The
policeman quickly interposed.
"It's all right,--officer," exclaimed Craig. "Walter, reach into
his inside pocket."
I pulled out a bunch of papers and turned them over.
"What's that?" asked Kennedy as I came to something neatly
enclosed in an envelope.
I opened it. It was a power of attorney from Guerrero to Torreon.
"Perhaps it is no crime to give a man mescal if he wants it--I
doubt if the penal code covers that," ejaculated Kennedy. "But it
is conspiracy to give it to him and extract a power of attorney
by which you can get control of trust funds consigned to him.
Manuel Torreon, the game is up. You and Senora Mendez have played
your parts well. But you have lost. You waited until you thought
Guerrero was dead, then you took a policeman along as a witness
to clear yourself. But the secret is not dead, after all. Is
there nothing else in those papers, Walter? Yes? Ah, a bill of
lading dated to-day? Ten cases of 'scrap iron' from New York to
Boston--a long chance for such valuable 'scrap,' senor, but I
suppose you had to get the money away from New York, at any
risk."
"And Senora Mendez?" I asked as my mind involuntarily reverted to
the brilliantly lighted room up-town. "What part did she have in
the plot against Guerrero?"
Torreon stood sullenly silent.
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