“You say that Ling Soo has seen you,” declared Moy Chen. “He has seen the man named Branch. He has not seen this man. You may go to see Ling Soo. He will not know. That I can say — and I mean — sure.”
Cleve reached in the pocket of his vest and produced a wallet. It was a special one that he always carried with him. It contained cards and other identifying articles that bore the name of Hugo Barnes. He showed these to Moy Chen. The Chinaman nodded.
MOY CHEN led the way through a series of passages and down two short flights of stairs. They arrived in a little ground-floor office, coming through a door that slid back to form a portion of the wall.
Seating himself at a desk, Moy Chen carefully wrote out a list of names. These were Chinese businessmen whom Cleve — as Hugo Barnes — was to visit.
“You must have money,” declared Moy Chen. “You must show much money to those who are the right people. The Wu-Fan likes those who have much money.”
The Chinaman produced a stack of bills from a desk drawer, and tendered them to the newly created Hugo Barnes.
“It is from here you must go,” declared Moy Chen. “It is to here you must come back, while you are Barnes. When you should wish to be Branch again, you must go away by the door through which you came when you did see me first.”
“I understand.”
“You come here, when you wish,” added Moy Chen, “because you have found great interest in those goods which I sell. It is because of that I bring you in this room. Here I bring those who mean good business.”
So saying, the Chinaman opened the door of the room and brought Cleve into the back of a large store stocked with Oriental wares.
With calm demeanor, Moy Chen led his companion to the front of the shop, stopping now and then to point out some attractive piece of merchandise. At the door to the street, the Chinaman became silent and stood blinking, as though expecting a statement from the man beside him.
“Thanks,” said Hugo Barnes, in a voice that varied greatly from the tones of Cleve Branch. “I like your shop. Best place I’ve seen in Chinatown. I’ve got my eye on a couple of things I want. I’ll come back in a few days to buy them.”
Moy Chen bowed, silently and with courtesy. He watched with approving eyes as Hugo Barnes shuffled from the shop with a slow, indifferent gait, no longer Cleve Branch.
THE man who called himself Hugo Barnes smiled in a peculiar manner as he sauntered along the street. Cleve Branch was eliminated for the present. This new identity would mean new lodgings at another hotel. The abode of Cleve Branch would temporarily be unoccupied.
Hugo Barnes affected indifference as he passed the Mukden Theater. The first part of the game was ended. Hidden watchers could stare in vain. Keen eyes could not detect the presence of this disguise. The watched had become the watcher.
Tomorrow, Cleve Branch, in a new identity, would meet in person members of the Wu-Fan. But in the meantime, Hugo Barnes was on the lookout for a mysterious shadow. Now, he felt sure, that shadow would not move away as it had gone before.
There was a patch of darkness on the sidewalk beyond the Mukden Theater.
No shadow could have been visible there. Perhaps that was why the alert eyes of Hugo Barnes failed to see a tall, dark figure that stood motionless in a blackened doorway.
But the watching form saw Hugo Barnes. When the disguised man rambled by, the silent figure moved.
Flitting invisibly, it followed at a distance. A jet-black cloak and low-brimmed hat concealed the peering eyes that watched the man called Hugo Barnes.
From unseen lips came a low — almost inaudible laugh — a sound that was eerie in its tone.
The disguise prepared by Moy Chen had failed in its first test. Beneath the semblance of Hugo Barnes was the concealed personage of Cleve Branch.
The Shadow had seen — and The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER VI
THE WU-FAN MEETS
ANOTHER evening had arrived in Chinatown. Tonight, odd Oriental buildings were aglow, even to their pagoda-shaped roofs.
A Chinese parade was moving along the narrow street beside the Mukden Theater. The eyes of viewing throngs were watching it. No one paid attention to those who jostled their way along the narrow sidewalks behind the pageant crowd.
Among the few who were pressing past the standing hordes was Cleve Branch — in his disguised personality of Hugo Barnes. He was on his way to something more important than a motorized version of an Oriental pageant. He was bound to a meeting of the Wu-Fan.
Moy Chen had served him well. Without even mentioning the name of the undercover Chinaman, Cleve had made the acquaintance of the men whom Moy Chen had suggested.
A roll of paper money, tactfully displayed in a Chinese shop, will work wonders. With Cleve — or Hugo, as he preferred to call himself — it had proven a perfect passport.
He had made friends with three Americanized Chinese. From one of them, he had heard of the Wu-Fan. He had mentioned the subject to another. The third had discussed it of his own accord.
Through his expression of admiration for Chinese customs, Hugo Barnes had received an unexpected invitation to be present at the meeting of the order. He had accepted. The place had been named. It was Ling Soo’s.
Cleve paused before the entrance to Ling Soo’s abode, and waited while a Chinaman detached himself from the crowd that lined the curb.
The Celestial entered Ling Soo’s. Cleve gave him time to reach the elevator; then went in alone. He waited for the lift to descend, and rode up to the floor where Ling Soo lived.
He drew the cord at the anteroom door. This was in accordance with instructions. Foy appeared and glared suspiciously. Cleve lost no time in declaring his false identity.
“My name is Hugo Barnes,” he said. “You savvy? Go tellee boss that Melican man is here.”
The words had their effect upon Foy. The stoop-shouldered man evidently recognized the name of Hugo Barnes. He hesitated no longer. He opened the door and allowed Cleve to enter.
There were more than two dozen persons in Ling Soo’s reception room. Cleve stood uncertainly for a moment; then one of his Chinese friends came forward and drew him toward the large chair where Ling Soo sat in state.
Awkwardly following his companion’s gesture, Cleve touched his forehead with his forefinger and received Ling Soo’s salute.
The leader’s eyes were mild, but quizzical, as they rested upon the American. There seemed to be some purpose in Ling Soo’s study. Americans were rare converts to the Wu-Fan, Cleve fancied. There were none here tonight besides himself. Perhaps they were much desired. From what Moy Chen had said, Ling Soo always required capable traveling delegates.
“It is a pleasure, Mr. Barnes,” said Ling Soo, with a friendly smile. “A pleasure, indeed, to have you with us this evening. I have heard about you from my friends. They say that they have told you the purpose of the Wu-Fan.”
“They have,” replied Cleve, in the voice he used for Hugo Barnes. “I was very interested in what they had to say about your order.”
“They have suggested,” continued Ling Soo, “that you be named a member of the Wu-Fan. Is that your wish?”
“I should consider it an honor,” said Cleve.
“So it shall be,” declared Ling Soo.
HE clapped his hands. There was silence in the room. Foy crept forward, and stood beside his master’s throne. Ling Soo, in the singsong words of the Chinese language, made an announcement to the others. A response of approval came in reply.
At Ling Soo’s command, Foy thrust forward a small box. From it, Ling Soo produced a small blue badge that bore the head of a golden dragon. He tendered it to Cleve.