After the letters T — H - E — A appeared the letters T — E - R. The message was complete. Stephen Laird’s misinterpreted statement had been understood.
“In box C. Theater.”
The only remaining tabulation was the bottom one.
GREEN EYES.
The Shadow had capitalized these words.
Were they a name?
The light went out above the desk. Its click signified that The Shadow’s task had been completed. But nothing had been written to explain that last notation!
A FORM was moving silently in the darkened room. It stood, lost in blackness, beside the open window. It was from this spot that the similarity between Room 806 in the Aldebaran Hotel, and Room 1216 in the St. Thomas became apparent.
From this window, an observer commanded the same view of the city that one gained from the window in the Aldebaran Hotel. The Shadow, now, was gazing straight toward Chinatown, exactly as he had gazed on the night when he had come to San Francisco!
In the distance, the watcher saw the crawling lights of the sign that topped the Mukden Theater. The luminous ring of stationary lights was aglow above the moving lines. From the center of that circle glowed two green spots, side by side.
Green eyes!
They sent a message — a message meant for others, not for The Shadow! But he received their message.
Those luminous spots were aglow for the first time since that other night. Like focused eyes, they seemed to glare into the blackness.
Green eyes of Chinatown, peering forth across the city!
What was the message that they sent?
That might be learned tonight. The Shadow knew that fact.
The man of the dark was preparing to accept the challenge. Those spots of green were the instruments of some unknown personage. Like The Shadow, that man had a veiled identity. He, too, possessed a strange, descriptive name.
Green Eyes!
Amid the darkness of the hotel room, a whispered sound arose. It shuddered softly. It reverberated from the walls. It mocked and taunted as its eerie tones were carried forth into the night.
It was the answer to a challenge. The distant spots that shone like glowing emeralds were the visible symbol of Green Eyes. The sardonic laugh that issued from this silent room was the audible reply of The Shadow!
The echoes of the sardonic laugh died away. The sinister mirth was ended. Silence, alone, prevailed. The Shadow was gone. The Shadow had laughed!
CHAPTER X
THE CHINESE THEATER
IT was gala night at the Mukden Theater. All the elite of Chinatown had turned out. The reason was the return to America of Foo Chow, one of China’s most celebrated dramatic actors. Since the days of the dowager empress, this famous impersonator had dominated the theaters of old China.
The prices rivaled those of a “Follies” premiere. Chinese first-nighters were entering the playhouse so eagerly that it was difficult to distinguish individuals in the throng. Americans were there, displaying advance reservations.
Joseph Darley and Cleve Branch arrived afoot. Darley had discharged his limousine. He had picked up two friends on the way, and with four seats reserved, there would be room for all the party.
Within, the Mukden Theater resembled a large American playhouse. In fact, it was more American than Chinese, for in its construction, the builders had adopted the most modern plans. The seats which Darley had obtained were on a side aisle. Cleve noticed that there were boxes on both sides, but only the upstairs ones were occupied.
This was probably due to the narrowness of the stage. The aisles converged sharply, And the entire stage was not fully visible even from the spot where Cleve was located. The upper boxes, projecting over the audience, might be satisfactory; but the lower ones were practically useless.
The downstairs portion of the theater was not entirely filled. Darley explained that this was due to the high prices asked for seats. Later in Foo Chow’s engagement, prices would be lower, Then the less wealthy Chinese would throng the playhouse.
The show began. It was Cleve’s first experience in a Chinese theater, and the costumes and gestures of the actors were interesting at the beginning.
Gorgeously dressed women appeared upon the stage. Darley explained that they were impersonators. For years there had been a taboo on actresses in China, and that custom was in force here.
Tragic gesticulations and chanting singsong voices became monotonous. Cleve looked over the sea of faces in the theater. He could just distinguish solemn yellow countenances.
He wondered if Ling Soo had fared here tonight. Probably not. Lost in his fantastic dream of a Yellow Empire, the leader of the Wu-Fan would probably have no time for theaters.
The body of the theater was bathed in gloom. The side aisles by the walls were black. All eyes were toward the stage. Hence neither Cleve nor any one else in the vast throng observed a motion there.
A tall, black figure was gliding along the wall. It reached the curtain that marked the entrance to the side boxes, It moved through.
A phantomlike shape stood beside the individual entrance to Box C. Then it passed the last curtain, and stood in the box itself.
Box C was a deep recess, with a high, solid railing. Its black interior was impenetrable while the performance was going on. The black form stationed itself in a corner of the box, and waited there, motionless.
The Shadow was in the Mukden Theater — in the very place that Stephen Laird had tried to designate!
Shrouded in blackness, the invisible man of the darkness was prepared for all who might come this way. A silent, unseen form, he was seeking hidden facts.
What did this visit presage? Only The Shadow knew!
THE performance continued on the stage. Foo Chow made his appearance, garbed in a mandarin costume. He was a tall, well-built Chinaman, whose very appearance excited the approval of the audience.
His work was more interesting than that of the other actors; but, to Cleve Branch, it grew monotonous, and he was pleased when Foo Chow’s part had ended.
Joseph Darley seemed to share Cleve’s restlessness. He spoke to his companions in a low voice.
“Would you like to meet this celebrated actor?” he questioned.
His friends replied in the affirmative. Darley stated that he could arrange it.
“Foo Chow’s part is ended now,” he explained. “I met him once before. I’ll go back stage and arrange an interview with him. You can expect me back shortly.”
He left his seat, gained the aisle, and followed the wall until he reached the curtains that led to the downstairs boxes.
Cleve watched Darley go, and saw him disappear behind the curtains. Then Cleve studied the stage indifferently, and settled himself back in his seat. This evening was a wasted one, he decided.
The performance was nearly ended when Darley returned. He motioned from the end of the row, and they arose and joined him at the side aisle.
“Come on back,” he said. “This way — through the entrance by the boxes.”
They pushed through the thick curtain. Cleve was the last of the four. He noticed the inner entrances to the unoccupied boxes, as he passed. Then they reached the sliding door to the wings of the stage. Darley conducted the party to a dressing room, where he introduced his friends to Foo Chow.
The Chinese actor was a most interesting specimen of his race. He was much older than he had appeared when on stage. He shook hands in American style, and beamed pleasantly.
“I like these visits to America,” he said, in perfect English. “There is an appreciation here that one does not find in my own land. There, they are used to my work. Here, it is new to those who witness it.”