The Romanoff Jewels

CHAPTER XXII. THE MEETING

THERE was a light in the cellar of Frederick Froman’s home. Two men stood there. One was Froman himself. The other was Parker Noyes. The lawyer had come in with Froman.

Resting upon a portable table in the center of the room was a square box of heavy wood. Froman and Noyes exchanged shrewd glances as they eyed it. Within this box was the greatest wealth in all the world!

It had come here through a trail of blood. But both of these men would have sacrificed a thousand lives more if it had been necessary. Millions upon millions was the gain that death had brought them!

Froman drew the cord that raised the elevator, and the two men pushed their burden on the lift. The car descended.

At the bottom of the shaft, they ran the smoothly moving table to the final barrier. Here, Froman turned the knob, raising the steel door.

It took time to work the table and the box down the steps into Froman’s dungeon. When the job had been accomplished, Froman released the curtain.

Cut off from all the world, behind a barrier of steel, the two plotters ripped at the cover of the box. Off came the lid to reveal the glittering mass of shining, sparkling jewels!

“It is ours!” cried Noyes, exulting.

Froman nodded.

“Ours — and the Romanoffs,” he said.

Froman smiled shrewdly as he spoke. How much of this wealth would go to its one-time owners was indeed a dubious question.

Senov and many others had given up their lives, to restore the wealth of the Romanoffs, but these master plotters were forgetful of such facts. They were thinking only of their own sweet gain.

Only one man had been promised a definite price. That man was dead. David Tholbin had paid for his desire to possess a quarter of a million dollars.

Froman and Noyes seemed satisfied by the size of the pelf that lay before them. They stared in delight.

Froman dipped his hand into the mass, and let scores of sparkling stones trickle through his fingers.

“No one can take it from us!” he exclaimed. “No one! Here, these jewels can never be seen by other eyes than ours!”

“So you think!”

The words came in an evil tone from a corner of the room. Froman and Noyes turned in consternation.

Before them stood a gloating man who held a revolver in his hand.

Ivan Motkin!

ALTHOUGH they did not know the man’s identity, both Froman and Noyes recognized that he was an agent of the Reds in Moscow.

“I have come here from Russia—”

Motkin’s declaration was triumphant — “come from Moscow to kill! To kill you as I have killed others! Thieves!”

Froman was cold and stolid. He faced Motkin with a spirit of challenge. Noyes, backing away from the jewels, had a piteous expression upon his face.

“What have you to say?” Motkin’s words were derisive. “I shall let you speak — before you die. I shall let you watch — look at those shining things within the box.”

“I have a question,” asserted Froman calmly.

“A question?” sneered Motkin.

“Yes,” replied Froman quietly. “A question which concerns yourself. I should like to know how you expect to remove these jewels.”

“A question!” Ivan Motkin laughed. “Like you, I have men — but mine are capable. I shall summon them, after you two have perished. That is simple.”

“You have no men,” declared Froman. “They were killed. We have annihilated them.”

Motkin paused. He realized that the appearance here of Froman and Noyes was partial proof that the truth had been spoken. But Motkin was not to be so easily frightened.

“One man can remove those jewels,” he declared. “They can be taken — first some — then more—”

“Not from this room,” asserted Froman calmly.

“Not from this room?” came Motkin’s echo.

“No,” said Froman firmly. “This is a room which can be entered by any one who knows of its existence, but only one can make his way out. I am the one. Once that door is closed, there is no escape.

“You see that knob upon the inner door? I prepared it with a purpose. To-day, I fixed that knob so that any one who turns it will not turn the catch that operates the door. Instead, he will set off a bomb that will blow this place to atoms.

“Kill us if you wish. Then attempt to leave. I am warning you. It will mean death for you as well as us.”

In spite of himself, Motkin trembled. The upper hand was changing swiftly tonight. Froman and Noyes had come here in triumph. Motkin had outguessed them. Now, he, in turn, was tricked!

To Motkin’s mind there could be only one hope — that Froman was lying. The baffled Red was anxious to make sure of the truth. He approached Froman, leveling his revolver directly between the other man’s eyes. Froman smiled.

Motkin’s momentary elation faded.

“You are dealing with a man of iron,” declared Froman proudly. “I call myself F. O. Froman. That name is formed by the letters in the name Romanoff. I am of the Russian nobility! I have no use for such as you!”

Motkin’s snarl was one of hatred. Still, he was afraid to kill this man.

“I know your kind,” continued Froman. “You are afraid of death. I am not! If I die, you die. I am satisfied!”

The words were uttered with impressive calmness. Motkin’s trepidation increased. He drew slowly away, still keeping his revolver leveled. Then came a sound that startled him.

TURNING his head, he saw the steel door rising! There, crouched below the lifting barrier, was a man clad in black! Once again, Motkin saw burning, blazing eyes!

The Shadow!

The superman in black had come to take control. Now, the range of power had shifted into his grasp! At the sight of a leveled automatic, Motkin dropped his own gun. He backed away to his corner.

Froman was still smiling as he saw The Shadow stepping forward. Motkin was in a quandary. He tried to cry out words of warning, remembering what Froman had told him. He was too late — the door was descending!

As the barrier clicked into place, Froman laughed. The control of this room had gone to another for a few moments. Now, it again belonged to Frederick Froman.

The Shadow heard that laugh. His piercing gaze was turned toward the jesting man. Solemnly, in a low, weird whisper, The Shadow spoke.

“I have come for a reckoning.”

Motkin shuddered at the words. Froman laughed again. This reckoning could not be for him.

“You have come to die!” he cried. “These gems are mine! You are trapped! You cannot leave this place alive!”

The Shadow’s answer was a taunting laugh.

From unseen lips the eerie sound pealed forth and echoed from the heavy walls as though a horde of demons had emitted the reverberated cry.

With that laugh, Frederick Froman’s confidence vanished. Like Ivan Motkin and Parker Noyes, he quailed before the presence of The Shadow — The Shadow come for a reckoning!