CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW DEPARTS
DENSE gloom had descended upon the room on the second floor of Ivan Motkin’s residence. The early dusk of a long Moscow night was all-pervading. Prensky, seated by the front window, arose softly and turned on a light above the desk.
The mild illumination threw a soft glow through the room. It revealed the form of the man who had called himself Henry Arnaud, still resting in the chair by a side window.
In methodical manner, Prensky drew down the front window shade; then performed the same action at the window where Henry Arnaud still slept.
The clock on the mantel showed half past seven. Prensky, now in the center of the room, paused and rubbed his smooth chin. A wicked light gleamed in his dark, shifty eyes. He grinned in anticipation.
Noting the black cloak and hat lying on a chair where Motkin had tossed them, Prensky picked up the garments and examined them. These had been a disguise. Now, they would answer for a shroud.
While Prensky smiled maliciously, he sensed that some one was watching him. He looked quickly toward the chair by the window. The prisoner had opened his eyes, and was watching. Prensky’s evil grin turned suddenly to a token of friendliness.
“These are yours,” he declared, in Russian. “You may have them, when you leave.”
Arnaud’s eyes stared blankly, and Prensky remembered that the man had shown a complete ignorance of the Russian language. Slowly, Prensky repeated the statement in broken English, the best that he could command. Henry Arnaud nodded and smiled to show that he understood.
Weakly, he attempted to rise from his chair. The effort was sufficient for him to observe the clock; then he slumped back into the seat and lay exhausted.