THE REDS MEET
THE next afternoon, Claude Fellows received a report from Bruce Duncan. He did not read it; he inclosed it in another envelope and sent it to the office on Twenty-third Street.
Early in the evening, Duncan’s report came beneath the glare of the shaded light, and the fire opal gleamed like the eye of a monster while the slender hands held the written page.
The information which Harry Vincent had forwarded through Bruce Duncan was not highly illuminating. Had the message been sent a few hours later, it might have included the amazing revelations made by Vic Marquette. As it was, Harry Vincent’s impressions were of ghosts — not aerial torpedoes.
But in his report, Duncan had included his own experience — how he had recognized the dead body of Berchik. A hand that held a pencil underscored this passage.
Then the light was extinguished. Silence reigned in the darkened room. The presence that had inhabited the place was gone. The Shadow had left on some new mission.
An hour later, the watching sedan was parked across the street from Prince Zuvor’s residence. One of the men stepped from the car, and walked up toward the corner of the avenue. A taxi chanced to come along the street; the man hailed it, and gave his destination.
He left the cab later, walked a block, and took a second cab. This cab was immediately followed by the one which the rider had deserted.
The pursuing vehicle kept well behind, but the driver did not lose his trail. When the leading cab stopped in the middle of a dark block, the second cab also stopped.
The passenger in the first cab walked a few paces; then suddenly turned into a passage between two warehouses. Still, the second cab remained, inconspicuous on the street.
Another person arrived and took the same path between the buildings.
The driver of the waiting cab alighted and stepped into the back of his vehicle. One might have seen him go in, he was scarcely visible when he came out. The only evidence of his departure was a blot that appeared momentarily beside the cab.
Another person entered the space between the warehouses. This man walked cautiously through the shadowless darkness.
Occasionally he looked behind him; but he saw nothing. How could he observe anything in a place where shadows were invisible?
The man entered a basement door. As the dim light from the room cast its rays upon the ground outside the door, a blotch appeared there.
But it was unnoticed. The door was closed.
OTHERS arrived for the meeting, feeling their way through the darkness of the basement. After all had gone in, the door that led to the little room opened gently, and a tall, shadowy form slipped into the antechamber.
It crossed the room, and listened at the door of the meeting room. It remained there — motionless.
After some minutes, the door to the meeting room was opened, and a hooded man stepped into the antechamber.
He was too late to detect the presence that was standing there; for when the knob of the door had turned, the strange, waiting figure moved away, and became a heavy shadow in the opposite corner of the room.
Prokop — masked beyond recognition — was the man who had entered. One by one he summoned his agents and dismissed them. This was a rapid procedure, until he came to Agent M.
Prokop talked with this man, in the outer room.
“You are still watching Zuvor?” he questioned.
“Yes,” replied the agent. “Some one visited him a few nights ago.”
“Did you follow the stranger when he left?”
“Yes; but he eluded us.”
“You were negligent,” exclaimed Prokop angrily.
“The man must have been the devil, himself,” was the agent’s reply. “We kept on his trail; but somehow, he slipped away while we were watching.”
“Do not let it happen again,” said Prokop.
The agent left. Prokop muttered half aloud.
“That will count against Zuvor,” he said. “Perhaps now we may strike.”
He called for Agent K. In a minute, Fritz Bloch, Zuvor’s German servant, was standing before Prokop.
“A visitor came to Zuvor’s house?” questioned the leader of the agents.
“Yes,” replied Fritz, in his thick tones. “His name was Lamont Cranston.”
“Who is he?”
“A wealthy man.”
“Why did he visit Zuvor?”
“To talk about Russia. He is to come again.”
“How did he leave?”
“By the front door.”
“Did Zuvor offer to conduct him to safety?” There was a sarcastic note to Prokop’s voice.
“Yes,” said Fritz, “but he refused. Zuvor told him that enemies were waiting outside. But he refused to listen.”
“Watch for him in the future,” advised Prokop.
WHEN Fritz had gone, Prokop called for Agent C. This fellow was a quiet-faced man, who looked steadily at the hooded form of his chief.
“You have come from the island?” questioned Prokop.
“Yes,” replied the agent. “I spoke with Agent E this morning.
“Good! What progress is he making?”
“He has been unable to find the plans. He has hopes; but asks you to be patient. He has fraternized with the man named Marsh. He has gained his support.”
“What of the other?”
“Crawford is a danger. Agent E has sought to remove him; but without success. Two have been eliminated: Blades and Barrows. Crawford remains; also the new man, Vincent.”
“What has been done in his case?”
“Our agent planned to remove him last night. The method was a good one, yet it failed, he says.”
“He should not fail.”
“He cannot always be successful. Remember that his plots are subtle. He cannot betray himself. He told 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 gangland — The Shadow!