned　to　swing　from　island　to　island；　and　also　follow　the　coast　of　the　continent；　for　it　was　a　land　plane。
　　Allard　hadn't　announced　the　exact　itinerary；　but　the　passengers　were　talking　in　terms　of　Panama。　Then；　very　suddenly；　came　the　cry　that　land　was　in　sight；　ahead。
　　From　the　cabin　window；　Margo　saw　a　low…lying　coast；　with　a　sprawling　town　stretched　back　from　banana　docks　where　white　steamships　were　loading　cargo。
　　If　there　happened　to　be　a　landing　field；　Margo　didn't　see　it；　and　Allard；　for　some　reason；　ignored　it。　He　was　giving　the　ship　altitude；　as　he　headed　for　high…rising　mountains　that　formed　a　background　behind　the　seaport　setting。
　　Someone　was　talking　about　fog　above　the　mountains。　Then　laughter　followed。
　　The　〃fog〃　was　smoke；　issuing　from　a　live　volcano。　Of　a　sudden；　laughter　ceased　when　one　of　the　passengers　exclaimed：
　　〃Centralba！〃
　　The　very　word　cast　gloom。　It　produced　too　graphic　images　of　Castenago　and　his　gatomontes。　Out　of　the　buzz；　it　became　evident　that　everyone　wanted　to　question　Allard　as　to　his　choice　of　destination。
　　Recognizing　the　low　chatter；　Allard　turned　from　the　controls　and　spoke　to　Margo；　the　nearest　passenger。
　　〃Tell　them　it　is　a　forced　landing。〃　His　tone　was　clipped；　quite　the　opposite　of　Cranston's　drawly　speech。　〃There　is　an　excellent　airport　at　Libertad；　the　capital。　We　shall　use　it。〃
　　Margo　passed　the　word　along。　Others　were　doubtful；　wondering。　While　Margo　was　trying　to　separate　the　queries；　Allard　did　it　for　her。
　　〃Our　gasoline　is　low。〃　He　gestured　toward　a　cluster　of　a　dozen　dials；　among　the　many　that　spread　over　the　panel。　〃Probably　a　faulty　gas　tank。
　　Castenago　won't　annoy　this　party；　unless　individual　members　criticize　his　regime。　There　is　an　American　consulate　in　Libertad；　we　shall　notify　it　as　soon　as　we　arrive。
　　〃The　Imperial　Hotel　is　excellent；　and　has　survived　half　a　dozen　earthquakes。　Anyone　who　wants　to　go　home　can　take　a　train　from　Libertad　to　Puerto　Marias；　the　town　we　just　passed；　and　take　the　first　ship　for　New　Orleans。〃
　　
　　
　　WHILE　Margo　was　dispensing　that　information　in　individual　doses；　Allard　guided　the　ship　through　a　wide；　curving　mountain　pass；　where　the　roar　of　the　motors　awoke　flocks　of　condors　and　sent　the　giant　thunderbirds　away　in　scattering　squadrons。
　　The　mountains　spread　into　regiments　of　peaks；　and　miles　ahead；　a　great　valley　splashed　the　vivid　green　of　tropical　verdure。
　　Fears　of　Castenago　dwindled　as　the　air　voyagers　watched　the　unfolding　scene。　Traces　of　white　appeared　among　the　green　and　soon　became　a　solid　splotch；　with　dabs　of　faint　pink　and　creamy…yellow　serving　as　a　touch　of　color。
　　The　plane　was　approaching　a　city　so　charming　in　its　setting；　so　bizarre　in　its　own　appearance；　that　no　one　could　retain　thoughts　of　the　ominous。
　　Conspicuously　inviting；　the　airport　practically　beckoned　to　Allard's　plane。　He　crossed　it；　banked；　and　came　to　a　perfect　landing　inside　a　mile…wide　inclosure；　where　men　in　picturesque　uniform　came　dashing　over　to　meet　the　ship。
　　Some　of　these　men　were　airport　attendants；　others　police；　still　more　were　soldiers。　One　representative　of　each　group　was　on　hand　when　Allard　stepped　from　the　plane。
　　Allard　talked　in　Spanish；　with　a　trace　of　local　accent　that　seemed　to　please　them；　with　the　exception　of　two　listeners；　who　wore　green…gray　uniforms　and　remained　in　the　background。　After　the　passengers　alighted；　to　be　received　with　courteous　bows　by　all　but　the　green…gray　pair；　Allard　undertoned　to　Margo：
　　〃Gatomontes。　They　don't　trust　anyone；　not　even　themselves。　Don't　tell　the　other　passengers；　they'd　only　worry。〃
　　Margo　was　pleased　to　thus　receive　Allard's　confidence。　She　remembered　what　Cranston　had　said　that　afternoon　in　Miami。　He'd　spoken　well　of　Allard；　and　Margo　had　seen　the　aviator　that　very　evening；　but　hadn't　known　who　he　was　until　the　next　day。
　　When　Cranston　mentioned　persons　briefly；　it　meant　that　he　regarded　them　as　real　friends。　In　this　instance；　it　applied　to　Allard。　Cranston　was　right　in　wanting　Margo　to　take　the　air　trip。　She　and　Kent　Allard　were　good　friends　already。
　　Automobiles　were　at　the　airport…large；　closed　cars　that　took　the　party　of　eight；　in　two　groups　of　four。　Margo　was　in　the　car　with　Allard；　and　just　before　they　started　she　saw　one　of　the　gatomontes　speak　to　an　airport　official。
　　With　a　jerky　bow　and　a　monkey　smile；　the　official　bobbed　his　head　into　the　car。
　　〃It　is　very　hot；〃　he　said　to　Allard。　〃So；　senor；　I　must　lower　the　window　curtains。　It　is　not　good　that　you　should　get　the　sunstroke。〃
　　The　driver　lowered　his　curtain；　too；　the　real　purpose　obviously　being　to　prevent　the　visitors　from　seeing　too　much　of　Libertad　until　their　status　could　be　properly　determined。　As　they　rode　along；　Allard　turned　a　curtain　slightly　and　let　Margo　peer　through　the　crack。
　　〃You　won't　see　much；　anyway；〃　he　told　her。　〃I've　been　to　Libertad　before；　back　in　the　days　when　the　town　had　a　more　appropriate　name。　This　driver　is　taking　us　through　all　the　back　streets；　to　reach　the　consulate。〃
　　〃Will　it　be　like　this；〃　asked　Margo；　〃all　the　time　we're　here？〃
　　〃Quite　the　opposite；〃　assured　Allard。　〃After　I've　chatted　with　the　consul；　we'll　be　wele。　It　takes　awhile　for　the　proper　word　to　reach　a　dictator　like　Louis　Castenago。　Those　chaps　usually　bee　cordial　when　it　is　good　policy　to　do　so。〃
　　
　　
　　A　SHORT　stop　was　made　at　the　consulate；　and　after　they　left；　Margo　observed　that　the　blinds　were　no　longer　drawn　in　the　car。　However；　the　trip　to　the　hotel　was　very　short；　and　Margo　saw　little　other　than　white　walls　and　a　broad；　sleepy　avenue；　where　even　the　palms　were　too　tired　to　wave　in　the　brilliant　tropical　sun。
　　She　noted　that　the　avenue　was　called　〃Avenida　Castenago〃　and　that　the　Imperial　Hotel　fronted　a　broad；　parklike　square…termed　〃Plaza　del　Libertador；〃　which　probably　meant　Castenago；　too。
　　The　dictator's　pretense　of　being　a　liberator　struck　Margo　as　quite　ironic。
　　She　wondered　what　Castenago　looked　like；　and　she　found　out；　to　a　slight　degree；　when　she　bought　some　postage　stamps　at　the　hotel　desk。
　　On　the　way　up　to　her　room；　Margo　noted　that　the　stamps　bore　Castenago's　portrait；　that　of　a　wide　jawed　man　whose　smudgy　eyebrows　gave　the　stamps　a　canceled　look。　Not　much　to　judge　Castenago　by；　but　Margo　decided　that　she　wouldn't　like　him　if　she　met　him。　By　this　time；　she　was　feeling　the　oppressive　heat　of　Libertad　and　decided　to　take　a　siesta；　as　the　natives　did。
　　She　had　hardly　begun　her　nap　before　the　telephone　bell　rang。　Answering　sleepily；　Margo　heard　Allard's　voice。　It　had　the　sharp　clip　of　an　order。
　　〃Be　ready　at　six　o'clock；〃　he　said。　〃We're　banqueting　with　Luis　Castenago。
　　If　there's　anything　you　need　in　the　way　of　an　evening　gown；　or　what　not；　just　call　the　desk　and　give　the　order。　They'll　make　the　local　shops　deliver　anything　that's　needed。　Don't　worry　about　prices。　If　they're　too　high；　Castenago　will　print　some　more　money　and　pay　the　bills。〃
　　From　her　window；　Margo　took　another　look　at　the　stilled　green　of　the　Plaza　del　Libertador。　The　silence　of　that　deserted　area　seemed　to　reflect　the　ominous　tyranny　of　Castenago；　whose　word　was　law　in　Centralba。　She　wondered　if　the　plaza　would　ever　be　alive　before　the　dictator's　regime　ended。
　　Alive！
　　Margo　wondered；　too；　if　that　term　still　applied　to　Colin　Nayre；　so　recently　returned　to　Centralba　in　defiance　of　Castenago's　power！
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　IX　
　　　CASTENAGO'S　BANQUET　
　　AT　six　Margo　met　the　others　in　the　lobby。　They　were　all　agog　over　the　ing　banquet。　They'd　taken　Castenago　at　his　word　and　bought　plenty　of　things　they　required；　from　the　shops　in　Libertad。
　　Margo；　herself；　had　chosen　a　modest；　but　attractive　evening　gown…and　paid　for　it。　She　didn't　care　to　be　indebted　to　anyone；　even　Luis　Castenago。
　　Some　ludicrous　things　happened　in　the　lobby。
　　First；　one　of　the　group　happened　to　mention　to　an　English…speaking　clerk　that　they　were　〃members　of