“WELL, Mr. Darley,” said the Bureau of Investigation agent, “you’ve given me a real slant on this affair. You seem to know the inside workings; and from what you say, the Wu-Fan won’t cause us any worry.
“However, I’m here for one important purpose — to get a report at first hand. I want to see how the Wu-Fan works. I want to know all I can about Ling Soo. I want to get the real lowdown on Stephen Laird’s death.
“That’s a State affair — not a government proposition — unless it’s directly traceable to a widely working organization. I can use a complete report from your committee. But I won’t need it until after I’ve made my own.
“That’s what I’m out to get now — facts on the Wu-Fan. I want to know the best way to go at it. You’ve done your bit, but you can probably suggest the way for me to proceed.”
“By seeing Ling Soo,” responded Darley. “That takes you right to the source. He is quite willing to talk. Why not see him?”
“In what capacity?”
“As my friend — he never questions them. I have always taken members of the Civilian Committee with me when I have visited Ling Soo. Your name will mean nothing to him. In fact, I do not even have to introduce you, other than as an associate from my office.
“The membership of our committee undergoes constant changes as the members — outside of executives like myself — serve as volunteers without fee. We investigate affairs of the community and report them to the authorities if we deem it necessary.”
“And you have never reported the Wu-Fan?”
“Never — outside of stating that such an order happened to be in existence.”
“Then you have sanctioned it?”
“Practically. We have not censored it.”
Cleve Branch arose and walked in short paces, hands in pockets. He swung toward Joseph Darley and extended his hand.
“Thanks, Mr. Darley,” he said. “I have come to the right man. I’m leaving now — and when you’re ready — soon — I’ll count on you taking me to see this chap Ling Soo.”
“That will be tomorrow,” responded Darley, with an agreeable smile.
“Great!” said Branch. “I’ll phone you at your office.”
With that declaration, the government operative made his departure. Joseph Darley was alone, smiling to himself, as he recalled the interview. How vague, he thought, were the idea’s of those who saw things from the outside.
If the visit were to be made tomorrow, Darley realized, it must be planned at once. For the Chinese liked to arrange their affairs well in advance.
So Joseph Darley sat down at the telephone table in his apartment and called the Chinaman, Ling Soo, to tell him that he could expect visitors on the morrow.
CHAPTER IV
LING SOO
CHINATOWN was a splash of light the following evening, when Joseph Darley and Cleve Branch arrived there in the committeeman’s limousine. To Darley, a visit to this district was scarcely more than a matter of routine.
Cleve Branch, although familiar with portions of the Chinese settlement, still found it unusual. His observant eyes wandered here and there, peering toward the yellow faces of passing Celestials; noting carefully the appearance of Americans who were passing through the district.
Darley had purposely left the limousine on the border of Chinatown. Now, he led the way along a narrow thoroughfare that was comparatively level for this hilly portion of the city.
The two men passed by lighted Chinese shops. They turned a corner, and encountered a gay scene. On the right was the bizarre Mukden Theater, a playhouse which presented stars from the Orient. Branch noted the billings — in English and Chinese — that announced the arrival of popular actors from Shanghai and Canton.
They were on the opposite side of the street from the theater, and Branch, glancing across, noted persons idling by the entrance to the playhouse. Some were Chinese; others Americans.
Time moved slowly here in Chinatown, in this spot of the Orient dropped from its native soil.
Joseph Darley stopped at a door that lay diagonally across the street from the Mukden Theater. It formed an unpretentious entrance between two shops.
The committeeman led the way into this entrance. They passed through a plain, lighted hall. They reached a small elevator at the end of the passage.
Darley opened the door, and the men ascended in the lift. It was an automatic elevator that moved in a solid shaft.
They reached a spot that Cleve Branch estimated as two stories above the street. The elevator stopped. They made their exit into a small anteroom. The atmosphere was altogether Oriental now. This silent spot seemed miles away from the street below. For here, with the elevator behind them, both men sensed the exotic setting of China itself.
Darley — a man who was a traveler — remarked upon it as he drew a tasseled cord which hung from the door at the other side of the anteroom.
“You are in China, now, Branch,” he said. “You will meet a man whose mind dwells in China. Not content with keeping aloof from the realities about him, he desires to spread the customs and traditions of his native land.”
THE door opened as Darley ceased speaking. A crouching servant, garbed in Chinese robes, stepped back that the visitors might enter. Cleve Branch eyed the man suspiciously.
A casual observer might have mistaken the man’s stooped position for a bow. Cleve realized that it was the Chinaman’s natural posture.
He felt a revulsion toward this servant of Ling Soo. The man seemed treacherous. Those half-closed, slitlike eyes returned Cleve’s glance.
If the impression of the servant was any forecast of the master, Ling Soo would be a man to watch.
The stooped Chinaman was gliding along a splendid hallway, with the two visitors traveling in his wake. He reached a pair of doors faced with hammered brass. Fantastic dragons writhed in bas-relief upon the panels.
The servant, as though performing a ceremony, bent low and touched his forehead with his fingertips. The doors swung inward of their own accord. The Americans walked through.
They were in a large, sumptuous reception room — large enough to be a meeting place. It was furnished in pure Chinese style. Oddly carved chairs were stationed about the room.
Cleve did not notice the decorations closely. He was interested in the figure at the end of the room. There, in a thronelike chair, rested a placid Chinaman.
The man’s face was like fine yellow parchment. He might have been fifty years old. He might have been a hundred. To estimate the antiquity of this blinking personage was impossible.
A living joss god, he sat in solemn state, while curls of strangely scented incense smoke rose languidly beside him from dragon-headed burners.
The face of this man — Ling Soo — was cryptic. It had a kindly expression, yet was Sphinxlike in its solemnity. The man’s eyes — almost gentle — blinked mildly through large-rimmed spectacles.
He was like a character in a play, Ling Soo; yet Cleve, as he approached him, realized that this was all a natural and subtle personality.
In fact, the government man was somewhat at a loss. He wondered how one began to treat with so unusual a character as Ling Soo.
Darley, as an act of courtesy, raised one forefinger and tapped his forehead. Ling Soo responded with the same motion. Now the Chinaman’s eyes were upon Cleve, gently questioning.
Cleve responded in the manner that Darley had done. The Chinaman returned the friendly salute.
This ceremony ended, Darley became businesslike. He drew one of the near-by chairs toward Ling Soo’s low throne, and motioned to Cleve to do the same.
LING SOO was the first to speak. Cleve, despite his previous contact with intellectual Chinese, rather expected Ling Soo to talk in pidgin English, for the man, Cleve knew, was one who upheld Chinese customs.