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,'
