Motkin hung up the receiver and looked at Prensky. It was seldom that the Red official talked at length to his subordinate. This was one of the exceptions.
“Our agents have located Michael Senov,” declared Motkin. “He is in Paris, and has been in communication with Czarists there. He is the man whom we must catch. He has the” — Motkin caught himself — “He is the one we want.
“They are awaiting me in Paris, while they seek to learn Senov’s hiding place. It was suggested that I leave tonight. I insisted that it be to-morrow” —Motkin’s eyes were shrewd — “because then I may know facts that I do not know at present.”
“I shall stay here?” questioned Prensky.
“For a while, yes,” returned Motkin. “But I have made arrangements, so that you may follow me. We shall discuss that to-morrow — after I have spoken with our prisoner.”
Motkin went to a desk and began to busy himself with a pile of papers. It was Prensky’s cue to leave.
Long after the secretary had gone, Motkin was still at work. The official did not cease his labors until three o’clock in the morning. Then he retired.
IT was noon the next day when Ivan Motkin descended to the lower floor, and sat down to a quiet breakfast. An envelope was lying on the table. He opened it and found that it contained the passports for himself and Prensky.
With the passports were printed orders and cards for insertion of signatures, that might be checked in different localities.
All the red tape that bound persons in Moscow had been cut for Ivan Motkin and his aid. Typed instructions furnished all required information regarding rules at airports, facts concerning agents in Paris, and other details.