“Watch him!” he exclaimed, in Russian, as he pointed to Cliff. “I shall need him later!”
With that, he hurried to the street in pursuit of Senov. Motkin was sure that the Czarist could not escape.
A few guards had been watching earlier in the evening. The Bolshevists had captured them. A score of Red agents were about the house.
But when he reached the street, Motkin encountered two of his breathless men.
“He went that way,” one exclaimed, “into the little restaurant.”
“Come!” shouted Motkin.
THE leader and a dozen men attacked the door of L’Aigle d’Argent. The crowd surged through, with Motkin at the rear.
They were met by a volley of shots. Three Bolsheviks fell. The others returned the fire.
Senov and three men, evidently Czarist reserves, were backed against the far wall of a passage. Wild, quick shots echoed through the corridor. It was a battle to the end. More of Motkin’s men were entering.
In the midst of the smoke-filled passage, men were slumping and pitching headlong. Six Bolshevists were down. Senov’s companions were lying in a huddled heap. Only the big Russian remained.