Unless this man and his organization had already embarked upon overt crime, there could be no charge.
JOSEPH DARLEY was rising to leave. Cleve Branch did the same. It was then that the stooped servant entered and approached the throne at the command of Ling Soo.
The crouching man spoke in Chinese to his master. Ling Soo, in return, gave an order. Cleve was watching, and he observed a marked change.
Ling Soo’s suavity was gone when he dealt with his countryman. He was stern-visaged, and his quiet eyes took on a startling glare. The servant responded in a plaintive voice, and Ling Soo, forgetful of the presence of his guests, spat harsh, fierce words.
The servant started toward the door. Ling Soo’s eyes still flashed — until they met Cleve’s stare. Then their anger dwindled. They became placid and retiring; a gentle smile replaced the angry frown on Ling Soo’s countenance.
“My servant, Wu Foy,” he said. “He is faithful, but very stupid; or, as you Americans might say — dumb.” Ling Soo cackled as he used the slang expression. “I must tell him many times when I speak to him. Many times is many times too often. One time is sufficient.”
Darley bowed and touched his finger to his forehead. Cleve did the same. The visitors turned and left through the brass doors, which lay open before them.
As they neared the door to the anteroom, Cleve managed to glance behind him. The doors were still open. Ling Soo, enthroned, was staring straight ahead.
Silent and motionless, his distant figure seemed sinister and menacing to Cleve.
Foy appeared and opened the door to the anteroom. The brass doors were closing now. The form of Ling Soo was hidden from view. The servant accompanied them into the anteroom, and pressed the button for the elevator.
The light was vague here, and the forms of the standing men cast long shadows on the floor. Cleve was glancing toward those shadows. To his surprise, he saw four instead of three!
He looked up in surprise; then toward the floor again. The fourth shadow was slipping away. Dwindling, it drew itself toward the door to the anteroom. It vanished while Cleve was staring at it.
Looking up quickly, the government agent saw the door that led into Ling Soo’s abode closing silently. What was that he glimpsed through the crack of the closing door? It seemed like a mass of black — a huge, living shadow! What could it mean? Had Ling Soo followed them?
No, that was hardly likely. It seemed more that someone had slipped from the anteroom into the hall toward Ling Soo’s reception room — someone who had been waiting here, half hidden in the gloom!
A sudden recollection came to Cleve Branch. He remembered that when he and Darley had passed the Mukden Theater, he had seen such a shadow on the sidewalk in front of the playhouse. It had caught his attention then, but he had forgotten it in his interest to reach Ling Soo’s.
The elevator was here. Mechanically, Cleve followed Darley into the car and felt the descent begin. He was wrapped in thought.
Cleve pictured Ling Soo, the suave Chinaman whose courtesy was lulling. He recalled Foy, the crouching servant of the Mongol master.
But more than that, he visioned the black form that he had seen upon the floor — the rising shadow that had become a thing of life.
There were three occupants of that apartment which he had just left; and of the three, the one whose shadow Cleve had seen, was the most mysterious.
Even more astounding and impressive than the parchment-faced Ling Soo and sinister Foy, was the living form that had appeared only as a shadow!
CHAPTER V
CLEVE WORKS ALONE
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS after his journey to the sanctum of Ling Soo, Cleve Branch paid another visit to Chinatown. This time he went alone. No one — not even Joseph Darley — knew of this trip.
Cleve smiled to himself as he wended his way through the bizarre streets of the Chinese quarter. He was thinking of Darley and of Ling Soo.
Perhaps the chairman of the Civilian Committee was right, in that Ling Soo’s organization was scarcely more than a fantastic idea. But Cleve was determined to learn if Darley was right.
The Bureau of Investigation, he reflected, was different from the Civilian Committee of San Francisco. The agents of the government must be thorough in their methods.
Here, in his pocket now, Cleve had a report given him by Darley at the office of the committee, that afternoon. The report covered all that Darley knew about the Wu-Fan.
Cleve had accepted the report with thanks. He had remarked upon its conciseness. When Darley had asked him his plans, Cleve had told him exactly what they were to be.
“I shall stay in San Francisco for a while,” Cleve had said. “In and out of Chinatown, I may uncover facts that refer to the Wu-Fan. My report, Mr. Darley, can not be made until I have investigated on my own.”
“Excellent,” Darley had agreed.
The head of the Civilian Committee had been useful. Cleve knew that he could count on him later on, if necessary. But tonight, the Bureau of Investigation agent was out to tap another source of information that might be even more valuable than Joseph Darley.
There was nothing in his action to indicate that Cleve Branch was bound toward a definite destination. His footsteps were carrying him along the well known channels of Chinatown.
He was scarcely more than a sightseer. He stopped before Oriental shops and admired their wares in the lighted windows. He looked at curious doors as though wondering what lay behind them.
Yet all the time, Cleve was cautious. He traced his steps in varying directions, doubling suddenly on his tracks to note if he were being followed. For Cleve knew the ways of subtle Chinamen, and of all that he had ever met, Ling Soo had appeared most crafty.
The lighted lobby of the Mukden Theater attracted Cleve. He stopped there and viewed the placards in the lobby. Foo Yat, the Cantonese tenor, was playing there.
The man must have been a headliner in his native land, Cleve decided, for a steady throng of patrons was entering the playhouse. As he watched the flow of bland-faced Chinese, Cleve was on the lookout for Wu-Fan badges. He saw none. If any had them, they were keeping them concealed.
TURNING toward the sidewalk, Cleve stopped suddenly. Before him, he observed a splotch of blackness. It was the tall, silhouetted shadow of a man. The same shadow that had been on the floor of Ling Soo’s anteroom!
Once again, Cleve was too late when he looked up. The shadowy surface was uncanny. For the moment that Cleve’s gaze found it, the blackness started to glide swiftly away. Searching for its owner, Cleve barely caught a glimpse of a tall man stepping off into the darkness.
With no attempt at haste, Cleve moved to the sidewalk and stared in the direction that the figure had gone. But the elusive phantom had vanished into the gloom beyond.
What did that shadow mean?
Three times, now, Cleve had seen it. Did it indicate that a man was on his trail? If so, who was the man? What was his purpose? Was he a member of the Wu-Fan?
Lacking a name for this man whom he knew existed, Cleve supplied one — The Shadow!
That name sounded familiar to Cleve. He recalled certain reports which had included mention of a person known as The Shadow. A certain man had been instrumental in thwarting the plans of a counterfeiting ring. Again, this unknown had balked the schemes of Red agents who had been active in America.
The Shadow — a man who moved by night. Could this be the same personage?
Future events might tell. Meanwhile, Cleve decided to be on the watch, not only for visible members of the Wu-Fan, but for this invisible being whom he identified, in his own mind, as The Shadow.
In all his activities as a government agent, Cleve Branch had followed one sure formula, when no other seemed available. He knew that those who looked for trouble would surely find it.