An evil smile formed on Motkin’s lips. The balance was changing! Arnaud, as a liability, was becoming more, formidable than Arnaud, as an asset. Motkin looked at the clock. He was surprised to see that it was almost three. It would take him nearly two hours to make his final preparations, and reach the airport in time for a plane that left for Warsaw at five.
Moving swiftly, but quietly, to the door, Motkin stepped into the hall and summoned Prensky with a hissing whistle. When the aid arrived, Motkin drew into the room and closed the door. He glanced toward Arnaud.
He was sure the man was still asleep; he was also positive that Arnaud could not understand Russian.
Hence he spoke in his native tongue when he addressed Prensky.
“I am leaving for Paris, immediately,” he said. “All will be well there. I have new information. We will not need him” — he motioned toward Arnaud — “so I shall leave him in your hands; Gregori will be back by eight o’clock. He will take you to the airport. A plane leaves at ten.”
“You mean—”
Motkin smiled and nodded. Prensky understood. He had done work like this before.
“Not until after dark,” whispered Motkin. “Then no one will see or suspect. I shall tell Gregori nothing, except to instruct him to obey you in every detail. You can leave the disposal of the body to him. Tell him what you have done, after he leaves you at the airport.”
Prensky smiled wickedly. He glanced contemptuously toward the weak, reclining form that was to be his victim. Tall, thin, and cadaverous, Prensky looked the part of an old-time executioner. He seemed to relish the task that had been proposed to him.
“You have your passports?” inquired Motkin. “Also the instructions?”