The Red Menace s-4

by Maxwell Grant

  "Tell me about them."

  "Berchik visited Prince Zuvor. He told him about the jewels. Agent K overheard everything."

  "Who is Agent K? Zuvor's servant?"

  "Yes. Fritz Bloch. A German. Zuvor has two servants. Fritz Bloch and a Russian named Ivan Shiskin.

  Ivan is loyal to Zuvor. We count on Fritz for information."

  "Did Fritz learn the name of the man who received the wealth we seek?"

  "Yes. His name is Bruce Duncan."

  "What have you done about it?"

  "I have notified Agent R to be ready. I already have a report concerning him. He is a wealthy young man,

  who lives alone with one servant. He must be handled tactfully. Agent R is the one to do that."

  Prokop drew an envelope from his pocket. He handed it to the Red Envoy, who opened it with ease

  despite the red silk gloves, and read the report within.

  "That will do," said the masked man tersely. "Let Agent R proceed. Your plan is quite suitable for the

  present."

  "We need worry no longer about Berchik," said Prokop, with a leering smile. "He died quickly."

  "How?"

  "By the method we had arranged for Prince Zuvor. Agent K—Fritz— learned that Zuvor had a car in

  readiness in a garage up in Connecticut. I saw to it that a bomb was arranged in the automobile set to

  explode after the car had gone twenty miles.

  "Zuvor instructed Berchik to use that car in his escape. The bomb exploded and the car toppled into a

  ravine."

  "Did any one suspect the cause of the accident?"

  "We think not."

  The Red Envoy sat as silent as a statue. Prokop shifted uneasily. He felt that he was inferior to this

  strange person who came to visit him as the direct representative of a powerful organization...

  Usually, Prokop received instructions to meet the Red Envoy in some unexpected place. This was the

  first time that his superior had ever come to the apartment.

  "No one suspects who you are?" The Red Envoy's question came suddenly to Prokop's ears.

  "No," replied Prokop. "I call myself Henry Propert."

  "You take every precaution regarding our agents?" asked the Red Envoy.

  "Every precaution. Even the agents do not know each other. Each one reports to me, individually, at the

  meeting place.

  "I am always masked. I identify each agent before he goes into the meeting room. All are masked when

  they assemble."

  "Good!" The Red Envoy's statement carried a tone of satisfaction. "You must keep your identity a secret

  from your subordinate just as I keep my identity a secret from you."

  Prokop nodded.

  "You have done well," commended the Red Envoy. "I shall mention you in my report to Moscow.

  "But you have not yet told me about the case of Jonathan Graham. I came here to learn about it."

  PROKOP rubbed his chin nervously. He had expected this inquiry from the Red Envoy. After the

  commendation that he had received, he hesitated to supply the new information.

  "Our agent did well," he said. "As you know, he had obtained a situation as Jonathan Graham's secretary

  -"

  "He was in Graham's employ before he joined our cause, was he not?" interrupted the Red Envoy.

  "Yes," answered Prokop. "We made him Agent J. He was just the man we required. Communistic in

  belief—yet he seldom expressed his opinions.

  "One of our agents discovered him, and he became an excellent worker. He used his right

  name—Stanley Berger."

  Prokop paused and glanced at the Red Envoy. The man in the mask betrayed no impatience, but he

  spoke tersely.

  "I know all that, Prokop," he said. "Come to the point."

  "Well," said Prokop quickly, "Berger did his best to discover Jonathan Graham's private

  correspondence. But he had no opportunity to read it. I ordered him to get results quickly. So he stole it

  all, and mailed it to me."

  "When?"

  "Yesterday morning. Then he must have feared that Graham would discover its loss. At five o'clock

  yesterday afternoon, Jonathan Graham fell from the window of his office -"

  "Yes?" questioned the Red Envoy, as Prokop hesitated. "He fell, you say?"

  "He fell from the window," continued Prokop, "but it is obvious that Berger had much to do with it. He

  must have done the job cleverly. Graham's death is regarded as an accident."

  "I have read the newspapers," remarked the man with the red mask. "The death of Jonathan Graham may

  prove useful. He controlled various interests that will deteriorate under other management.

  "But regarding the matter of his private correspondence -"

  He pauses, awaiting a reply from Prokop.

  "Berger was not at to-night's meeting," said Prokop. "I did not expect him to be there. I suspected what

  had happened, when I learned of Graham's death, last night. I sent a warning notice to Berger. After the

  meeting to-night, I mailed him his release."

  "That was the correct procedure," replied the Red Envoy. "Cross his name from your list of agents.

  "We can forget Berger, then. But the correspondence. Where is it?"

  Prokop rose and went to a bookcase in the corner of the room. He took down a heavy volume of an

  encyclopedia, and opened the back of it.

  The book was a secret box, from which Prokop produced a thick pile of papers. He brought the

  documents to the table, and laid them before the Red Envoy.

  DELIBERATELY, the man in the mask examined the papers. Prokop watched him with an expression

  of anxiety. When the masked man had completed his examination, he quietly passed the papers back to

  Prokop.

  "I understand your hesitation," he said, in cold, finely cut words. "You are capable, Prokop; but you are

  not subtle. You evaded the subject of these papers, because they do not contain what we want."

  Prokop nodded his affirmation. A look of dread appeared upon his face. "We have gained nothing,"

  continued the Red Envoy. "You may keep the papers. Destroy them if you wish. We want the plans.

  They are not there."

  "I know that," said Prokop, in an apologetic voice. "But -"

  "Ignorance," said the Red Envoy, "does not excuse you, Prokop. It was your work to see that Berger

  obtained new information.

  "He was to steal the plans and working drawings. That would have completed our mission. It would have

  meant much to you, Prokop."

  The heavy-set man nodded.

  "However," resumed the Red Envoy, "we have other means of getting what we want. The death of

  Jonathan Graham was cleverly accomplished— even though Berger chanced to have good fortune.

  "It will create no suspicion. It will not interfere with Whitburn's work. On the contrary, it allows him to go

  ahead without interference from Graham, who was becoming impatient.

  "Whitburn has plenty of money. Graham paid him in advance. We must now concentrate upon Whitburn.

  Attend to that."

  Despite the coldness of the masked man's tones, Prokop was reassured. He felt that he had not failed

  entirely.

  "Are there any new instructions?" he asked.

  "Not at present," replied the Red Envoy.

  "None regarding Prince Zuvor?" questioned Prokop, with a shrewd glance at the man in the crimson

  mask.

  "Has he caused you any difficulty?" asked the Red Envoy.

  "None at all," said Prokop. "We are watching him closely.

  "But the prince is a constant danger to our cause. He is a Russian, and an enemy of the government in

  Moscow. Our ag
ents hate him. All would be glad of the opportunity to -"

  The Red Envoy held up a red-gloved hand.

  "Do not molest Prince Zuvor," he said. "Do not address a single threat to him. He is within our control.

  Should he attempt to elude us, then you may act.

  "The bomb in his special automobile was a wise precaution. But while he is in New York, a single false

  step might betray our cause."

  PROKOP nodded understandingly, but his black eyes shone with unrestrained animosity. His next words

  came from his lips in venomous tones.

  "Prince Zuvor has wealth!" he exclaimed. "Wealth that belongs to us! Some day we shall regain it!"

  "We can wait," said the Red Envoy quietly. "Remember, this is America, not Russia. Here they regard

  Prince Zuvor's money as his own.

  "We have many important plans under way. We must not jeopardize them by seeking vengeance too

  soon."

  "Prince Zuvor has friends," said Prokop. "He gives money to other Russians who supported the czar. He

  has adopted the name of Richard Albion. His American friends are wealthy. He urges them to help those

  who escaped from Russia. He -"

  "Does he know of our activities?" interrupted the Red Envoy. "Has he attempted to discover our meeting

  place?"

  "No. He suspects that we are watching him. He is cautious. He protects himself."

  "Very well. So long as he does no more than that, he must be left alone. He is our decoy. He will lead

  others into our snares, as he brought Berchik into our power. Through him we will learn many things that

  we need to know."

  Prokop nodded slowly The truth of the Red Envoy's words was obvious, even to his prejudiced mind.

  "Remember!" The masked man's voice was emphatic. "Prince Zuvor must be watched—but not harmed!

  One false step would mean ruin. If any agent fails to heed these orders -"

  He held up a gloved hand, and made a mysterious sign which brought a shudder to Prokop's huge

  shoulders.

  While Prokop still nodded his acknowledgment of these instructions, the masked man arose and walked

  from the table. He strode across the room, and stood with one hand upon the knob of the door.

  "I leave now," he said, as Prokop watched him. "I shall visit you again in the near future. Be untiring. Be

  unfailing. Remember all that I have said."

  He placed the forefingers of one gloved hand against the crimson mask that obscured his face. Prokop

  made a similar sign in acknowledgment.

  It was the sign of the secret order which was directed by the controlling hands of those in Moscow.

  The lights in the room were suddenly extinguished. The man at the door had pressed the switch. Prokop

  groped his way across the room, and turned on the lights. His visitor was no longer in the apartment.

  CHAPTER V. VINCENT GOES ON DUTY

  TEN o'clock in the morning. The phone bell rang beside Harry Vincent's bed. Harry yawned as he

  answered it.

  He had only awakened a few minutes before. Living in New York, at the Hotel Metrolite, he was

  accustomed to retiring late at night and rising late in the morning.

  "Messenger just brought a message for you, Mr. Vincent," came the voice over the phone.

  "Send it up," replied Harry.

  He hurriedly donned bath robe and slippers while he awaited the message. Harry knew what the note

  would mean. New action—new work— in behalf of the mysterious Shadow.

  For Harry Vincent was a young man who had experienced many adventures. He had one occupation in

  life: to do The Shadow's bidding.

  He lived a life of leisure, well supplied with money that came from an unknown source; but on occasion

  his idleness was interrupted by orders from The Shadow.

  Then it was his duty to respond; to face unforeseen dangers; to aid The Shadow in his activities.

  Who was The Shadow?

  Harry Vincent did not know.

  Time and again the hand of The Shadow had intervened to save him from danger or death. He had seen

  The Shadow in disguise; he had seen him as a tall, black-clad figure that appeared and vanished in the

  darkness of night; but he had never seen The Shadow's own face.

  A bell boy arrived with the message. Harry dismissed the attendant; then he opened the envelope, and

  scanned the sheet of paper that it contained.

  The letter was written in a simple code, known to Harry Vincent. By a form of letter substitution, Harry

  read it rapidly.

  Watch Stanley Berger. If he meets any one, trail the man he meets. Your work is to discover his

  associates or those who are interested in his affairs.

  The note was unsigned. Harry suspected that it had come from Claude Fellows. But the instructions were

  from The Shadow himself.

  The writing began to fade while Harry was still staring at the paper. A few seconds later, the sheet was

  blank!

  STANLEY BERGER! The name alone was sufficient. Harry Vincent had read the details of Jonathan

  Graham's death.

  Like the police, he had regarded it simply as an unfortunate accident. Even now, it did not dawn on him

  that Berger might have been responsible for the millionaire's death.

  Why did The Shadow desire information regarding Stanley Berger and his associates? That question was

  unanswered.

  After all, it made no difference to Harry Vincent. His work was to watch Berger, and he must begin at

  once.

  Harry dressed rapidly, and hurried down to the lobby. He ate a hasty breakfast in the hotel restaurant.

  Then he consulted a telephone book, and learned Berger's address.

  He rode uptown in the subway, and found the place an old-fashioned apartment house. He located

  Berger's apartment. It was on the second floor, in a front corner of the building.

  Harry went to a corner drug store, and called Berger's number. It would be easy enough to pretend that

  he had made a mistake, when Berger answered the phone. But there was no response.

  Evidently Stanley Berger was not at home. So Harry lingered in the vicinity, while the day went by.

  Working for The Shadow demanded patience. Long waits were not infrequent, but they were usually

  followed by moments of rapid action.

  There was a hotel near the apartment house. Harry went there for lunch. In the lobby, he read the

  evening paper.

  The death of Jonathan Graham now commanded very little space. This was the second day since the

  millionaire importer had plunged to doom from the window of his office in the Farworth Building. Suicide

  was the accepted verdict.

  Harry called Stanley Berger's number three times during the afternoon. He received no answer.

  But at five o'clock, while he was walking past the apartment house, Harry noticed a young man enter the

  building. Believing that it was Berger, he watched the second-story windows. He saw a hand adjust one

  of the shades.

  A light appeared in the apartment, later on. Harry maintained his vigil until seven o'clock, carefully

  watching all who entered the apartment house.

  At seven o'clock, the light went out. Harry waited until his man emerged from the door of the apartment

  house. Then he followed, at a considerable distance.

  Stanley Berger went to the same hotel where Harry had had luncheon. The man went in alone, and

  entered the dining room. Harry followed.

  Berger ordered diner; and Harry did the same. He was careful not to attract the notice of the man whom

  he was following.

  IT wa
s nearly eight o'clock, when Berger, apparently unsuspecting, left the hotel. Harry trailed him, half a

  block behind. Then he noticed something of interest.

  Another man appeared to be on Berger's trail, also.

  The newcomer attracted Harry's attention very suddenly. He was only a few paces behind Stanley

  Berger.

  Stanley Berger entered the subway. An express came along, and the three men entered the same car.

  From the corner of his eye, Harry observed both of the others.

  Stanley Berger was a young man of quiet, unassuming appearance. His face seemed moody and

  meditative. He was well dressed, and his features were intelligent.

  The other man was middle-aged. He had a somewhat rough appearance. His clothes were worn; his face

  was poorly shaven. His eyes were wandering, but keen; and Harry watched them as they became fixed

  momentarily upon Stanley Berger.

  Harry entertained doubts that the man was actually following Berger, until the train stopped at a transfer

  station. Then Berger left the car, and the rough-looking man followed.

  Harry went along, and a few minutes later, the three were gathered together in a crowded car of a

  downtown local.

  Every advantage was in Harry's favor. Berger, thoughtful, and apparently moody, was paying no

  attention whatever to those about him. The other man was watching Berger intently.

  Harry smiled quietly in anticipation of what might occur.

  When Stanley Berger left the car, the other man was close behind. Harry kept a reasonable distance in

  the rear, and had no difficulty whatever in keeping sight of both men while they made their way along a

  side street to Broadway.

  Stanley Berger stopped at a theater. He called for a ticket which had evidently been reserved, and

  entered.

  The other man did not follow. He pretended to be looking at the photographs displayed in the lobby.

  Harry did the same.

  He felt sure that Berger was going to see the show. His trail could be picked up afterward.

  Right now, it was most important to watch this man who seemed to be so interested in Berger's actions.

  THE roughly-clad individual evidently had the same thoughts as Harry, so far as Berger was concerned.

  He left the theater lobby, and walked about uncertainly for a few minutes.