Upstairs, Tam Sook was writing. He finished his inscriptions and stared at the sheet before him. He noted, curiously, that the paper had darkened slightly. He wondered what had caused the blotting smudge that covered the surface of the table. He looked up and his bland expression became fixed.
Before Tam Sook’s table stood a figure garbed entirely in black. Tall, weird and unexpected, it appeared as a being that had conjured itself from nothingness.
Tam Sook could not see the face of the mysterious visitor. He noted only two sharp eyes that glistened as they peered from beneath the turned-down brim of a slouch hat.
Tam Sook bowed.
“You are The Shadow,” he said.
A soft, whispered laugh came from the phantom shape. Even to Tam Sook, the man who had disclaimed all fear of The Shadow, that laugh was chilling. But, as the weird tones died away, the Chinaman regained his bland composure.
He noted that The Shadow bore no weapon. That was surprising. Having passed the door below, The Shadow should have anticipated danger here. Nevertheless, he seemed unprepared.
In a sense, Tam Sook deemed The Shadow wise. Had he come with threatening automatics, Tam Sook might have acted quickly against him. As it was, Tam Sook considered it best to wait.
“Tonight” — it was The Shadow’s voice that spoke — “men are coming to this place. They are men whom I seek.”
“You will not find them,” responded Tam Sook, calmly.
“Why not?” questioned The Shadow, in a low, eerie whisper.
“Because” — Tam Sook’s tone was slow — “you will not be here when they come.”
The eyes of The Shadow stared steadily at Tam Sook’s face. The Chinaman shifted uneasily. He sensed a menace, even though he knew that he was prepared.
“I have no quarrel with you,” declared Tam Sook. “Therefore you had no right to come here. What have you done with my men below? Have you killed them?”
“They are alive,” returned The Shadow.
“That is good,” remarked Tam Sook. “If they were dead, death would be your lot. Since they are still alive, I give you the opportunity to live. Go — while you are safe.”
The Shadow laughed softly. His whispered mirth brought an instinctive shudder to Tam Sook’s shoulders. The Chinaman felt uneasy. With a quick motion, he pressed his hand against the side of the table. Then, with a smile, he rested back in his chair.
“There is no escape now,” he said. “Should you attempt to leave this room, death would be yours. A single false step toward the door or the window will set forth a charge that will blow this place to pieces.
“Furthermore” — Tam Sook spoke slowly, as though proud of his perfect English — “all this will happen within five minutes, unless I am alive to prevent it. So kill me, if you wish. I am not afraid to die.”
Tam Sook spoke with assurance. On other occasions, he had used this measure against enemies. In every instance, they had pleaded for mercy. Tam Sook was interested to see what The Shadow would do. He heard The Shadow laugh.
“Your life for mine” — The Shadow’s words were sardonic — “would be an excellent exchange. There is, however, a way to prevent it. I shall show you.”
THERE was a note of regret in The Shadow’s voice. It seemed to indicate that he would have liked to end the life of Tam Sook and then meet the Chinaman’s boast. Instead, it was obvious that The Shadow intended to use a simple, though unexpected measure.
With his right hand, The Shadow peeled the glove from his left. He held the bared hand close to Tam Sook’s eyes.
The Chinaman stared at the glittering gem that shone upon the third finger of the slender hand. The gleaming girasol, with its everchanging hues, was, indeed, a marvelous sight. Tam Sook suddenly realized that he had set five minutes as the time for death. Yet time was moving slowly by and neither he nor The Shadow seemed to fear the approach of doom!
“Look!”
As The Shadow spoke, he made a motion with his hand. The iridescent girasol popped upward, on a hinge. A cavity was revealed beneath the precious stone.
Within that cavity was visible a tiny, weird-scrawled figure.
Tam Sook’s eyes bulged as he saw the figure. A gasp came from the Chinaman’s lips.
“The sign of Chow Lee!” he exclaimed. “The sign of The Great One!”
“Yes,” came the weirdly-whispered reply, “the gift of those of Chow Lee — those who are even more powerful than you! Only one man, other than your own, has this sacred symbol. I am that man!”
Tam Sook was still staring at the symbol. To him, as to all important Chinese in America, the sign of The Great One was a symbol of faith and loyalty. Whatever hates or friendships were made, all were leveled before this mystic symbol. All the leaders of Chinatown respected those who carried it.
Tam Sook was in a daze. It was The Shadow’s quiet voice that aroused him.
“Four minutes have passed,” declared The Shadow. “It would be wise for you to press the other side of the table.”
Tam Sook obeyed with wonderment. He realized, as he did, that The Shadow had divined the modus operandi of his trap; how one side of the table held the button which set the explosives that prevented escape; while the other side held the button that would break the contact.
All this time, The Shadow, with his keen intuition had held Tam Sook at his mercy. He could have killed the Chinaman and still have escaped with ease. That thought was in Tam Sook’s mind and The Shadow knew it. With calm precision, The Shadow spoke the answer to Tam Sook’s unasked question.
“I have need of you,” declared The Shadow. “Need of you and of your guards below. I have a purpose tonight and I do not propose to prevent the meeting which Charles Kistelle has arranged.”
Tam Sook was totally bewildered. How did The Shadow know that the meeting had been arranged? The Chinaman stared incredulously.
The Shadow knew all, he believed. Why not? The Shadow possessed the symbol of The Great One!
Tam Sook looked once again at the symbol just as the girasol closed over it. The flashing gleam of The Shadow’s mysterious gem alone remained before Tam Sook’s eyes.
The Chinaman arose and bowed again. He motioned to a chair beside the table. The Shadow took the seat. Tam Sook remained standing, in respectful attitude.
“I am here,” declared the Chinaman, “to do your bidding. Speak what you wish. I shall obey.”
CHAPTER XXII
FIVE OF THE SIX
IT was after ten o’clock when Charles Kistelle appeared in the entry at the foot of the stairs leading to Tam Sook’s abode. The Chinaman who met him did not even inquire his name. He pointed to the stairs, his face remaining an inscrutable mask.
Kistelle smiled a twisted grin. This was proof that the others — some of them at least — were already here. Evidently the guard had been told to admit all who bore the same features as the first arrival.
Reaching Tam Sook’s sanctum, Kistelle found the bland Chinaman seated at his table. When Kistelle spoke, Tam Sook glanced up in recognition.
“It is you, Charley,” he said, in a suave tone. “The others all are here. Four, as you said. You were right — you are all the same. But your voice is different. Come.”
Rising, Tam Sook conducted Kistelle through a panel that opened in a side wall. The two walked along a dim corridor; then down a flight of stairs, that wound into the depths below the building. Kistelle felt a chill as they reached the subcellar. This was far beneath the level of the street.
Tam Sook stopped before a door that blocked farther passage. He pointed, bowed and retired. Kistelle opened the door and entered.
The master schemer found himself in a low-ceilinged, paneled room. A dim light illuminated the place. Kistelle recognized the faces that were there to greet him. He should have recognized them — for they were replicas of his own!