THE RED MEETING
PROKOP was seated at the desk in his apartment. He was busily engaged in writing. A clock on the desk showed half past ten. Prokop went to the bookcase and removed the encyclopedia which he used to conceal his important papers.
He removed a few documents. Then he looked puzzled. An envelope lay among them — an envelope which was addressed to him in bright-red ink. The color of the writing carried significance.
Prokop opened the envelope. He had not placed it there himself. He could not imagine how it had come among his papers.
The letter was also in red ink; its characters had been carefully printed, and its words were short in their explanation:
You will not find this letter until just before the meeting. I have just been to see Berger. He will commit suicide. He was about to betray us. Watch Harry Vincent, who lives at the Hotel Metrolite. He is an enemy.
A strange, cryptic sign appeared at the bottom of the note. Prokop knew that it had come from the Red Envoy. That mysterious individual had come unknown to the apartment, last night and had left this message.
Prokop added it to the papers which he had just written. He thrust the entire lot into his pocket, and donned an overcoat. Then he left the apartment.
After walking several blocks, Prokop hailed a taxicab. It took him to a corner near an elevated station. He took the “L,” and rode a few stops onward.
Reaching the street, he again utilized a cab for a distance of half a mile. He left it at the corner of a side street. After the vehicle had driven on, Prokop looked about him.
Then, sure that he was not being observed, he went down the street, and turned suddenly along a walk that led between two warehouses. He reached the back of an old house, and entered a basement door.
Moving through the darkness, the man arrived in a small room. There he lighted an oil lamp. The cellar room was windowless.
Prokop went to a corner, and removed a few boxes that were filled with tin cans and pieces of junk. Under them was an old box with a hinged top. He opened it, and drew out a dozen black hooded robes.
He donned one of these, and the masklike front fell before his face, leaving only two eye holes to see through.
With his identity thus concealed, Prokop reached under his robe, and drew a small red tag from his coat pocket. He pinned this to the left sleeve of the robe which enveloped him.
Then he sat upon a box which stood on end, and waited, motionless.
A FEW minutes later, there was a slight tap at the door. The man beneath the robe uttered a peculiar whistle, which was soft, yet clear. The door opened, and Volovick entered. He spoke a few words in Russian. Prokop replied.
“Agent F,” said Volovick, in English.
“Correct,” answered Prokop.
Volovick donned one of the black robes, and stood in an attitude of attention.
“Report,” said Prokop.
Volovick spoke low and rapidly, in Russian. He was giving an account of last night’s happenings. Prokop made no comment.
When Volovick had finished, Prokop made a single remark in Russian. Volovick obeyed it as a command. He opened a door on the far side of the room, and entered another compartment of the cellar.
A second visitor gave the signal outside. This one brought no report. While he was donning his robe, a third person tapped at the door.
Prokop hissed a different whistle. It signified that the person should wait. As soon as the second agent had completed his disguise, and had gone to join Volovick, Prokop admitted the third person.
One by one, the Red agents arrived. Each was submitted to a brief questioning by Prokop. Each gave his designated letter.
Seven of them had entered the inner chamber; yet Prokop still waited. A tap at the door. Prokop responded with the signal. A girl came in — she was the girl known as Arlette DeLand.
“Agent R,” she announced.
“Correct,” replied Prokop.
The girl donned one of the robes.
“Report,” said Prokop.
“I have met Bruce Duncan,” said the girl.
“What have you learned?”
“Nothing, as yet.”
“You have had sufficient time.”
“Not to work without suspicion. You ordered me to work slowly. It will require patient effort. I am anxious to let him mention the subject of the jewels of his own accord.”
“That is best. You are right. Proceed cautiously. If you obtain unexpected results, give the usual signal. Stop in front of the Pink Rat, at eight o’clock. Wait there five minutes; but do not enter.”
Prokop pointed to the inner room. The girl joined the others.
A few seconds later, there was another tap at the door. A ruddy-faced man with a short-clipped mustache was admitted by Prokop.
“Agent K,” he said, in guttural tones.
“Correct.”
The man appeared to be a German. He stepped methodically across the room, and garbed himself in one of the cowled robes.
“Report, Agent K.”
The German spoke in English. His voice was low and thick. Prokop listened closely, intent upon every word.
“Zuvor was at the club to-night,” he said. “He returned shortly before I came away.”
“Do you think that he is planning any scheme?”
“I do not know.”
“Watch him closely. You are sure that he has arranged no new methods of escape?”
“I am sure. The dictaphone is hidden in his room. I can hear all from the third floor.”
“What about his other servant?”
“Ivan is the same as always. He knows nothing. He suspects nothing. He never leaves the place.”
“Very good.” Prokop motioned to the other room. Fritz, the German, left to join the others. Prokop bolted the door of the little room; then he, too, went to the meeting place.
THE black-robed group had assembled in a large, stonewalled room, where their forms seemed like spectral shapes, beneath the light of three lanterns that hung from the low ceiling.
Prokop stood at one end of the room, like a master of the inquisition. He alone knew the identities of the assembled agents. He had absolute control over the entire group.
He raised one hand above his head, and held it there. The others copied the action. Prokop lowered his hand. The agents did likewise.
Moving about the group, Prokop spoke to each one in turn — repeating a short, cryptic sentence. Each black-cowled person spoke in response. Having renewed their oaths of fealty, Prokop prepared to dismiss them.
He approached one agent and tapped him on the shoulder. The man went to the outer room. After a few minutes, Prokop dismissed another.
He allowed sufficient time for each to discard the robe in the outer room, and to leave the vicinity of the meeting place before another followed.
The agents maintained absolute silence during this procedure. No one ever spoke to another. One by one, they departed, until only four remained. Then Prokop left the group, and went to the outer room himself.
As he reached the door, he turned, and said:
“Agent M.”
One of the gowned men followed. As soon as they were alone in the outer room, Agent M removed his disguise.
“You followed Prince Zuvor to-night?” questioned Prokop.
“Yes,” replied the man.
“Where did he go?”
“To the Cobalt Club.”
“How long was he there?”
“A few hours.”
“Where did he go after that?”
“I followed him to his house.”
“Good! Did you make arrangements to watch while you left?”
“Yes. The house is carefully guarded.”
“Go back, then, and keep watching. Observe any one who may enter there. No further instructions.”
The man left. Prokop went to the door of the inner room, and summoned Agent F. This was Volovick.
“I have been considering what happened last night,” said Prokop. “You acted rashly. Nothing may come of it; but we must be safe.”
He drew forth a yellow card, and gave it to Volovick.
“Keep this as a reminder,” said Prokop.
Volovick nodded, and left.
Prokop called for Agent F. The man appeared, and removed his robe. He was a short, wiry individual, with a cunning face.
“I have work for you,” said Prokop, in a low voice. “Go to the Hotel Metrolite. Stay there. Watch a man named Harry Vincent.
“Learn everything that you can about him. Use the name that you used before — Ernest Manion. Go where Vincent goes. Report as usual.”
The short man nodded. He departed, and Prokop called the single agent who remained.
“Agent R.”
THE girl entered the outer room. She had been standing near the door, awaiting her call. She slipped the robe from her shoulders, and looked quizzically at the hooded man who spoke to her.
“You have your instructions,” said Prokop.
“Yes,” replied Arlette. “Are there any further orders?”
“None.”
“Then I shall go.”
“Wait!” — Prokop spoke commandingly. “There is something I wish to tell you.”
A puzzled expression appeared upon the girl’s face.
“Arlette,” said Prokop, in a low voice. “there is no reason why you should be content with being a mere worker for our cause. I have a plan by which you can be much more important.”
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
“I am perfectly content,” she said.
“Perhaps,” replied Prokop, in soft, insinuating tones, “but that is because you do not look to the future.
“I have power. My position is important. If you will follow my suggestions, you will gain anything you desire.”
“You have talked this way before,” said the girl tersely. “But at that time there were others in the meeting room. I see your purpose to-night.
“We are alone; but I do not fear you. Again, I tell you that I am not interested in any plan which you may make.”
“Be careful what you say,” warned Prokop. “Remember, my word is law. You cannot oppose my will.”
“Your word is not law,” replied Arlette. “You have no power of your own. The real power belongs with the one who directs you. You cannot deceive me with false promises.”
She turned to leave the room. Prokop stepped forward and seized her wrist. The girl turned; her eyes were furious as she stared at the mask which covered the man’s face.
“Listen to me,” said Prokop grimly. “I have chosen you to be mine. You cannot oppose me.”
With his free hand, he lifted the cloth that hung over his face. The girl recoiled as she saw, for the first time, the evil look on Prokop’s features.
The man quickly dropped the mask, and gripped Arlette’s wrist more tightly, as she struggled to free herself. He clutched her other arm, and drew her toward him. The girl did not attempt to scream. She fought fiercely in her efforts to escape.
PROKOP’S strength was overpowering her. Then, suddenly, his grip relaxed. Gasping from exertion, Arlette staggered to the wall, and leaned there. For a few seconds she could not understand why the man had released her.
Prokop was standing motionless, facing directly toward the door. Arlette looked in the direction of his gaze. She gasped in astonishment.
The door had opened, and a man was standing there. He was tall and slender, and he wore a close-fitting suit of dark blue. His face was hidden behind a crimson mask. His hands, which rested upon his hips, were covered with red gloves.
“So!” The soft exclamation came from the man who wore the crimson mask. “I have interrupted. Perhaps it is well that I came here to-night.”
Prokop still stood rigid, and motionless.
The red-masked man looked at Arlette.
“Who is the lady?” he questioned suavely.
“Agent R,” mumbled Prokop.
The man with the crimson mask approached Arlette, and bowed. The girl stared in bewilderment. The masked man spoke slowly, uttering each word with careful pronunciation.
“I am the Red Envoy,” said the strange man. “Have you received your instructions?”
The girl nodded.
“You will forget what has occurred. I can assure you that it will not happen again.”
Arlette nodded again. The Red Envoy made another bow.
“You may go,” he said.
Arlette walked slowly toward the door.
The sudden interruption had left her dazed. She had really believed Prokop when he had told her that he was the controlling power of the organization. The appearance of the Red Envoy had startled and amazed her.
When the girl had gone, the Red Envoy turned to Prokop. He made no reference to the incident which he had just interrupted. He spoke as though it had all been forgotten.
“Give me your report,” said the Red Envoy.