To Cleve, the brief visit was as uninteresting as the performance had proved to be; but he made no comment. He saw no possible connection between Foo Chow and the affairs of Chinatown.
Ling Soo — the Wu-Fan — the Tiger Tong. These were matters that seemed of more importance than a visit back stage at the Mukden Theater.
Such thoughts brought Cleve’s mind to The Shadow. He was still thinking of the mysterious man in black when he left the dressing room with his companions.
They followed the narrow passage beside the boxes, Cleve again at the rear. As they came to the curtain, the man ahead of Cleve dropped the hanging, and Cleve stood alone in the darkness.
Something prompted him to look in the nearest box. It was Box C, although Cleve did not know it, and would have thought nothing of the fact. He stepped past the curtain of the box. He saw the outlines of seats, by the high, built-up rail.
A board creaked under Cleve’s foot as he approached a chair and stood there, watching the stage.
The Chinese play was drawing to its close. Cleve Branch viewed it mechanically. He had a vague impression that someone was here, close beside him, in this box. He turned instinctively and stared at the shadowy corner.
It was nothing but a mass of blackness. The impression still persisted.
Cleve shrugged his shoulders and left the box. He felt that his imagination was getting the better of him. Chinatown was strange enough, without giving way to fancies and odd qualms.
Yet as Cleve walked up the side aisle, beside the wall, he could not help but glance back at times. He seemed to sense someone gliding behind him. Yet each quick inspection revealed no one.
DARLEY and the others were waiting at the entrance of the theater. They walked slowly through the lobby, one man stopping to point to a picture of Foo Chow, whom they had just met. It was a full-length likeness of the Chinese actor.
Cleve’s eyes, moving to the right, stopped suddenly. There, on the marble panel of the lobby, was a long, mysterious shadow. It bore a striking resemblance to a man — to the man whom Cleve had seen that night at the Sun Kew!
It was the shadow of The Shadow!
A grotesque, silhouetted face — a black portion that was shaped like a large slouch hat — in every detail, Cleve saw the replica of the man whom he was seeking.
As though it possessed eyes that sensed Cleve’s gaze, the substanceless shape melted away. Cleve whirled, and was in time to glimpse a tall figure moving into the dark. The cloak — the hat — both betokened the departure of The Shadow!
For an instant, Cleve was about to spring in wild pursuit. Long had he sought The Shadow. This time, he must trail the strange man of the dark.
But Darley’s hand was upon his arm, and realizing that the committeeman was watching him, Cleve abandoned his desire. The matter of The Shadow was one that he chose to discuss with no one — not even Joseph Darley.
“Come,” suggested Darley. “My limousine is waiting. We can go up to my apartment and enjoy ourselves for a while. These Chinese theatricals are all right — for the Chinese. But they leave the evening rather tasteless for me.”
There was nothing to do but accept the invitation. Cleve went along with Darley and his friends. He was silent as they rode away from Chinatown.
Why was The Shadow at the Mukden Theater tonight? Cleve wondered over the perplexing question. Then he remembered the thoughts that he had experienced while he had been standing in the box. He had felt sure that someone was there; that someone had followed him up the aisle.
That someone could only be — The Shadow!
The more Cleve Branch pondered, the less he knew. He sought for a hidden connection, but could not find one. Joseph Darley — Foo Chow — the two Americans he had met tonight — these could hardly interest The Shadow.
In the past, The Shadow had shown an interest in Cleve’s affairs. Tonight, there could be no reason for such interest.
Amid these scattered thoughts, Cleve realized one important fact. He must remain in San Francisco. He must spend his future time in Chinatown. Somehow, he felt that the interests of The Shadow were identical with his own.
Behind the Wu-Fan — in spite of Darley’s opinion to the contrary — there might lay the key to a mighty scheme that carried a threat of danger. Cleve’s duty was to uncover such a plot.
This mysterious man he had termed The Shadow must know facts that were important. It would be imperative to meet him and find out what he knew. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Tonight, the best plan would be to assert that his work in San Francisco was ended. The identity of Cleve Branch must go; once again, Hugo Barnes must rove the streets of Chinatown.
That box in the Mukden Theater! Was it The Shadow’s hiding place? That was a thought, but like all others, it led to no conclusion.
While Cleve was cogitating thus, a simple event was taking place at the St. Thomas Hotel. Gentlemanly Henry Arnaud was asking the clerk for the key to 1216.
Arriving in his room, Arnaud looked about and smiled. He extinguished the light and walked softly toward the window. He stood there, staring out across the city.
Once again, the eyes of The Shadow were upon the glittering lights that topped the Mukden Theater. Crawling lines, varicolored flickerings, and the ring of stationary lights were glowing as before.
But no longer did two lurid spots of green stare forth into the darkness, like glowing, Promethean eyes. The mysterious lights had vanished.
Green Eyes had sent his message. The call had been answered.
Strange events had happened tonight. Cleve Branch had been where he could have learned them, had he known. But only The Shadow knew!
The Shadow laughed, as he had laughed before. His laugh was one of hidden understanding.
For The Shadow had learned what he wanted to know!
CHAPTER XI
CLEVE PLAYS THE SPY
CLEVE BRANCH had left San Francisco. He had departed on the morning after his visit to the Mukden Theater. He had gone with a report received from Joseph Darley; the final report that concerned the Wu-Fan and its persecution by the Tiger Tong.
But Cleve had left the city only as a personality. In his place, another man remained.
Once again, Hugo Barnes was on the watch in Chinatown. Moy Chen had replaced his former workmanship. The identity of Cleve Branch was obscured by the features of Hugo Barnes.
There were two spots in Chinatown that Cleve decided were worth watching.
One was the Mukden Theater; for there, he had encountered the presence of The Shadow. The other was the abode of Ling Soo. It was possible that The Shadow might appear there.
The place was also the headquarters of the Wu-Fan. And, it could be watched simultaneously with the Mukden Theater.
Fifty feet away from the entrance to the theater, Cleve lounged idly at the doorway of a Chinese auction house. The place was busy tonight, and the figure of Hugo Barnes was inconspicuous.
Cleve rubbed his hand across his face. He could almost feel the swarthiness of his complexion. He touched his overhanging eyebrows. They, more than any other feature, had changed his countenance.
Cleve had no fear of recognition, but he was wary in his actions. For although the personality of Cleve Branch was safe from detection, he remembered well that Hugo Barnes was now a budding member of the Wu-Fan.
The badge of membership was fastened to Cleve’s vest; and, recollecting his experience at the Sun Kew, he wisely kept it hidden.
Bright lights began to flash. Long rows of bulbs showed on the sides of buildings. Strange music blared from up the street.
Small crowds were forming along the sidewalks — solemn, aged Chinamen, dainty Chinese flappers, old and young were gathering to witness another of the many parades that cleaved their way along this teeming thoroughfare.