The Shadow’s bullet found its mark. It whizzed past the extended arm, almost clicking the gleaming gun. It struck the body behind the revolver.
The leering yellow face dropped backward. A hand waved wildly as the helpless Chinaman toppled from his perch. A moment of impressive silence; then, from the crevice below the window came a dull crash, as the victim reached the bottom of his fall.
The Shadow was helping Cleve to his feet. Dazed and bewildered, the disguised government man clutched his wounded shoulder and staggered forward under his rescuer’s guidance.
They reached the wall beside the doorway. A clatter sounded in the passage. The Shadow’s protecting grip was released. Cleve managed to support himself against the wall.
He saw the man in black leap to the other side of the doorway. Three Chinamen dashed in; two carrying revolvers, one holding a gleaming blade.
They had come, as reinforcements, from the street. Attracted here by the sound of gunfire, they paused and stood blinking at the signs of carnage.
The man with the knife saw Cleve. With a cry, he leaped toward the crippled American. The men with the revolvers turned as they heard his shout.
Like an avenging demon, The Shadow was upon them! With mighty force, he clutched the Chinaman who held the upraised knife. He swung the man’s body as though it had been a form of straw!
Upward, backward, that body went. It was hurled, dirk and all, upon the gun-armed Chinese who were behind their comrade!
One man evaded the hurtling form and grappled with The Shadow. The other wriggled free, and fired wildly at the man in black. But as he pressed the trigger, The Shadow, twisting with amazing skill, precipitated himself and his opponent upon the man with the gun.
Of the two grapplers, it was the Chinaman — not The Shadow — who received the shots. The wrestler’s grip dropped loose. He fell dead, a victim of his comrade’s fire.
The Shadow, never faltering, seized the Chinaman who held the revolver. He plucked the gun from the Mongol’s grasp as one would wrest a toy from a tiny child.
Sweeping toward the door, The Shadow gripped Cleve and swung him to the passage. The black-gloved hand delivered two quick shots back into the room.
These reports from the captured revolver sounded as a warning to all who might choose to follow. They were accompanied by a taunting, gibing laugh. The challenge was not answered. Few could have followed, had they wished!
Police whistles sounded in the distance, as Cleve Branch faltered along the narrow street, supported by the man who had rescued him. The fresh air was reviving. Cleve’s wound ached dully now.
They were threading through dim, obscure streets. The man in black had become an obscure being. The only sign of his presence was the clutch of that guiding hand. Then, suddenly, the hand was gone. Cleve was alone.
He stood bewildered for a moment; then, with a start, he recognized his surroundings. The alleyway in which he stood opened on a lighted thoroughfare. Cleve hastened toward the street ahead. Arrived there, he turned sharply to his right, and slipped into an open doorway into the shop of Moy Chen!
Cleve Branch had been rescued from the dive called the Sun Kew. His phantom rescuer had brought him to a spot of safety. Amidst a horde of enemies, he had been aided by a friend.
These thoughts were amazing; but more startling was the knowledge that the strange shadow that had crossed his path was real and not imaginary.
Cleve Branch had seen The Shadow — seen, him and met him as a living man!
CHAPTER VIII
DARLEY OFFERS ADVICE
CLEVE BRANCH glanced at his watch. It was five in the afternoon. One could not gauge time without a watch, here in Moy Chen’s upper office, for the little room was windowless. Cleve Branch was himself now. The disguise of Hugo Barnes had been discarded.
Moy Chen smiled placidly as he saw Cleve rubbing his shoulder. The wound had been a nasty one; but Moy Chen had shown himself equal to the task of mending it.
Cleve had been living here since that eventful night at the Sun Kew, and now he was ready to sally forth in his normal guise.
“I shall be back, Moy Chen,” he said, as he arose from his chair. “I intend to visit Ling Soo, when the Wu-Fan holds its next meeting.”
“Visit Ling Soo,” said Moy Chen quietly. “But do not go to that place where you did go — to the Sun Kew.”
“No, thanks,” grinned Cleve.
Moy Chen had explained that the Sun Kew was a gathering place for members of the Tiger Tong — a secret society that had often wreaked havoc in Chinatown. For some years, now, the Tiger Tong had been quiet; but its members did not relish intrusion by Americans, at any time. That, to Moy Chen, was the probable explanation of the trouble Cleve had encountered.
Cleve had mentioned that he had shown the badge of the Wu-Fan. That, Moy Chen presumed, had caused the Chinese ruffians to class him as an impostor.
Moy Chen, Cleve had discovered, played a very passive part in the affairs of Chinatown, and seldom paid attention to the business of his neighbors. As an undercover man, it was wise for the Chinese merchant to avoid all conflicts.
Since Cleve had signified his readiness to depart, Moy Chen guided him. They went into the passage, and at the end, Cleve found the open door that took him to the head of the obscure stairway. He did not enter the Hoang-Ho Cafe. Instead, he made his way to the side street.
While recovering from his wound Cleve had lost all contact with outside affairs. He had resumed his normal personality for the definite purpose of visiting Joseph Darley. He knew that the chairman of the Civilian Committee was constantly feeling the pulse-beats of Chinatown; and through Darley, Cleve might learn new facts now.
HE arrived at Darley’s apartment shortly before six o’clock. Cleve found Darley at home. The committeeman welcomed him.
“Well, well,” said Darley. “I’ve been looking for you. Tried to communicate with you before I went to Los Angeles. Where have you been?”
“In and out of Chinatown,” replied Cleve, with a smile. “Browsing about the district.”
“I’m going there tonight,” said Darley. “Why don’t you come along? We’ll have dinner at the St. Thomas Hotel; then we can head for Chinatown. We’ll see a show at the Mukden Theater.”
“All right,” agreed Cleve.
This was convenient. As Cleve Branch, the government agent could visit the Chinese district with Joseph Darley. As Hugo Barnes, he could go alone and attend the meetings of the Wu-Fan. So the invitation for tonight was a good one to accept.
“You have been out of town?” inquired Cleve.
“Yes,” said Darley. “I just arrived home this afternoon. I called you at your hotel. I wanted you to go with me — if you had been able to spare the time. I had a most enjoyable trip; down to Los Angeles by air, back by private yacht.”
“An enjoyable trip?”
“Wonderful! Leo Frane, the movie magnate, is the owner of the yacht. He is East at present, and he ordered it up here to Frisco to meet him on his return. We had delightful weather from the time we left San Pedro.”
“Frane is a friend of yours?”
“Yes. I have cruised with him occasionally. He knew that I was coming to Los Angeles, so he had the yacht held there until I arrived. I may go back to Los Angeles with him when he comes West — and if you have business in Southern California, I know that you would be a welcome passenger.”
They left the apartment for the hotel. Darley found a secluded table in the corner, and ordered a sumptuous repast for himself and his guest.
To Cleve, after his recent adventures, the luxurious hotel seemed a strange contrast to Chinatown.
Within walking distance of this fine hostelry, where wealthy guests appeared in evening dress, lay the region cut by bizarre streets, where the intrigue of the Orient lay deep. It seemed incredible that these two contrasting districts did not overlap.