THE RED ENVOY
LATE that evening, a man entered an apartment house in upper Manhattan. He was short and heavy set, with a grim face that bore signs of ugliness. He walked abruptly through the hallway and took the automatic elevator to the third floor.
There he opened the door of an apartment and entered a darkened room. He pressed a switch on the wall. Then he turned toward the far corner of the room. A quick gasp came from his lips.
Behind a small desk sat a man in a dark-blue overcoat, who wore a crimson mask that covered the upper half of his face.
“The Red Envoy!” exclaimed the man who had entered the room.
The figure behind the desk did not reply. The man in the crimson mask was motionless. His hands lay upon the desk; they were hidden within thin red gloves.
The man who had come into the apartment recovered his composure. He glanced about the room, noticing that the shades were drawn. He deposited his hat on a chair, and approached the desk.
“I did not expect you to-night,” he said respectfully.
“Why not?” asked the man who wore the crimson mask. His voice was low, and even-toned. “You have much to report, Comrade Prokop.”
“That is correct.” Prokop was speaking in English, his words slightly thickened by a trace of foreign accent. He drew up a chair and sat opposite the Red Envoy.
DESPITE his formidable appearance, the man called Prokop seemed nervous in the presence of the masked man who wore the red gloves.
Coming back to his apartment to find the Red Envoy awaiting him had been a startling experience. Prokop did not know how the mysterious man had entered the apartment; nor did he ask.
“What took place to-night?” questioned the Red Envoy.
“Reports,” replied Prokop tersely. “Two enemies have been eliminated. Graham and Berchik are dead.”
“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 agents 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.