"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 185 - Ships of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Arthur Kenley responded with an honest nod.

"What I did not tell them," added Falsythe, with one of his down-turned smiles, "was that my own
concern, Falsythe Co., has funds to the extent of thirty million dollars, tied up in Balthania. Money that
cannot possibly be brought from the country, since another Power has taken control there."

Rising from the desk, Falsythe strolled over to Kenley's chair, laid his strong hand on the young man's
shoulder with a commending thwack that almost jarred Kenley to the floor.

"Buying ships was your idea, Kenley," approved Falsythe. "By organizing the International Merchant
Lines, I can pretend that I am pouring money into Balthania, when, actually, I am spending money that is
already there."

"Meanwhile, I am transferring the funds of the International Merchant Lines into the coffers of Falsythe
Co. A perfectly legitimate transaction, Kenley, since the ships are being delivered here. Besides"—he
eyed Kenley steadily—"I am by far the largest investor in International Merchant Lines. It's money from
one pocket to another, Kenley."

Nodding, Kenley seemed to agree that it was. His face, though, took on a doubtful look, when he asked:


"Are you sure, sir, that the South American trade can stand three ships the size of the Salvador? If it
does, you'll have half of your money back from Balthania; but if not -"

"I've never known failure, Kenley," interrupted Falsythe, abruptly. "Never, at any time in my career! But
let me remind you that this transaction, though legitimate, is unusual. It is something that should not be
mentioned."

"I understand, sir."

"Even Klagg knows nothing about it," reminded Falsythe, watching Kenley closely. "It was just by chance
that I took you into my confidence, some months ago, and you provided the solution, Kenley. We must
continue to keep our secret."

KENSLEY'S agreement was the signal for his departure. After waving the young man from the office,
Falsythe went to the window.

The sun had set; off through the deepening dusk he could see the white hull of the Salvador, reduced to
the proportions of a tiny toy, as the ship approached the Narrows.

Falsythe gazed toward Newark Airport, where lights sliced into the glooming sky. Some persons might
consider it an expensive step— sending Klagg to South America merely to check on loading cargoes.
But not the directors of the International Merchant Lines.

Most of the money backing that huge enterprise was Falsythe's own. None of them had questioned
Falsythe's wisdom, nor his statements— not even Lamont Cranston.

So Falsythe thought; but had he been at Newark Airport, his opinion would have changed. There, a great
plane was taking off for the first stage of the trip to South America.