# Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 27/Number 4/Shadows Tremendous/Chapter 2

pp. 5–8.

### CHAPTER II.
#### A PERFECT GODSEND.

WHAT the mischief are you staring at?” inquired Bellamy tartly. “Where's this San Lazaro? I've asked you twice.”
Darrell came to himself with a start. His face was tense and hard. “It's just outside Magdalena Bay,” he returned quickly.
“What!” exclaimed Bellamy, his eyes widening. “You don't mean——”
“I don't mean anything. Just let me finish the rest of this message, and we'll know.”
He bent hastily to the task, and for fifteen or twenty minutes not a sound broke the stillness, save the rustle of paper and the intermittent scratch of a pencil. Every trace of lazy indifference had vanished from Bellamy's face, leaving it set in lines of an intense interest, which increased as the meaning of the stolen wireless grew clearer and clearer before his eyes.
Darrell was “much more self-restrained, but when at length he laid down his pencil and looked steadily for a second at his friend, his jaw had tightened, and a dull red darkened the healthy tan of his clear skin.
“Read it, won't you?” Bellamy said. “Let's have it from the beginning.”
The secret-service agent nodded, picked up the sheet, and read slowly:
       “J. J. Edwards, Hotel St. Francis.
    “Deal off with U. S. Have closed with other party. Our terms. Vessels now on their way to Cape San Lazaro. Am hurrying in yacht to meet them. Cannot wait your arrival, but will communicate whenever possible. Do not count on this, however, as yacht wireless radius only one hundred miles. Utmost secrecy necessary. Look to you to keep Washington in dark until occupancy assured. Ives.”
“This Ives represents the syndicate owning property on the bay?” Bellamy asked, after a momentary silence.
Darrell nodded. “He's the president.”
“Did you know they'd offered it to the government?”
“No. I knew they held it at five million, though, which is about one hundred times what they paid for it. If they stuck to that price, I have no doubt the people at Washington refused to be gouged, and turned them down.”
“Whereupon they proceed to make overtures to this 'other party,'” added Bellamy; “which means, I suppose——”
“Japan!” exclaimed Darrell, his eyes hard and glinting. “There isn't a doubt in my mind about it. What's more, I'll wager that it was Japan who made the overtures. They want a foothold on this continent; they've wanted it for years. Twice they tried to get concessions from Diaz, but they were turned down. Now they're trying again, and they couldn't have chosen a better time, with Mexico and the United States arrayed.against each other. Carranza is at his wits' end for money. Mexico is ready to do anything that will hurt us.”
“But if they're paying this syndicate, why fork over to Carranza's government at all?”
“For the privilege of being let alone,” Darrell answered quickly. He arose, and began to walk back and forth across the room. There was an unmistakable hint of the athlete in his slim loins and powerful shoulders, no less than in the lithe, springy step. “Private ownership doesn't carry with it the right to fortify,” he went on. “They'll want to put up batteries and forts at the two entrances, and on the headland north of the settlement, which will make the bay absolutely impregnable. They couldn't do that without Mexico's permission, tacit or otherwise. You see that, don't you?”
“Certainly. What I don't see is how they're going to do all this before Uncle Sam gets wise.”
“You ought to remember, Jack, that the whole of Lower California—especially the western side—is practically a desert. I don't suppose a boat puts into Magdalena Bay once in three months. They pass by, of course, but the cliffs effectually hide anything from the outside. That's why they're so keen about secrecy at first. They want time to transfer troops and stores and coal and all that kind of thing. In other words, they want to get their grip on the place before Washington wakes up to what's going on.”
Bellamy sat silent for a moment; then he chuckled. “It's likely to be something of a shock when the state department lands on their necks with such unexpected promptness. I suppose you'll send a code message to the department at once, telling them what you have discovered?”
Darrell ceased his pacing, and stood looking down on his friend for a moment in silence. It was a good deal of a relief to talk things over with Bellamy. He was a man whose discretion could be absolutely relied on, and, in spite of his wealth and seemingly idle, pleasure-loving habits, his knowledge of underground diplomacy was unusual.
Darrell always said that with the spur of necessity to urge him on, Bellamy would have been more than a credit to the service. He seemed to sense things intuitively, and one did not have to go into lengthy explanations with him, as would be the case with the ordinary individual. In this instance, however, he seemed not to have grasped the vital flaw in the case.
“Just what have I discovered?” the secret-service agent inquired presently, in a rather odd voice.
Bellamy's eyes widened. “I should say you'd found out about all there is to know,” he answered. “Japan is evidently ——”
“There's no mention whatever of Japan or any other nation in the message,' Darrell returned pointedly.
“But surely no one who understands existing conditions can have a shadow of a doubt as to what is meant by the 'other party'?” protested Bellamy, with a frown.
“Quite so,” the secret-service agent agreed. “There's no question in your mind or mine. Unfortunately the department requires facts before it can take official action. It will want to know exactly what's going on down at Magdalena Bay. We haven't any facts; we've simply stolen a wireless out of the air. We can't even prove the message is what it seems to be. You catch my drift, don't you?”
“I was a chump not to have seen it before. You'll have to go down there and see what's doing.”
“Somebody'll have to go,” Darrell returned, with emphasis which was unmistakable.
“Somebody!” repeated Bellamy, wondering. “You don't mean to say that when you wire in your report of what you've discovered they'll think of sending anybody else to get the proofs?”
The secret-service agent jerked his chair round, and faced his companion squarely. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and his whole face hard and tense.
“I think it quite possible. The secretary has not yet returned to Washington. Saltus is in charge, and you know quite well that he has never had much use for me. The chief put me into the service, and has used me many times without taking Saltus into his confidence, which has caused friction. If I wire the details of what I've discovered, it's a two-to-one shot he'll turn the case over to another man.”
“But that wouldn't be fair,” protested Bellamy, his face flushing angrily. “It's your case, and by every right you ought to have it. Besides, without wasting a lot of valuable time, who else could he send?”
“Crutchfield is in Portland.”
“I'll be hanged if I'd stand for it!” Bellamy burst out hotly. “If I were you, I'd go in spite of him.”
“Exactly what I mean to do.” The secret-service agent's voice was coolly determined. “If it pans out as I think, it'll be a big thing, and I don't propose to give it up to any one. If I can find a boat sailing to-morrow, I'll take it, and just before I leave I'll wire a complete report to Washington, explaining that I've taken matters into my own hands because I consider the affair too serious to warrant even twenty-four hours' delay. Saltus will rage, and I shall probably be blown sky-high; but if I succeed it won't bother me a whole lot.”
“Corking!” Bellamy exclaimed, his eyes shining. “Look here, Dal, I want to go with you.”
Darrell stared. “Go with me—you!”
Bellamy flushed a little at his tone. “Why not?” he asked. “I'm bored to death here—even the wireless is getting tiresome. And besides I want to do something real, something worth while. And this is a perfect godsend.”
Darrell shrugged his shoulders. “My dear fellow, don't fool yourself with the idea that this is going to be a pleasure junket. If you knew the Japs as I do, you'd realize they are not the sort to let themselves be thwarted in something they've set out to do by one man or two, or a dozen. They have absolutely no scruples, and the instant they begin so much as to suspect us our lives won't be worth a cigarette. In fact, even if we should think up a perfectly plausible reason for being at Magdalena Bay, it's more than likely they'd do their best to rid the place of us quietly, merely as a matter of precaution.”
“I understand that.” Bellamy nodded impatiently. “Have you any other reason for not wanting me to go? I mean, is this something which you could accomplish better alone?”
“N-no, I can't say it is. On the contrary, your being along might help in a good many ways; but I should hate very much——”
“Cut it!” interrupted Bellamy decisively. “I'm not going it blind; I know the risks, and I'm ready to take them.” He stood up, and drew a long breath of satisfaction. “Well, that's settled,” he added quickly. “Have you planned anything yet?”
The secret-service agent shook his head. “Nothing further than to be down at the docks first thing in the morning. There's no regular boat sailing till the first of the week, but we may have luck enough to strike a tramp. Plenty of them leave San Francisco bound for the West Coast.”
“But they don't stop at Magdalena Bay, I fancy, especially in times like these.”
“So much the better. If we take passage for Panama, say, there's not likely to be any suspicions aroused in case they have some one keeping an eye on outgoing vessels. It'll be easy to fake up a good reason afterward for being put ashore at Magdalena.”
“That's true. We'll have three or four days to do it in. You'll stop here to-night, of course, Dal? It'll give us a chance to talk things over a bit, and we'll get away as early as you want in the morning.”
Darrell had intended going back to his hotel that night, and straightening out his things there. It was almost two o'clock, however, and after a moment's thought he decided that his friend's plan was the better one.
They wasted no time in tumbling into bed, and little more than four hours later they were up again. At Darrell's suggestion, Bellamy put on a suit of his oldest clothes, and packed a small bag with the barest necessities. Whatever rôle they finally assumed, a shabby, down-at-the-heel appearance always attracted less attention than any other.
There were no good-bys to delay them. Bellamy simply routed the butler out, informed him that he was leaving for a prolonged trip, and the two friends hurriedly left the house.
It was only a few. steps to the terminus of the California Street car line, where they were fortunate enough to find a car waiting. Twenty minutes later they entered the hotel, where Bellamy attended to ordering the breakfast while the secret-service agent hurried to his room.
With the speed of long practice, Darrell threw a few belongings, including a serviceable automatic and several boxes of cartridges, into his bag, slipped his code book into a cleverly hidden slit in the leather lining, and snapped the catch. Then he gathered up his other belongings, and began to tumble them into a small trunk. Boxing gloves and dumb-bells were tossed among the clothes without hesitation, but when he took up a beautifully made pair of foils he paused for a second regretfully.
“Wish I could take you along,” he murmured, as he gripped one of them in his slim, muscular fingers, and made a lightning pass or two. “It would liven up the voyage a lot, but I'm afraid they'd hardly be in keeping.”
He laid them away with more care than he had shown for anything else, speedily finished his packing, and locked the trunk. He had planned to have it sent to Bellamy's house until their return, and gave instructions to that effect at the desk while settling his account.
It was all accomplished with a methodical speed which had about it no appearance of hurry, and at exactly a quarter past seven they swung aboard a car which deposited them, ten minutes later, on East Street, near the ferry-house.
Within an hour they had secured passage on the Golden Horn, a tramp freighter of four thousand tons, Jabez Coffin master, bound for Panama and the West Coast.