As the soldier smashed the glass and thrust his body into the window, a flash of flame appeared. The soldier toppled backward, lost his hold, and hurtled head-first to the street. His whirling body struck ten feet from where Ivan Motkin stood.
The scowling man gave the soldier no attention. He was watching that window, signaling to other soldiers who were appearing at the windows of other rooms.
“They will capture him now,” declared the officer, in a tone of assurance.
A group of three soldiers came from the alley, two of them supporting their companion. The middle man was seriously wounded.
Behind them came an officer. He spied Motkin and approached him. The officer held up two garments: a torn black cloak and a bullet-riddled slouch hat.
“The man is a demon!” he exclaimed. “We had him — four of us. He was wearing these. He broke away from us!”
“He is trapped now,” said Motkin, pointing to the upper window.
The head and shoulders of an officer appeared at the very spot indicated by Motkin. The man made a sweeping gesture, to indicate that the trap had closed, but the man was gone.
Curses came from Motkin’s lips. He took the cloak and hat, and gave them to a man seated at the wheel of his automobile.
“Keep these, Gregori,” he said. “Put them in back.”