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.”