continued the Red Envoy. 'You may keep the papers. Destroy them if you wish. We want the plans.
They are not there.'
'I know that,' said Prokop, in an apologetic voice. 'But -'
'Ignorance,' said the Red Envoy, 'does not excuse you, Prokop. It was your work to see that Berger
obtained new information.
'He was to steal the plans and working drawings. That would have completed our mission. It would have
meant much to you, Prokop.'
The heavy-set man nodded.
'However,' resumed the Red Envoy, 'we have other means of getting what we want. The death of
Jonathan Graham was cleverly accomplished— even though Berger chanced to have good fortune.
'It will create no suspicion. It will not interfere with Whitburn's work. On the contrary, it allows him to go
ahead without interference from Graham, who was becoming impatient.
'Whitburn has plenty of money. Graham paid him in advance. We must now concentrate upon Whitburn.
Attend to that.'
Despite the coldness of the masked man's tones, Prokop was reassured. He felt that he had not failed
entirely.
'Are there any new instructions?' he asked.
'Not at present,' replied the Red Envoy.
'None regarding Prince Zuvor?' questioned Prokop, with a shrewd glance at the man in the crimson
mask.
'Has he caused you any difficulty?' asked the Red Envoy.
'None at all,' said Prokop. 'We are watching him closely.
'But the prince is a constant danger to our cause. He is a Russian, and an enemy of the government in
Moscow. Our agents hate him. All would be glad of the opportunity to -'
The Red Envoy held up a red-gloved hand.
'Do not molest Prince Zuvor,' he said. 'Do not address a single threat to him. He is within our control.
Should he attempt to elude us, then you may act.
'The bomb in his special automobile was a wise precaution. But while he is in New York, a single false
step might betray our cause.'
PROKOP nodded understandingly, but his black eyes shone with unrestrained animosity. His next words
came from his lips in venomous tones.
'Prince Zuvor has wealth!' he exclaimed. 'Wealth that belongs to us! Some day we shall regain it!'
'We can wait,' said the Red Envoy quietly. 'Remember, this is America, not Russia. Here they regard
Prince Zuvor's money as his own.
'We have many important plans under way. We must not jeopardize them by seeking vengeance too
soon.'
'Prince Zuvor has friends,' said Prokop. 'He gives money to other Russians who supported the czar. He
has adopted the name of Richard Albion. His American friends are wealthy. He urges them to help those
who escaped from Russia. He -'
'Does he know of our activities?' interrupted the Red Envoy. 'Has he attempted to discover our meeting
place?'
'No. He suspects that we are watching him. He is cautious. He protects himself.'
'Very well. So long as he does no more than that, he must be left alone. He is our decoy. He will lead
others into our snares, as he brought Berchik into our power. Through him we will learn many things that
we need to know.'
Prokop nodded slowly The truth of the Red Envoy's words was obvious, even to his prejudiced mind.
'Remember!' The masked man's voice was emphatic. 'Prince Zuvor must be watched—but not harmed!
One false step would mean ruin. If any agent fails to heed these orders -'
He held up a gloved hand, and made a mysterious sign which brought a shudder to Prokop's huge
shoulders.
While Prokop still nodded his acknowledgment of these instructions, the masked man arose and walked
from the table. He strode across the room, and stood with one hand upon the knob of the door.
'I leave now,' he said, as Prokop watched him. 'I shall visit you again in the near future. Be untiring. Be
unfailing. Remember all that I have said.'
He placed the forefingers of one gloved hand against the crimson mask that obscured his face. Prokop
made a similar sign in acknowledgment.
It was the sign of the secret order which was directed by the controlling hands of those in Moscow.
The lights in the room were suddenly extinguished. The man at the door had pressed the switch. Prokop
groped his way across the room, and turned on the lights. His visitor was no longer in the apartment.
CHAPTER V. VINCENT GOES ON DUTY
TEN o'clock in the morning. The phone bell rang beside Harry Vincent's bed. Harry yawned as he
answered it.
He had only awakened a few minutes before. Living in New York, at the Hotel Metrolite, he was
accustomed to retiring late at night and rising late in the morning.
'Messenger just brought a message for you, Mr. Vincent,' came the voice over the phone.
'Send it up,' replied Harry.
He hurriedly donned bath robe and slippers while he awaited the message. Harry knew what the note
would mean. New action—new work— in behalf of the mysterious Shadow.
For Harry Vincent was a young man who had experienced many adventures. He had one occupation in
life: to do The Shadow's bidding.
He lived a life of leisure, well supplied with money that came from an unknown source; but on occasion
his idleness was interrupted by orders from The Shadow.
Then it was his duty to respond; to face unforeseen dangers; to aid The Shadow in his activities.
Who was The Shadow?
Harry Vincent did not know.
Time and again the hand of The Shadow had intervened to save him from danger or death. He had seen
The Shadow in disguise; he had seen him as a tall, black-clad figure that appeared and vanished in the
darkness of night; but he had never seen The Shadow's own face.
A bell boy arrived with the message. Harry dismissed the attendant; then he opened the envelope, and
scanned the sheet of paper that it contained.
The letter was written in a simple code, known to Harry Vincent. By a form of letter substitution, Harry
read it rapidly.
Watch Stanley Berger. If he meets any one, trail the man he meets. Your work is to discover his
associates or those who are interested in his affairs.
The note was unsigned. Harry suspected that it had come from Claude Fellows. But the instructions were
from The Shadow himself.
The writing began to fade while Harry was still staring at the paper. A few seconds later, the sheet was
blank!
STANLEY BERGER! The name alone was sufficient. Harry Vincent had read the details of Jonathan
Graham's death.
Like the police, he had regarded it simply as an unfortunate accident. Even now, it did not dawn on him
that Berger might have been responsible for the millionaire's death.
