THE old house in Gostinny Ulitza had the appearance of an abandoned building. It resembled one of many structures which had been temporarily converted into apartments, and had later been condemned as unsafe.
The archway leading through to the court was closed by a rusty iron gate. The lower windows were barred. Everything had been done to give the appearance of dilapidation and disuse.
So cleverly had this been accomplished that none of the Czarist agents in Moscow had even begun to suspect that the uninhabited place differed in any way from similar houses.
Along the side of the building extended a narrow alley with broken paving. This was the spot through which entrance was effected. A low, obscure door opened upon the alley. It was not necessary to unbar the rusty gate at the front.
As ten o’clock approached, hidden persons began to congregate in the neighborhood of the old house.
Stealthy figures crept into the alley. Unseen attackers were massing for Senov’s coup.
Caticornered across the street was another antiquated building that was undergoing repairs. A strolling man entered the archway and stood slightly away from the sidewalk.
Two more strollers arrived and joined him. They spoke in low whispers. The first man answered in a firm, dominating voice. It was the voice of Senov. The leader was here.
Footsteps clicked from the opposite direction. A walking man approached along the street. He crossed toward the abandoned house, and paused to light a cigarette. The faint light of an old-fashioned street lamp showed that he wore a uniform.
Senov uttered a low exclamation. His companions stood tense beside him. Well did they know the purpose of this chance passer-by. He was one of the watchers who secretly patrolled this neighborhood.
Seemingly off duty, it was his real work to see that no prowlers lingered in the vicinity of the old house.
The soldier walked into the alley. Senov and his companions listened. Nothing disturbed the silence.
Senov uttered a low laugh.
The fate of the guard was obvious. Czarists, waiting for his arrival, had overpowered him the moment that he had stepped from the street.
Senov gave a firm command. The two men left him, and each went in an opposite direction. Senov waited. Soon new forms appeared. Silent men carried obscure objects into the alley. The dim lights of an automobile appeared at the corner. The lights were extinguished.
THROUGH the clear night air came the booming strokes of a distant clock. As the tenth stroke rang out, Senov walked firmly from his hiding place, and strode across the street.
As he came to the entrance of the alley, he uttered a sharp word that passed as a countersign. Two men emerged from the darkness, and stood aside, watching the entrance of the alley as Senov kept onward.
The leader reached the little door of the old house. His body showed against the white paint. Again he spoke. Two other men approached and stood beside him.
With iron fist, Senov rapped twice upon the door; then waited for a few tense seconds, and struck again.
It was a Bolshevik signal — one which Marcus Holtmann had noted when Ivan Motkin had unwisely taken him to this place. This was the acid test of Senov’s scheme. Of all the vital information that he had obtained from Frederick Froman, this bit was most important.
Only the most trusted officials of the Moscow government knew that signal. Not even the patrolling watchers were familiar with it. Senov waited.
A grating sound came from the other side of the door. Bolts were being withdrawn. The door opened inward, very slowly. All was dark inside the house. Senov had withdrawn softly; but his two supporters were still there — one on each side of the door.
The entrance remained open. Two whispered voices came from within. One guard was speaking to another. They seemed perplexed that no one had advanced into the house. At last, a man emerged into the alley.
Instantly, Senov’s men pounced upon him. There was a crushing sound as an iron bar descended upon the Bolshevist’s head.
A hasty exclamation came from beyond, and the door swung shut, but too late. With a mighty leap, Senov himself hurdled the fallen body of the first victim, and threw his powerful frame upon the barrier.
The door shot inward, and Senov precipitated himself upon the man beyond. His iron hand caught a wrist in the dark. A mighty twist and a revolver clattered to the floor.
Senov had frustrated his adversary, but that was not enough to suit his desires. He could have taken the man prisoner; instead, he threw his opponent to the floor, and beat the victim’s head furiously against the stone paving.
Senov did not rise until the beaten form lay motionless. Even then the Czarist’s fury continued. With heavy, nailshod boot he stamped fiendishly upon the victim, trampling the man’s head and body in a mad desire to stamp out the last spark of life.
Satisfied, Senov leaned against the wall, panting, and uttered a few low words. It brought an inrush of his followers. The long, dark passageway was filled with a host of men whose harsh breathing was the only sound that could be heard.
Senov led the way. His path was blocked by a heavy iron door. Standing in the darkness, the leader struck the barrier with a metal object. Two sharp raps — a pause then two raps more. The door opened, inward, like the first.
A uniformed soldier was standing in a dimly lighted room. In his hand he held a revolver. As the door was halfway open, he gave a short order. Some one inside pressed a switch. The outer passage gleamed with light.
THE Bolshevist soldier never recovered from the astonishment that he experienced. Before him, he saw a horde of fierce invaders. A hand rose upward, carrying an iron bar. With well-directed stroke it smashed the light that illuminated the corridor.
Simultaneously, the guarding soldier brought his revolver into play. He never pressed the trigger. Senov leaped upon him. He seized the hapless man by the throat, and hurled his struggling body against the wall.
A brute of iron, Senov seemed irresistible.
The attack was amazing in its swiftness. There were half a dozen soldiers in the room. All were standing with revolvers, as aids to the one who had answered the countersign at the door. As Senov’s band swarmed into the room, these warriors sprang into action.
Their defense was too late. Outguessed and outnumbered, they had no chance to offer firm resistance.
Their first scattered shots were effective, one of Senov’s men falling. Then, as bursts of flame shot from the open door, two soldiers fell.
The others, all but one, dived for the safety of a small room beyond. A door slammed shut. They had taken refuge in a bulletproof vault — safe but trapped.
The one remaining man made a fine display of bravery. A telephone rested upon a table in the corner.
The soldier leaped for it and grasped the receiver.
Bullets spattered the wall beside him. One shot took effect, but the man faltered only momentarily.
Another second, and his task would have been accomplished. The alarm would have gone forth.
But Senov prevented the deed. From across the room, he was bringing forth a revolver. While his henchmen were shooting wildly, Senov discharged a single bullet. The soldier toppled to the floor, shot through the head.
With a sharp command, Senov took control. His men stood waiting while he strode to the far side of the room and opened a closed door. His action revealed a stone stairway, going to the cellar of the old building.
He pointed there, and one by one his followers advanced. These men were carrying axes and crowbars.
Two others followed with a machine gun.
Senov stopped the procession after ten had descended. He stationed others at the door to the passage; he ordered three to attack the door of the room where the escaping soldiers had fled.
With all his men in position, Senov looked about the room and laughed crudely. Four soldiers lay upon the floor, either dead or dying. Senov made no distinction. One by one he picked up the helpless forms and hurled them brutally into a corner, until they formed a mass of huddled bodies.
With the glare of hatred in his eyes, the brutal leader threw a final glance of satisfaction at the Bolsheviks, then advanced down the stone stairway to join his men.
TWENTY feet below the level of the upper room was a corridor that ended in a heavy, metal-bound door. Senov’s men were crashing at this barrier. Their efforts were of no avail.
Senov pushed them aside and seized a huge ax. He swung one terrific blow. The ax head crashed deep into the metal surface, and the handle snapped from the force of the blow.
Senov ordered his men away. Only one remained. The rest, urged by Senov, moved upward to the floor above. A few minutes later, their companion joined them. Senov closed the upper door and waited. A dull explosion sounded from beneath.
The attackers again descended. They found the massive door shattered by the explosion. Upon the far side lay the crushed form of another uniformed guard.
The passageway was open!
A lighter door barred progress at the end of the corridor. Senov shattered it with an ax. Beyond the barrier was a second stairway, leading downward.
Senov led the advance, and was stopped by a huge sheet of metal, more formidable than any doors that had been encountered.
No time was lost in futile attempts. The attackers returned to the room above, leaving one man to set the explosive. A tremendous report resounded. When the invaders again reached the lower floor, they found a gaping hole in the metal door.
One of Senov’s men leaped through the opening. He stopped short as he heard his leader’s cry. Before he could return, a rifle shot cracked, and the man staggered back through the barrier. He fell dead at Senov’s feet.
Beyond that hole lay death for all who might enter. A subterranean vault, illuminated by dim, concealed lights, formed a sure trap for these invaders. Senov, keeping his followers well away from the danger spot, gave his next command.
Three men who had hitherto been inactive now opened large bags which they were carrying. From these they brought forth a dozen gas masks. All of Senov’s bloody crew donned the odd devices, the leader among them.
Peering now from behind his mask, Senov saw that all were ready. He had come here undisguised, tonight, revealing his true identity to his followers for the first time. Now he — and they as well — were unrecognizable in their strange head coverings.
A box was carefully opened, and one man passed forth gas bombs. Standing back from the opening, Senov hurled the first instrument of death. He followed with another. He waited, while a cloud of hazy greenish vapor formed beyond the door and trickled through the opening in misty drift.
Senov, carrying another of the deadly devices, stepped through the opening. A shot cracked; then another. The bullets missed Senov by inches. This cruel, intrepid man seemed immune from all enemies as he threw the third bomb into the room beyond.
Back through the door came Senov, to await the result of his advance. Again, he stepped boldly through the opening. This time no threatening shots greeted him.
He motioned his companions to follow. They came into a five-sided room. Each wall was provided with a long, narrow slit, and through those slits protruded the muzzles of rifles.
Five guards had been stationed here, completely governing the room. Their command had ended with the advent of the deadly gas. Behind each loophole lay a dead defender. The green vapor that clung to the walls drifted lazily about the silent chamber.
Senov was working at a slab in the center of the room. He displayed great strength, and the slab moved upward. It revealed a wooden block with an iron ring in the center. Senov raised the trapdoor, and discovered a short spiral stairway. He descended.
Alone, the chief of the invaders found himself in a darkened vault. The rays of a flashlight gleamed from Senov’s hands.
As he stepped forward to a canvas-covered table, Senov’s foot touched a hidden square upon the wooden layer that formed the floor.
Hissing sounds came from the sides of the room. Senov laughed within his mask. Those who had sought to protect this vault had hidden gas tanks in the walls. The deadly vapor was filling the room; but it was no weapon against Senov. He had used gas to conquer. He and his men were equipped to resist it, with their gas masks.
With his free fist, Senov seized the canvas covering and ripped it away. He stared in triumph at the table before him. The rays of his flashlight were reflected by a glory of sparkling light.
Glittering splotches of green; bright flashes of blue; deep glowing spots of red, showed before Senov’s eyes! A medley of glorious gems shone in barbaric splendor!
Here, in this buried vault, Michael Senov had uncovered the greatest array of wealth in all the world! He had found the hoarded jewels of the Romanoffs — all those vast possessions which the Revolutionists had wrested from the last of the Czars!