The Red Menace s-4

by Maxwell Grant

  had at his disposal, he had been unable to track the mysterious thief.

  Another report was from Burbank. This man, a valuable worker for The Shadow, had been watching

  Prokop's apartment. He had seen Prokop leave the apartment; he had observed another man enter and

  leave, a few hours later. Those events had taken place on the same night that the Red Envoy had

  appeared at Death Island. Since then, Prokop had not returned home.

  The hands began to write beneath the light:

  Prokop left a note for the Red Envoy. It was the Red Envoy who entered and left the apartment, a few

  hours later. He must have flown from Connecticut by plane.

  Despite the fact that Marquette has obtained no results, the inference is obvious. The Red Envoy sailed

  for Europe on the Dresden. He will reach Cherbourg day after to-morrow.

  Prokop had all passage arrangements in readiness. He left the apartment after receiving a long-distance

  call from the Red Envoy.

  When the latter reached New York, he went to Prokop's to pick up the information. Burbank saw him

  arrive and leave.

  Prokop is playing a safe game. He is hiding until the meeting to-night. He is the only man who knows the

  Red Envoy's plans. He took all incriminating documents from his apartment. A brief search has revealed

  nothing.

  There is one sure way to trace the Red Envoy's route. Once in Europe, he will be comparatively safe.

  Prokop made the arrangements. Prokop must be made to tell them, unless—

  The hand paused, then added:

  Unless a final search unearths a clew.

  The hands opened a large envelope, and brought out time-tables of European railways. These came

  under a careful perusal. Then the hand wrote:

  Air routes are quickest across Europe; but passengers are too easily observed. Red Envoy will probably

  travel by rail. This must be confirmed. Taking Prokop alone is bad enough; raid on meeting would be

  worse. Might not get all.

  Then came a few vague suggestions, written, crumpled, and tossed away, as though the brain behind the

  hands was searching for tangible ideas.

  Finally the hand prepared a schedule, compiled from the railway guides. The single word: "Confirm" was

  written at the top. The paper was folded between the hands. The light was extinguished.

  Approximately one-half hour later, a man walked leisurely up the street by the apartment house where

  Prokop lived. He disappeared outside the building.

  A few minutes later he was in Prokop's apartment. He was invisible there; only his flashlight betrayed his

  presence. He was searching, with infinite care.

  His hand showed white beneath the light, as it discovered a small pad wedged behind a desk drawer.

  The ray of the flashlight was centered on the pad. The fingers of the hand touched the surface of the top

  sheet of paper. Then the hand disappeared.

  It came back, holding a small phial, filled with a black powder. It sprinkled the powder on the paper, and

  rubbed it into the surface.

  Faint traces of writing appeared when the powder had been brushed away. The letters were followed by

  numbers. They gave the names and times of railway trains. The hand appeared with a folded sheet of

  paper, and opened it. A careful comparison was made.

  The schedule which The Shadow had prepared by careful reasoning corresponded exactly with the one

  that he had found.

  Prokop had written the list on the pad. He had torn off the top sheet. The impression had remained on

  the pad, which had dropped behind the desk drawer, when Prokop had put it away.

  The Envoy had taken the actual list; the clew had remained.

  The hand wrote on the list which had been prepared by deduction. It inscribed a single word: "Correct."

  The figure disappeared from Prokop's apartment.

  SOME thirty minutes later, a shadowy form approached the front door of Prince Zuvor's residence. The

  shape was invisible in the darkness. It seemed to melt against the shadow of the door; then the door

  opened slowly and closed again.

  The hallway was dark within. Persons on the street could not have seen the strange action of the door.

  Shortly after that, Ivan Shiskin was attracted by a light in the front room on the second floor. He came in

  softly; as he did, the curtains parted at the side of the room, and Prince Zuvor appeared.

  "Master!" exclaimed Ivan, in Russian. "I did not hear you enter the house."

  "I came in quietly, little one," was the reply in Russian.

  "I did not expect you to-night, master. You said that you would not return until to-morrow."

  "What instructions did I give you?"

  "You said this, master. When he who carries the sign of the Seventh Circle comes at eight o'clock -"

  "To-morrow night."

  "Yes, master. To-morrow night. You said that I shall tell him, 'My master will be here soon.' Then you

  said that I should tell him to wait in this room."

  "Very good, Ivan."

  "Master." The servant's voice was humble. "You seem different, to-night. You seem -"

  "I am worried, Ivan. That is why I have returned. I have been gone for several days, and I have been in

  danger. To-night, I have work to do. Work for you. Come."

  Ivan followed Prince Zuvor.

  They reached the basement. The prince went to the place where Ivan kept the make-up boxes, and

  removed them.

  "Master," said Ivan. "Let me form your disguise."

  Prince Zuvor shook his head.

  "No, Ivan. I am not going out. It is you who will go out to-night. You will be Fritz. You will go in my

  place."

  "Where, master?"

  "To a meeting, little one. Listen closely -"

  BRIEFLY, the prince explained that Ivan was to be Agent K. He told how the Red meeting was held.

  He gave Ivan the signs, and all the necessary instructions.

  The only fact that he subtly omitted was the most important one— that these men who would meet were

  Reds. Ivan noted the instructions; he did not ask their purpose.

  "Remember, Ivan," admonished the prince, as he carefully arranged the servant's face to resemble that of

  the pretended Fritz Bloch, "we must protect the cause of the czar."

  "Aye, master."

  The disguise was completed. Ivan stared in wonderment as Prince Zuvor held a mirror before his eyes.

  "Your work, master," he said, "is more skillful than mine. I cannot understand."

  "You have prepared my disguise so often," explained the prince. "I have remembered every movement.

  You make as good a Fritz as I do. Now speak."

  Ivan Shiskin uttered a few words in guttural English.

  "Now go," said Zuvor. He raised his hand. "Go. Remember all that happens. Go, in the name of the

  czar."

  After the servant had left by the front door, Prince Zuvor returned to the room on the second floor. He

  passed through the curtains, and did not return. Instead, a strange, mysterious figure emerged.

  It was that of a man clad in black, wearing a black cloak and a black hat. He laughed as he stood in the

  center of the room, and his laugh echoed weirdly from the walls.

  Shortly afterward, the same figure came from the front door of Prince Zuvor's house. There was no

  sedan outside to-night; yet the figure kept to the shadows. Reaching the corner of the avenue, the man

  became less stealthy. He stepped into a taxicab, and gave an address to the driver.

  The cab arrived a short time later in front of a hotel near Times Square. The passen
ger alighted and

  entered the hotel. He stopped at the desk, and gave the number of a room. The clerk made the call.

  "Mr. Marquette?" he asked. "Yes? A gentleman to see you."

  He turned to the man in black, who was looking in the opposite direction.

  "Go right up, sir," said the clerk.

  CHAPTER XXXI. AT THE MEETING

  ONE by one the Red agents had assembled at their meeting place. They had been scrutinized and

  admitted by Prokop.

  To-night he had questioned none of them. He was anxious to begin the meeting. He had been particularly

  pleased when Fritz Bloch had appeared.

  When all had gathered in the large room, Prokop entered and stood before them. He surveyed the entire

  group. Then he began to speak.

  "Comrades," he said, "I have important news to give you. One of our number has sought to betray us.

  What is the answer?"

  "Death!" came a hiss from the group of dark-robed agents. "Death!"

  "Death is the verdict," repeated Prokop. "We shall act as one. Any who may encounter the betrayer must

  strike. Is it agreed?"

  "Agreed!" came the murmur of voices.

  "This agent is a woman," continued Prokop. "Her name is Arlette DeLand. Seek her out. She must die. I

  shall show her picture to each of you as you leave."

  A low murmur ran through the group; it died away immediately. Prokop held up his hand for silence.

  "There is work for one of us," he said. "Great work. One of our number shall strike a glorious blow for

  our cause. To-morrow night, two men meet. One of them I shall not name—save to mention that he is an

  enemy to our cause. He intends to meet our archenemy, Prince Zuvor."

  An angry rumble surged through the crowd.

  "Death!" hissed a voice, and another repeated the cry.

  "Silence," ordered Prokop. "I have chosen one man as best suited for this work.

  "Some of you have watched Prince Zuvor. This one has constantly been on guard. He has served for

  months as Zuvor's servant. His ears have been stung with remarks that he has heard—remarks belittling

  our cause.

  "He has done much for us. Through him we have discovered many facts pertaining to Prince Zuvor. So to

  this man I give the privilege of destroying three enemies: Prince Zuvor, his friend; and his Royalist servant,

  Ivan Shiskin."

  There was an impressive silence. Then:

  "Agent K. Step forward."

  For a moment no one responded. Then there was a stir, and a hooded figure advanced slowly toward

  Prokop.

  The leader of the Reds conducted him to the end of the room. There he lifted a spherical object from a

  box. He carried the object carefully, and showed it beneath the light.

  "This bomb," he said, "is of our newest pattern. When the dial is set, and the clockwork is put in motion,

  it will explode at the exact minute.

  "You will use it to-morrow night, Comrade K. Use it for our cause. Destroy our enemy—your

  enemy—Prince Zuvor!"

  THE man designated as Agent K received the bomb. Prokop explained the mechanism, in a

  matter-of-fact manner, as though taking it for granted that the agent understood.

  Then he let the man join the others, while he proceeded with another announcement.

  "A great victory has been won for our cause," he said. "I cannot tell you its exact nature; but among us

  are those who worked long. They are here to-night, after a long absence.

  "I welcome them, in the name of the cause. Before this week is ended, our leaders in Russia will have

  plans that will enable them to defeat their enemies in aerial warfare."

  This news was received with acclamation, whispered remarks expressing the sentiments of the group.

  Then Prokop spoke his final words.

  "Remember, Agent K," he said, singling out that individual. "You must not fail. Should you fail, others will

  carry out your work. If you fear that you may fail, say so now.

  "You are the one that I have chosen. I rely on you to destroy the enemies to the cause which you

  represent.

  "Remember: Destroy, even though it may mean your own life. We are willing to die for our cause."

  "We are willing to die," responded the members of the group.

  The man who held the bomb stood motionless. The others crowded about him for a few minutes, while

  they looked at the piece of mechanism in his hands.

  A brain was working within the black hood which Ivan Shiskin wore. It was groping for the truth, and its

  efforts were only partly successful.

  It had taken Ivan a while to realize that he was in the midst of Red Agents. When he had fully understood

  that fact, he had been suddenly summoned, and the bomb had been placed in his possession.

  This was where his master came, when he left his home disguised as Fritz Bloch! For months, Ivan had

  aided Prince Zuvor to disguise himself.

  He had wondered why his master had been able to leave the house in safety under that disguise, while the

  house was being so closely watched.

  It never occurred to his loyal mind that Prince Zuvor could be one of these. He was sure that he

  understood the exact circumstances. His master had been spying on these Reds, through clever use of the

  disguise.

  He had told them that he was a servant of the Russian prince. They had believed him.

  Ivan was filled with admiration for his master.

  But why had he been sent to-night? Prince Zuvor could have come himself. What were the last words

  that the prince had told him?

  "Go, in the name of the czar!"

  That sentence kept repeating itself over and over in his mind; then it became identified with a statement

  made by the leader of this gang.

  "We are willing to die for our cause."

  HIS cause was greater than theirs! To Ivan, the name of the czar meant more than life. He began to

  believe that Prince Zuvor had sent him here for a great purpose.

  His master had been different to-night. He had himself enabled Ivan to arrange his disguise. Princely

  hands had formed the features of the mythical Fritz Bloch upon the countenance of a Russian servant.

  In all his thoughts, Ivan exaggerated.

  He did not know that it was not his master who had sent him here, but another, a pretended Prince

  Zuvor.

  He did not realize that the purpose of his mission was simply to bring back the bomb, that it might be

  obtained as evidence against the Reds.

  All that his brain could grasp was that these men had threatened the death of Prince Zuvor; that he had

  been delegated to that task; that if he failed, others would assume the duty.

  His loyalty to Prince Zuvor; his mission in the name of the czar. These beliefs dominated Ivan's mind.

  He suddenly realized that he was standing alone; that the members of the group had drawn apart. The

  meeting would soon be over.

  It was then that Ivan Shiskin sprang to mental action. Slowly and deliberately, he turned toward the wall,

  and adjusted the dial on the bomb.

  He put the mechanism in motion. He glanced up, and noted that the leader was turning to leave the room.

  Ivan made one more adjustment of the dial, and with a cry of triumph he flung the bomb toward the door.

  The heavy object struck the floor. The bomb exploded instantly. The walls shook, and the house

  collapsed. The cellar was filled with a mass of smoke. All who stood there were buried in the debris.

  Not one of the Red agents survived the horrible catastrophe. They died, still
clad in the robes that

  concealed their identities. Most of them were killed instantly.

  Ivan Shiskin had gone—gone in the service of the czar! He had died to save his master, Prince Zuvor, in

  whom he believed, and to whom he was loyal. He was willing to die for his cause, and in dying, he

  brought his enemies to their doom.

  CHAPTER XXXII. THE SILVER COMET

  VIC MARQUETTE was thinking—thinking in the silence of his hotel room— thinking in total darkness.

  That darkness had existed ever since his visitor had arrived.

  Marquette had left the door ajar; a hand had come through the opening, and had turned off the light.

  Then an invisible form had entered, and had seated itself in a chair. A voice had spoken from the

  blackness—a voice that was no louder than a whisper. For half an hour it had held Vic Marquette

  spellbound.

  For the secret-service man had known the identity of his unknown visitor. That personage had been The

  Shadow; and he had calmly proposed a scheme that had proven bewildering.

  The Shadow had explained facts to Vic Marquette—terse, pointed facts; and when he had finished

  speaking, he had left but one solution - a single plan of action, to which Marquette could do nothing other

  than agree.

  Yet it was fully fifteen minutes after his visitor had gone when Marquette aroused himself to action.

  The Shadow's plan was a remarkable one—it depended upon chance to a great degree. Yet Marquette

  had faith in The Shadow. He knew that the man performed seeming miracles.

  The plan which he had proposed demanded courage and ability; one important detail depended upon

  Marquette. Yet Marquette was to assume no risk whatever.

  The secret-service man turned on the light. He picked up his hat, and left the room. He went to the street

  and called for a cab. He gave the driver the name of a hotel on Sixty-second Street.

  Reaching his destination, Marquette told the man at the desk that he wished to speak to Lieutenant

  Branson.

  The room clerk shook his head.

  "Orders not to disturb," he said. "He is asleep."

  "I must see him," replied Marquette firmly.

  "You can talk to his friend, Mr. Peterson," said the clerk. "The gentleman over there in the corner of the

  lobby."

  Marquette walked over and stepped up to a man who was writing at a desk.