He put the mechanism in motion. He glanced up, and noted that the leader was turning to leave the room. Ivan made one more adjustment of the dial, and with a cry of triumph he flung the bomb toward the door.
The heavy object struck the floor. The bomb exploded instantly. The walls shook, and the house collapsed. The cellar was filled with a mass of smoke. All who stood there were buried in the debris.
Not one of the Red agents survived the horrible catastrophe. They died, still clad in the robes that concealed their identities. Most of them were killed instantly.
Ivan Shiskin had gone — gone in the service of the czar! He had died to save his master, Prince Zuvor, in whom he believed, and to whom he was loyal. He was willing to die for his cause, and in dying, he brought his enemies to their doom.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE SILVER COMET
VIC MARQUETTE was thinking — thinking in the silence of his hotel room — thinking in total darkness. That darkness had existed ever since his visitor had arrived.
Marquette had left the door ajar; a hand had come through the opening, and had turned off the light.
Then an invisible form had entered, and had seated itself in a chair. A voice had spoken from the blackness — a voice that was no louder than a whisper. For half an hour it had held Vic Marquette spellbound.
For the secret-service man had known the identity of his unknown visitor. That personage had been The Shadow; and he had calmly proposed a scheme that had proven bewildering.