Maxwell Grant - The Shadow 019 by The Romanoff Jewels

Author:The Romanoff Jewels
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-11-15T00:41:18+00:00

Fate had been playing a strange game with Ivan Motkin. During these eight days, while his subordinates had been vainly seeking some clew to the vanished gems, he had held the one person whose testimony might prove the needed link. Yet he had been unable to interrogate his prisoner.

The man had apparently been hovering between life and death. Badly wounded in his conflict with the Bolshevik soldiers, he was recovering now, but seemed too weak for quizzing.

Entering the first floor of his apartment, Motkin encountered Gregori, the man who served as his chauffeur. Before the official could speak, Gregori held up his hand in warning.

A stocky, bearded man was descending the stairs. It was the physician whom Motkin had brought in to tend the captive.

"Prensky is guarding him," whispered Gregori. "The doctor has been here for the last hour."

Motkin nodded. He advanced to meet the physician.

"How is the patient, doctor?" he asked.

"Much better," responded the physician. "His delirium has vanished. He is greatly improved—but seems very weak."

"I can speak to him -"

"Not now"—the doctor shook his head—"but to-morrow, surely. He is sleeping, and must not be disturbed until the morning. He is past all danger. Soon he will be well. But should he be awakened now, his weakness might return very quickly."

"You will come to-morrow?"

"Not unless it is absolutely necessary Ordinary care will assure his recovery from now on."

Motkin watched the physician depart. Like many other professional men in Moscow, this doctor had once been suspected of Czarist leanings. Motkin had done much to assure the man's safety under the Bolshevist regime. He knew that he could rely upon absolute silence.

WHEN Motkin reached his upstairs room, Prensky came in to see him, and repeated what the physician had said. The captive was sleeping quietly. A telephone bell rang before Motkin could make a reply.

Motkin's voice was a growl as he answered the phone. Then it changed to a careful tone. Prensky knew that the man was speaking to some superior. He saw Motkin's eyes light as his lips formed quick phrases.

"Yes? You have received a report from Paris? Ah... Michael Senov... Yes, he has been missing... In Paris, reported by our agents there? Good... I shall go... Soon, yes, soon."

Motkin's eyes showed a sudden shrewdness. Prensky, taciturn, but observant, knew that his master was thinking of the unknown prisoner.

"... Tomorrow," declared Motkin, still speaking over the phone. "Tomorrow, in the afternoon... Yes, my aid will follow. Later... Good. I shall expect the passports in the morning."

Motkin hung up the receiver and looked at Prensky. It was seldom that the Red official talked at length to his subordinate. This was one of the exceptions.

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