“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.