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 — “