“We of the Wu-Fan have enemies. We must guard against them. Hence those who are the chosen few of our great number are the ones who know the most cherished secrets.”
Ling Soo’s impersonal speech carried a subtlety which was not detected by Cleve Branch. Keen though the investigator was, his urge to learn more overcame his natural reluctance to accept such luring statements as these.
He saw his opportunity. Established as an inner member of the secret order, he could quickly learn the truth concerning the death of Stephen Laird. Not only that; he could gain important information of the Wu-Fan’s secret methods.
“My American friends,” commented Ling Soo sadly, “are all too few. I must have more of them. There is work ahead — great work.
“Think well before you accept my offer, friend Barnes, for I warn you that many duties will be imposed upon you. But if you choose to accept, I can assure you that a great power will be yours.”
Ling Soo’s change of tack — his unwillingness to force Hugo Barnes into the inner circle of the Wu-Fan — was the subtle note that brought Cleve’s prompt decision.
He made a definite reply as he stared squarely into the owl eyes that were large and kindly behind the thick lenses of the spectacles.
“I accept your offer,” said Cleve, in the tone of Hugo Barnes. “What do you wish me to do?”
“You must promise, first,” declared Ling Soo softly. “Promise by your oath in the Wu-Fan to keep your new knowledge a complete secret.”
“I promise,” replied Cleve.
He caught Ling Soo’s gesture, and followed the statement by making the sign of the Wu-Fan, to which Ling Soo solemnly responded.
“You have promised,” said Ling Soo, with a touch of sternness in his voice. “Tomorrow night, you may meet, for the first time, the members of our inner shrine.
“Be cautious in your actions until then. Await the hour of ten. Come, then, to the Mukden Theater, which lies across the street from the doorway to my home. There you will see a man with folded arms. Upon his finger a ring — such as this.”
Ling Soo displayed his left hand. Upon it was a ring, fashioned with the head of the golden dragon. Cleve noted that the eyes of the little dragon were two tiny emeralds. It brought a sudden meaning to his mind.
Green Eyes!
Could this be an inner secret of the Wu-Fan? Those were words which Stephen Laird had uttered. Green Eyes!
“Approach that man,” continued Ling Soo, apparently oblivious to the fact that his visitor was still staring at the dragon ring. “When you see him face to face, make the secret sign of the Wu-Fan.”
The squat Chinaman solemnly raised his finger to his forehead, and Cleve duplicated the action.
“That man will lead you to the meeting place,” declared Ling Soo, in a final tone. “There you will learn the secrets of the inner shrine — the highest secrets of the Wu-Fan.
“Remember” — the voice spoke more deliberately than usual — “until then, you must tell no one of your purpose. Your promise has been made. Your secrecy begins now.”
“I understand,” said Cleve.
Ling Soo clapped his hands. Foy came gliding forward, carrying the brass image of the dragon. He held it between the other men.
Ling Soo placed his finger upon the dragon’s head; then raised it to his forehead, and held it there. Cleve, in response, pressed his finger to the metal image, and placed it to his forehead. He held that position until Ling Soo lowered his hand.
The ceremony was ended.
LING SOO slipped down from his throne. It was his act of special courtesy to accompany an honored guest to the outer door of the abode.
Foy going ahead to open the doors, Cleve and Ling Soo walked out to the anteroom. With Foy, they formed a group beside the door of the elevator.
Cleve, softly repeating the instructions he had received, stepped into the lift. It was then that he saw something which startled him. A shadow on the floor, beside the two Chinese — a long, mysterious shadow!
The Shadow!
Could he be here? Cleve looked up quickly. Except for Ling Soo and Foy, the anteroom was empty.
Quickly seeking to cover up his mistake, Cleve closed the door of the elevator and began the descent. But as he traveled downward, he was wondering about the presence of that shadow!
Up above, Ling Soo was returning toward his inner room. Behind him stalked the form of Foy. The servant’s hands were doubled against his body. Ling Soo noticed it as they entered the inner room. The leader of the Wu-Fan cackled.
“Foy!” he said. “Foy. His hand is ready” — the words were in Chinese — “ready to strike tomorrow night! Foy, The Slayer, is ready!”
A murderous grin came over the leering features of Foy. The man’s yellow skin was livid in the dull light of the room. The brass dragon image was lying on a taboret. Ling Soo drew a silk cloth from beneath his robe. With it he stroked his hands, then his forehead, and finally the brass image.
“Ling Soo has planned,” he said solemnly, in Chinese. “Foy shall strike. His victim shall be the man who bears the mark of death! Green Eyes has spoken!”
Grinning, Foy stared at his master. Ling Soo cackled again as he tapped his forehead knowingly.
Handing the brass image to Foy, the leader of the Wu-Fan, plodded toward his throne, with his servant advancing, crouched, beside him.
A strange, insidious pair! One had planned death. The other was to deal it.
Yet more sinister than these living men was the long shadow that lay across the floor in front of Ling Soo’s thronelike chair. It was a living shadow — a phantom shade that was foreboding!
Foy retired to the outer room. Ling Soo rested on his throne. He was staring toward the floor. The sinister blotch was there no longer.
Keen, though he was, Ling Soo had not sensed the presence of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XV
GREEN LIGHTS GLOW
IT was late the next afternoon. Cleve Branch was sitting in a hotel room. He was himself again; but tonight he would assume the personality of Hugo Barnes — perhaps for the last time.
Cleve was confident that his work in San Francisco was nearing its completion.
Ling Soo had told Hugo Barnes to be cautious in his actions until the meeting time. Cleve had taken those instructions to heart.
With Ling Soo, he had secretly agreed that the less seen of Hugo Barnes the better. So immediately upon leaving the abode of Ling Soo, he had shambled away in Hugo Barnes style, and had stolen into the shop of Moy Chen.
Cleve had not required the services of Moy Chen to remove the traces of Hugo Barnes. Cleve had done that himself, wiping away the make-up with a thorough application of cold cream. Himself, again, he had sauntered from the side entrance of the Hoang-Ho Cafe.
Indifference had gripped Cleve on his way to the hotel. As Cleve Branch he could not be identified with Hugo Barnes, member of the Wu-Fan. Cleve had decided to rest and to forget. He had slept late in the morning; he had eaten his meals in his room. Now, with dinnertime approaching, he was ready to go forth.
He glanced at himself in the mirror. Due to the dimness of the room, Cleve saw only the outline of his face — not its details. He chuckled to himself. With this game of Branch and Barnes, it was sometimes difficult to remember which he was.
Had the lights been on in the room, Cleve might have noticed something unusual about his face. But, as it was, Cleve had not seen his mirrored reflection closely since he had left Ling Soo’s the night before!
A door was ajar across the hall. Cleve did not notice it as he left the room. When he reached the lobby, he left his key at the desk and strolled to the barber shop.