That would mean a trip to Chinatown; time lost there; and a return journey, to get the paper back into the drawer. In the meantime, Darley might return.
If possible, Cleve did not want Darley to find the paper missing. That might lead to difficulties and complications. A safe course would be to copy the Chinese characters on another sheet of paper.
But they were numerous and intricate. Cleve knew well that any inaccuracies in the transcription might ruin the import of the message.
Seeking an answer to this dilemma, Cleve stood staring at the paper, forgetful of all about him. The light was dim, for the floor light which he had turned on was in a corner at the opposite side of the room.
Then came a sudden end to his reflections.
Cleve, fancying he heard a footfall, turned. His mind, working with lightning speed, flashed the thought that it must be Joseph Darley, and that explanations would be in order. At that instant, a man leaped upon him. Cleve had not seen the face of the attacker; nor could the man have seen his, for an arm swung fiercely as it wrapped itself about Cleve’s head.
Backward went Cleve, wrested by a powerful opponent. His hands clutched wildly in thin air. Twisted sidewise by the arm that lay across his face, Cleve’s eyes had just enough space to peer upward and catch the gleam of a shining, pointed knife!
His legs gave way beneath him. Cleve landed flat on his back, half beneath the table, his face staring upward as the knife descended.
Half stunned by the blow against the back of his head, Cleve saw and heard everything in disjointed fashion.
Like a portrait in a frame, he recognized the evil face of Foy, the servant of Ling Soo. Descending with arrowlike aim came the flash of the falling dagger as the yellow hand aimed it for the victim’s heart.
Then, from the direction of the window came a sharp report accompanied by a flash of flame. Like a dummy figure, Foy’s form sprawled sidewise and rolled upon the floor, the knife still extending from the tight-clenched fist.
The lamp went out. Lying in darkness, his head throbbing, Cleve wondered what would happen next. Silence followed. Then came the sparkle of a tiny flashlight.
It moved about the room, while Cleve, prone and helpless, felt himself incapable of motion. The light flickered on his face.
Almost wearily, Cleve closed his eyes. He opened them again to see the paper with the Chinese characters, held suspended in air by an invisible hand.
Eyes in the dark were reading that message! They were the eyes of The Shadow!
The light was turned upon the drawer. The paper seemed to fold itself and drop back in its hiding place.
Other papers rustled. The light moved away; then went out.
Cleve’s senses were returning; still he lay motionless. He knew that The Shadow was in action. Once again, the man of the dark had saved his life. The best course now was to wait until he could divine The Shadow’s purpose.
All noise had ceased, and Cleve wondered what was happening. The events that had just taken place began to seem like an incredible dream.
Gripping the leg of the table, Cleve drew himself to his feet. He stood swaying in the darkness. His ears detected no sound. Cleve groped his way toward the lamp in the corner. He found it. He drew the cord.
Amazement followed. He was alone in the room!
The table drawer, its papers replaced, was closed. The Shadow was nowhere to be seen. But, most astonishing of all, Foy had disappeared!
Cleve rubbed the back of his head. This was incredible!
Foy had sought to kill. The Shadow had shot Foy. They must be enemies; yet both had left. It was possible that one had been instrumental in the departure of the other; still Cleve wondered that he had not heard them going.
Then he realized that his own deadened senses must have betrayed him. He had lost all knowledge of the passing of time. Even now, he was unsteady on his feet.
He pieced it all together. The Shadow had shot Foy from the window. The wounded assassin must have fled by the door. The Shadow, making no effort to follow, had remained a short while; then had departed by the window.
Cleve went to the window, and found it closed, but unlocked. He opened the window and inhaled fresh air. He closed the window and stole across the room to the hallway; there, he found the door of the apartment. It was closed, and the latch was turned.
What next?
The paper! He must go back to it; take it away if necessary.
Cleve was turning toward the living room when he heard a sound outside the door. He slipped along the hall toward the kitchenette. He heard the clicking of a key in the lock, and gained his refuge just as a flood of light appeared in the hallway.
Peering from darkness, Cleve saw Joseph Darley enter and turn toward the living room. The light there must have attracted his attention, for Cleve had left the lamp burning.
Darley’s momentary departure served Cleve well. He slipped through the window of the kitchenette, and gained the fire escape, making very little noise as he went.
He traveled softly down the iron steps and reached the darkness at the bottom of the building. His mind was pondering dully as he made his way toward the street.
Why had The Shadow let Foy escape?
That was but one problem. More important was the matter of the paper which Cleve had been forced to leave neglected.
What was the import of its Chinese message?
The thought of that paper hovering before the glimmer of a tiny light made Cleve realize that another besides himself had viewed it!
The message was a mystery to Cleve, but perhaps The Shadow knew its meaning!
CHAPTER XIII
GREEN EYES SPEAKS
ONCE again, the green spots shone from the sign above the Mukden Theater. But tonight, no eyes were watching them from the twelfth floor of the St. Thomas Hotel. Henry Arnaud had checked out the night before.
The lights were not visible to Ling Soo, across the street from the theater. For he was seated on his throne in the windowless room, where he dwelt in state. His placid countenance was more inscrutable than ever.
Ling Soo clapped his hands. Foy came skulking into the room. Ling Soo addressed the servant in a singsong voice. Foy replied.
The master arose from his throne and waddled across the room, with Foy at his heels. Pressing a spot upon the wall, Ling Soo operated a panel that slowly opened. He ordered Foy to go first. The servant entered; Ling Soo followed, and the panel closed.
The two passed down a spiral stairway that was hidden in the darkness. They seemed familiar with the pathway, for they moved steadily toward the bottom. When they were far below the level of Ling Soo’s apartment, they stopped before a solid barrier, which, like the panel, opened at Ling Soo’s touch.
This revealed a dim corridor. Ling Soo stepped by his servant and took the lead along the narrow passage. There was a turn, and then another passage.
The men were passing through a tunnel laid beneath the street. They came to a final barrier. This slid away and closed after both had made their exit. They were at the entrance of a room.
Ling Soo rapped once. He paused and rapped again. A door slid up into the ceiling. The leader of the Wu-Fan entered, followed by his minion.
A small group of men were seated about the room. Their forms were barely visible, for the room was shrouded in gloom.
These persons were awaiting the arrival of others. Ling Soo and Foy joined the group.
Here, Ling Soo was no chieftain. He was one of a select few. That was all. A rap at the door. Another man was admitted. The circle was complete.
A light came on at the top of the room. It was a peculiar, flickering glow that cast an odd hue over the assembled men.