But here Cleve was surprised. Ling Soo, when he talked, displayed a marvelous facility with the English language.
“Greetings, gentlemen,” he said, in calm, easily enunciated words. “Greetings, to my friend, Joseph Darley — and greetings to his friend — who shall be my friend.”
“Good evening, Ling Soo,” said Darley politely. “This is Mr. Branch, one of my associates. I deemed it wise to see you tonight, and Mr. Branch kindly consented to accompany me.”
“His kindness does me honor,” commented Ling Soo. “He shall be welcome here whenever he may choose to come. Your friends, Mr. Darley, are pleasant ones to meet. They are what you say” — he paused only momentarily — “regular fellows. Am I not right?”
Darley laughed, and Branch joined in. Ling Soo beamed with pleasure. He seemed to pride himself upon his knowledge of American expressions.
“I shall tell you why I have come here this evening,” said Darley briskly. “I want to talk with you about the Wu-Fan. Changes take place in affairs everywhere — even here in the Chinese settlement. You know it is my task to observe all that happens.
“Tell me, Ling Soo. Has there been any new development in the policy of your order?”
“The Wu-Fan never changes,” said Ling Soo solemnly. “It is the same always. It shall be the same always. The Wu-Fan is the spirit of my native land. It continues the ancient and honorable customs that lived through so many ages.”
“I understand that,” replied Darley. “But I have to look at it from a different standpoint than you, Ling Soo. I can’t forget that China itself has undergone some radical changes during recent years.
“Chinatown is a microcosm of China itself. There can be changes here — as well as in your native land.”
“There is no change in the Wu-Fan,” reaffirmed Ling Soo solemnly.
“But there may have been changes in those who oppose it,” declared Darley.
The mild eyes flashed. Ling Soo’s passivity vanished, for an instant. Then it returned. Cleve wondered at the change. It had been in the dark eyes alone. The face had given no different expression.
But with the return of Ling Soo’s normal character, the thin, yellow lips parted in a broad smile, and from them came a long, cackling laugh. Ling Soo was amused.
“Would one question the lion,” he asked, “to learn what the jackal seeks to accomplish?”
“Hardly,” smiled Darley.
“The Wu-Fan,” cackled Ling Soo, “is mightier than an lion.” His voice and expression became solemn. “The symbol of the Wu-Fan is the ancient dragon — greater than the lion. But the enemies of the Wu-Fan — they are lower even than the jackal.”
“Then,” said Darley, “you believe that what I already know about the Wu-Fan is complete — that my previous report may remain unchanged?”
“Absolutely,” said Ling Soo, with an odd emphasis on the word.
“Tell me,” resumed Darley, “is the progress of the Wu-Fan continuing uninterrupted? Is your membership increasing? Are the new initiates responding as the old have done?”
“All who join the Wu-Fan respond the same,” declared Ling Soo. “What I have told you of the Wu-Fan, I shall repeat. It is the living spirit of old China — the Wu-Fan. It seeks not to do harm. It seeks only to do good.
“Those who believe in it are trustworthy. They rise higher in the order as they prove their worth. They are distinguished by the different badges of membership.”
“One must not judge the Wu-Fan by a single member any more than one should judge a race by an individual. There are traitors in the Wu-Fan, as there are traitors everywhere.”
“You punish them?”
“What does one mean by punishment? That is a question. We have no form of punishment embodied in our code. We place a ban upon the traitor. He is no longer allowed to mingle in the affairs of the Wu-Fan. We make it impossible for him to continue in our service. That is all.”
CLEVE BRANCH was studying Ling Soo. He knew instinctively that the ancient Mongol was speaking the absolute truth. But he sensed a subtle something in Ling Soo’s phraseology.
While Cleve was considering the statement that had just been made, Joseph Darley asked another question, and Cleve forgot all else in his interest in this new subject.
“Does the Wu-Fan,” asked Darley, “intend to be a ruling power here or elsewhere?”
Cleve knew that Ling Soo’s reply would be important.
“The Wu-Fan,” said the Chinaman blandly, “is an ideal. It consists of those who think and believe in common.
“You Americans have your orders — your lodges, as you call them. They have swayed the minds of those who belong to them — many working toward the common good. Such is the Wu-Fan; but it is Chinese, not American.”
“That is just my point,” declared Darley. “The Chinese are different from Americans.”
“Exactly,” said Ling Soo, in a precise tone. “The Chinese are more peaceful than your race. We bide our time. We are not on the rush. The Wu-Fan seeks no quick results. It is patient.”
“Then,” prompted Darley, “your attitude toward American customs and government is—”
He left the statement for Ling Soo to fill. The Chinaman did not hesitate.
“It is friendly,” he declared. “Friendly, because it protects the Wu-Fan. In China, the Wu-Fan would be impossible now, because our native land is ruled by those who conflict, who will not allow those who believe in the past to have their say.
“The jackals, there, have found the dragon weary. The jackals, here, are afraid to attack the young and healthy dragon. For if they so do, they shall find themselves departing from the law of this land, which allows to all the right to think and act with peace.”
Darley threw a sidelong glance toward Cleve. The description that he had given of Ling Soo was being proven. It was evident that the Chinaman himself had vague ideas regarding the present purpose of the Wu-Fan, and that the society constituted no menace.
Yet there was a suavity in Ling Soo’s bearing that placed Cleve on his guard. He felt that it would be necessary for him to know more of this order before passing final judgment.
Joseph Darley was a keen individual, but it was quite possible that he had been deceived by Ling Soo’s honeyed expressions.
There was one important question that had not been answered. What was the attitude of Ling Soo’s underlings toward their chief? That, Cleve was determined to discover.
As the interview drew toward its close, the Bureau of Investigation agent was already looking toward the future. He was vaguely planning an independent course of action.
“We of the Wu-Fan have a high ideal,” Ling Soo was reiterating. “You have seen the Wu-Fan here, Mr. Darley. It exists beyond San Francisco.
“Throughout this country, we have many followers who feel it their duty to contribute liberally toward the future of our cause. I have my representatives who travel here and there on their mission of friendship.
“Some day” — Ling Soo swelled with pride — “the Wu-Fan will be known. It will bring to this country a new era. Perhaps that day will be distant. It has not yet come. But when it is here, my friends, the Wu-Fan will be ready.”
Ling Soo’s voice retained its placidity, but it carried a hidden challenge. The mogul of the Wu-Fan was lost in his dream of future glory. Here, in his own environment, he sat in the state of an emperor. Was his dream purely a mad one? Reason said yes.
Reflecting, Cleve realized that he was viewing the genius who might some day bring the much discussed yellow peril into reality. At the same time, he knew that it would be difficult, now, to bring the action of the government against Ling Soo and the Wu-Fan.