That was why Senov smiled, very warily, as he pursued his way. Tonight he was going to a secret meeting of Czarists, held in a special hiding place which he himself had arranged. The others would be there, awaiting him. They were expecting good tidings, and he was bringing them.
Threading his way along other streets, Senov stopped before a quaint building, and walked through a stone arch that led to an inner court. This old residence had been changed into an apartment, inhabited by workers.
Senov entered a door at the side of the court, and ascending a flight of rickety stairs, made his way to a poorly furnished suite of rooms. He unlocked the door of an obscure closet, raised a trap, and descended a ladder to the floor beneath.
This brought him to a portion of the old house that had once been used as a storeroom. Unsuitable for an improvised apartment, it had not been converted with the rest of the building. It was filled with broken furniture and other junk. The door that led to it had long been nailed shut. Senov had arranged the secret entrance from the floor above.
A dim light was burning in the cluttered room which Senov reached. Before revealing himself, the false Bolshevist adjusted a masklike cloth over his face.
The leader of the secret group that assembled here on rare occasions, Senov kept his identity a careful secret. His position as a Red supporter was too valuable to risk betrayal, even though he was sure that every one of his underlings was a royalist to the core.
SIX grim, determined men were gathered in the center of the room, seated upon broken chairs and boxes. None of them was masked. Only Senov held that privilege.
These men were a remnant of the thousands of Czarist supporters who had died since the installation of the new regime. Senov, eyeing them approvingly, told himself that they were worth six hundred.
As Red workers, each of these subordinates had attained a minor position which made him of use when needed. There were others at the call of these. Senov was the master spider of the center of a counter-revolutionary web. Wise and shrewd, he had bided his time until tonight.
An overthrow of the Bolshevist regime would be impossible. Rabid royalist though he was, Senov had never dreamed of such an attainment. He was playing a secretive game, in conjunction with former Czarists in other countries.