The Red Menace s-4

by Maxwell Grant

  me that he must be cautious. One death should not occur too soon after another, without a good reason."

  "That is true."

  "The new man—Vincent—held communication with some one in the town of Lake Marrinack."

  "When?"

  "Last night. That is why our agent acted immediately to remove Vincent -"

  Prokop was thoughtful.

  "Can't he arrange to send one of the torpedoes to us? That might do instead of the plans."

  "I questioned him regarding that," replied Agent C. "I was watching from the shore, two nights ago. I saw

  a torpedo fall in the lake.

  "Crawford came out in the boat, two hours later, and removed it. But it would have been no good to us.

  The secret lies in the projecting mechanism; not in the torpedo."

  "Has our agent examined the mechanism?"

  "Yes; but there are unknown attachments which the professor applies, alone. He possesses knowledge

  which none of the others have received."

  "Then how will we know if the correct plans are found?"

  "Our agent knows sufficient to identify them if he sees them. He needs only a few clews in the form of

  diagrams. But those are essential."

  Prokop made a motion as if to dismiss the agent; then he called the man back.

  "The new man, Vincent," he said. "Instruct Agent E to remove him as soon as possible."

  "I shall do so."

  "Let Crawford remain—for a while. He is evidently of importance in the work. We have managed to

  move along without interference from him. But as for Vincent—there is only one order. Strike!"

  The agent bowed, and left the room. Prokop suddenly opened the door that led to the meeting place.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here, listening by the door?"

  A small, robed figure entered. The last agent removed the disguise, and Arlette DeLand faced Prokop.

  "Agent R," said Prokop sternly, "I had you remain because I suspected that you were hearing the

  instructions which I gave to others.

  "You have been failing in your work for the cause. Now you may tell me what you heard—while you

  were listening there."

  "You are seeking an excuse," replied the girl. "You kept me until the others had gone so you could

  resume your talk—which was interrupted the other night. Unless you have instructions for me, I shall go."

  Prokop caught the girl's wrist as she stepped toward the door.

  "You shall remain," he hissed.

  "Do not forget the Red Envoy," returned Arlette. "Remember: he is your master."

  Prokop released her for a moment; then he suddenly leaped past her, and blocked the way to the door.

  The girl stepped away, and retreated toward a corner—the very corner in which the shadow obscured

  the wall.

  Arlette cowered, as Prokop advanced. The man loomed above the girl as she neared the corner.

  "Now!" exclaimed Prokop. "Now!"

  A hand appeared from the shadow—a white hand that hung above the head of the cowering girl.

  She did not see the hand; it extended over her. Nor did Prokop see it, for his eyes were upon Arlette.

  Upon the thumb and finger of the hand were splotches of dark powder. The fingers snapped. There was

  a flash of light—a puff of smoke, and a hissing noise.

  Prokop cried out as he staggered backward, his hands clawing at his hooded face. He had been

  momentarily blinded by the sudden flash.

  The pungent fumes of the powder had entered his nostrils. He was totally incapacitated for the moment.

  The girl darted from the room. She could not explain what had happened. She had seen nothing, other

  than the bright flash above her head. The strange occurrence was the advantage that she had needed to

  make her escape.

  WHEN Prokop had recovered from the unexpected shock, he removed his hooded robe, and stood

  blinking, as he gazed toward the corner.

  His vision had returned; yet he could see nothing there. For the mysterious shadowy form had flitted from

  the room immediately after Arlette's escape.

  Prokop snarled as he hid the black garments in the corner. He could not understand what had happened.

  He decided that the girl had been responsible for the powder flash; that she had come prepared for this

  emergency.

  It was true that he had detected her, apparently listening to the instructions that he had given Agent C; at

  the same time, it was also true that he had used that fact as a pretext to cover his real designs.

  He had attempted to disobey the orders of the Red Envoy. Prokop decided to say nothing of this

  occurrence. Hereafter he would ignore the woman, Agent R.

  The leader of the Red group left the building, and made his way to the street. He walked to a corner, and

  turned down a block. There he looked about for a cab. One appeared. Prokop did not know that it had

  been following him.

  He left the cab at an elevated station. He went up the steps on the northbound side, and caught a train a

  few minutes later.

  When that train arrived at the next station, the taxicab awaited it. Prokop did not descend the steps.

  The cab sped on, and arrived at the second station just after the train had left. Still Prokop was not there.

  Whirling madly onward, disregarding crossings, the cab reached the third station just as the train was

  leaving. As it pulled up to the steps, Prokop descended.

  "Cab, sir?" called the driver.

  Prokop stepped aboard. It never occurred to him that he was riding in the same cab that he had left. One

  does not observe the distinctive features of a taxicab.

  Prokop left the cab after a short ride, and walked briskly toward the apartment house where he lived. He

  entered the door, and let it close behind him.

  He glanced back as he did so; but saw nothing but the deep shadows of the entrance. He rode up in the

  automatic elevator.

  It was not on the ground floor when he pushed the button. Prokop did not see the shadowy form that

  moved silently up the stairway to the second floor.

  When the elevator stopped at the third floor, Prokop was in no hurry. He went slowly down the hall, not

  looking behind him; hence he did not see the motion that occurred in the shadowy landing at the top of

  the stairway.

  A few minutes later, a taxi driver was standing in the entrance to the apartment house. He checked the

  number of Prokop's apartment with the name that appeared beside it—Henry Propert.

  Then the cabman left the building. He turned the corner, and reached his cab. He stepped in back, and

  placed a black bundle beneath the seat. Then he drove toward the center of Manhattan.

  He picked up a passenger on the way, and left the man at his destination, near Forty-second Street and

  Broadway. The passenger paid very little notice to the driver when he paid his fare.

  He had not the slightest suspicion that the man who had driven him was the most mysterious personage in

  New York—that master of detection whose name carried fear to the hordes of gangIand—The Shadow!

  CHAPTER XXIV. LATER THAT NIGHT

  THE meeting of the Reds had been held early in the evening. Hence it was not yet midnight when the

  mysterious cab driver rode northward in another cab.

  But now he was a totally different personage. He sat in the back of a cab; he was faultlessly attired in

  expensive tailored clothes; and he appeared as a young and well-groomed man—Lamont Cranston, the

  millionaire.

  The cab stopped in front of the home of Prince Zuvor, and Lamont Cranston
alighted. He rang the

  doorbell and Ivan admitted him. With a profound bow, the Russian servant conducted the guest to the

  room on the second floor.

  Prince Zuvor smiled when he stepped through the curtains. He seemed greatly pleased at Cranston's

  arrival, and his first words carried a question.

  "What transpired the other night?" he asked. "Did any one appear to be following you?"

  "Perhaps it was my imagination," replied Cranston speculatively. "I did fancy that some one was on my

  trail. So I changed cabs, and finally borrowed a limousine of a friend of mine—which chanced to be

  parked near Forty-second Street. I left it at the Landis Club, and I had no difficulty after that."

  "I am surprised that you risked another visit here," remarked Prince Zuvor, with a slight smile. "I told Ivan

  to welcome you when you came again— and I changed that remark to 'if you came again.' For I feared

  that you would be followed, and I imagined that it might discourage you."

  "Indeed not," said the millionaire. "In fact, I merely dropped in for a few minutes, to-night.

  "I have a matter which I should like to discuss with you—not now, but at some later date. When would

  be convenient to you?"

  Prince Zuvor considered. His mind seemed to be formulating a plan, as though he was anxious to suit

  both Lamont Cranston and himself.

  "Suppose," he said, "we set it one week from to-night. At precisely nine o'clock! Would that be

  satisfactory?"

  "That would be excellent," said Lamont Cranston. "You will find that I am punctual in my engagements."

  "But let us consider to-night," said Prince Zuvor. "It was unwise of you to come so soon after your

  previous visit. That is why I suggested an interval of a week before you come again. I think that to-night

  you should leave more secretly."

  Prince Zuvor glanced at his watch; it was nearly midnight.

  "Have you an appointment anywhere?" questioned Cranston.

  "Oh, no," replied the prince quickly. "I seldom leave this house, as you know. I stay here almost all the

  time—I and my servant"—he corrected his last statement—"I should say servants."

  "You have more than one?"

  "Yes. Ivan Shiskin; the one who admitted you. The other is a German named Fritz Bloch. He is not here

  at present."

  "Is it wise for him to go out?"

  "There is no reason why he should not. He is simply a menial; he is not a Russian; hence he is not under

  surveillance of the Red agents."

  "He might be approached by them," observed Cranston casually. "I should think you would be suspicious

  of him."

  "Fritz is all right," replied Prince Zuvor carelessly. "He is reliable. I watch him a bit—so does Ivan.

  "I don't think I shall keep him much longer—not more than a month. He has very little to do, and he is out

  much more often than he is in."

  IT was well after one o'clock when Cranston finally arose to say good night. Zuvor, suave and courteous,

  reminded him of the danger that lurked outside the house.

  "Would you like to try my private exit?" he asked. "It is a way that never fails. I have used it on several

  occasions."

  Lamont Cranston expressed immediate interest.

  "You mean the way by which the man you spoke of escaped?" he questioned. "You know the one I

  mean. Er—er—his name slips my mind."

  "Berchik?"

  "Yes. Berchik."

  "Berchik had a long way to go," said Zuvor. "He is now en route to Australia. So I enabled him to leave

  New York entirely.

  "I assume that you wish to remain here in the city. So I shall explain to you the route which I have used

  myself, and which I reserve for my special friends."

  Prince Zuvor rang a bell; Ivan Shiskin appeared. The man's face was expressionless. Zuvor spoke to him

  in Russian. The import of the words was clear to Lamont Cranston, who understood the language

  perfectly.

  The prince explained that the millionaire was a friend of the late czar. When he added that Cranston

  carried the token of the Seventh Star, Ivan's face lighted up in genuine admiration.

  Prince Zuvor drew Cranston aside, and explained the method of escape.

  "You will enter the side door of a house in back of this one. Go up to the third floor—the house is empty.

  There you will find a ladder, leading to a hatch door in the roof.

  "Next door to the building is a warehouse; a flight of steps will take you into the top of the

  warehouse—the fifth floor. There you will find the entrance to an elevator. Ride down to the first floor.

  "Turn left, and the passage will lead you to a garage beyond the warehouse. There are taxicabs in the

  garage. You will have no difficulty in obtaining one. They go in and out, all hours of the night.

  "Those who watch this house have no suspicion of my secret means of exit. The elevator is so designed

  that it cannot be brought up to the fifth floor by any one who is in it.

  "It is an automatic elevator; and the button marked '5' is useless. But you can bring up the elevator by

  pressing the button on the fifth floor; and you can take it down with no difficulty whatever."

  "How do you return?" asked Cranston. "You cannot ride up in the elevator."

  "I have usually returned by another route," replied Zuvor. "But should I desire to return through the

  warehouse; or to bring any one here by that method, Ivan can be on hand at the appointed time, to

  operate from the fifth floor."

  "Your plan is a good one," said the millionaire. "You are sure that the Red agents do not suspect it?"

  Prince Zuvor shrugged his shoulders.

  "That is possible," he said. "Yet so far, up until a few weeks ago, I am sure that they knew nothing. That

  is why I have reserved this plan for leaving, only. It would be unwise to come back the same way.

  "Now, I suggest that you go with Ivan. He will conduct you—in fact, he will disguise you so that you

  cannot be recognized, if seen."

  Cranston looked at the Russian servant.

  "Ivan was connected with the Imperial Theater, in Petrograd," explained Zuvor. "He is exceedingly clever

  at make-up. I should advise you to test his skill."

  "Very well."

  Cranston bowed to the prince; then he followed Ivan Shiskin. The servant led him downstairs to the

  basement. In a back room, Ivan brought out some make-up boxes.

  "Just a mustache," said Cranston, in fluent Russian. "Place it here, with a twist on the ends."

  Ivan was expressionless as he followed the instructions. Then he bowed, and pointed to the door.

  Cranston stepped into the alleyway; he followed it to the side door of the house in back. He entered the

  house, and closed the door behind him.

  The millionaire moved cautiously up the stairs. His footsteps were quiet, and careful. He reached the third

  floor, and found the ladder to the roof.

  He crouched low, after he had emerged; he replaced the hatchway, and moved toward the warehouse.

  His coat was drawn closely about him; his hat was held tightly on his head. He suddenly became almost

  invisible in the darkness.

  The steps to the warehouse were painted white. They went up the outside of the building, which

  connected with the adjoining house.

  Cranston reached the top, and opened the door. He found himself in a large room, which had large

  windows. It was fairly luminous because of lights that shone from the avenue beyond.

  The millionaire pressed the button beside the
entrance to the elevator. It was a small elevator, evidently

  used by those who had business in the warehouse.

  Cranston listened intently, as he heard the elevator ascend. His ear was pressed to the door; the sound of

  the mechanism seemed to have a meaning to him.

  The elevator reached the fifth floor, and stopped with a jolt, followed by a slight click. Lamont Cranston

  did not open the door. Instead, he moved across the floor to another door, that appeared to be an

  entrance.

  Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow. His evolution had begun as he had entered the house in

  back of Zuvor's residence.

  A small steel tool entered the keyhole of the locked door. It probed the interior, and turned the lock. The

  door seemed to open of its own accord. It led to a stairway, down into the warehouse.

  The being that descended the steps was totally invisible. The Shadow had closed and locked the door

  behind him; now he was bound for the first floor, using the stairway instead of the elevator.

  His form arrived at the elevator door on the ground floor—the car did not appear there.

  An invisible hand came from the darkness. The Shadow pressed the control button that would bring the

  elevator down from the fifth floor.

  A snapping sound resulted—far above. With a grinding whir, the elevator carriage dropped from its lofty

  height.

  A terrific burst of air came through the wide crack of the door on the first floor; then the falling elevator

  whizzed past, and crashed at the bottom of the shaft, below the basement.

  Some one had fixed the mechanism. The Red agents had planned a certain death for whoever might leave

  Prince Zuvor's house by this secret route. When the elevator had arrived at the unused fifth floor, it had

  set the mechanism automatically.

  A few minutes later, a man appeared in the garage adjoining the warehouse. He appeared to have come

  in from the street, along with a few others who had heard the muffled crash of the falling elevator. This

  man was well dressed; his face was adorned with a turned-up mustache.

  After a short survey of his surroundings, the man stepped into the street, and entered a taxi that was

  standing outside the garage. The driver had intended to put his car away; but this opportunity for a late