Prensky produced the papers. Motkin smiled knowingly, and motioned Prensky from the room. He walked over to the prisoner by the window and studied the pale, wearied face.
Arnaud’s eyes opened and glanced upward. Motkin smiled in a friendly manner.
“What were the terms that you proposed?” he asked, in English.
“That I be given safe conduct from Moscow” — Arnaud’s voice was drowsy, weakened — “so that I may recover the stolen—”
“Ah, just so,” interposed Motkin. “Well, Mr. Arnaud, I shall agree to your terms. I promise you that tonight before eight o’clock, you will leave this place.”
With a curt bow, Motkin swung on his heel, and strode to the door. He met Prensky in the hall and motioned him into the office.
Prensky understood. He was to remain on watch, guarding Arnaud, who was in a helpless, weakened condition — one who was to be his prey.
An ugly smile appeared on Prensky’s thin lips as he watched Ivan Motkin descend the stairs. The aid locked the door from the inside, and walked to the front window. There he watched his superior enter the car that was waiting in the courtyard. The big automobile rolled away.
Ivan Motkin was on his way to Paris, leaving behind him a helpless prisoner whom he had deceived with a false promise.
He had ordered the doom of The Shadow!