The chauffeur obeyed.
MOTKIN paced up and down the street, worried and impatient. He turned suddenly as he was approached by one of the two men whom he had sent to make an inspection of the vault.
“All has been taken,” said the man, in a low voice.
A snarl came from Motkin. He clenched his fists ferociously. He drew his informant aside. He listened impatiently while the man gave him the details of what had been discovered.
“The officer in charge was gassed behind a loophole,” said Motkin’s subordinate. “I have closed the door in the floor. Soldiers are bringing out the bodies.”
“Say nothing,” growled Motkin. “Place trusted officers in charge. All the thieves have escaped but one. I have ordered that he be captured, alive, if possible. He must be brought to me.”
“You know the orders,” responded the other man, in a doubtful voice. “He must go to prison first, if he is taken. After that—”
Motkin turned pale as he saw his subordinate shrug his shoulders. Important though he was, Motkin was forced to conform to regulations.
Motkin was in a dilemma. One man was at large; if captured, he might give valuable information when quizzed by Motkin alone; but should he speak to others, his words might prove damaging.
The protection of the rifled stronghold had been Motkin’s duty. Well did the Bolshevist official know the punishment that was meted out to those who failed in their appointments.