Maxwell Grant
The Chinese Tapestry
CHAPTER I. EAST MEETS WEST
THE man at the desk was a Chinaman.
An odd fact, considering his guise, his garb and his surroundings. Firm-faced, square-jawed, this individual had the air of an American business man. He was wearing American clothes. His office was fitted with a flat-topped desk, straight-backed chairs and a metal filing cabinet.
A stack of envelopes lay on the desk, close by the telephone. The Chinaman was opening one envelope; like the others, it was addressed to Doctor Roy Tam. Removing the letter from within the envelope, Doctor Tam read it carefully, then laid it aside and picked up the next envelope.
The office was lighted only by a desk lamp. Doctor Tam was in the center of the glare. Hence it was not strange that he had failed to detect a movement in the haziness beyond. The door of the office had opened while the Chinese physician had been reading the first letter. The door had closed again without Tam noting it.
Something, however, caused the Chinaman to look up while his fingers stopped upon the second envelope. Perhaps the cause was a faint swish that might have barely reached Tam’s cars. The effect upon the Chinaman was instantaneous. Doctor Tam’s square face became rigid. His eyes remained fixed upon the figure that they saw before them.
On the far side of the desk stood a being in black. A shrouded shape, this visitor had taken definite form in his approach to the lamplight.
His shoulders were mantled by a sable-hued cloak. His head was topped by a broad-brimmed slouch hat. Of his features, only his eyes were discernible. Fiery, they glowed from beneath the hat brim.
Doctor Tam’s visitor was The Shadow. The rigidity of Tam’s features showed a startlement that the Chinese doctor could not repress. Then the slow smile that appeared upon Tam’s yellowish face was proof that the visit was a welcome one.
RISING, Doctor Tam bowed and indicated a chair close beside The Shadow. The cloaked visitor seated himself; Tam did the same. Leaning both elbows upon the desk, Tam spoke in perfect English.
“I had not expected you to arrive so soon,” stated the physician. “It is a long journey from New York to San Francisco, even when one travels by air.”
“Speed was imperative,” replied The Shadow, his voice a weird whisper. “Our friend, Yat Soon, informed me that you had immediate need of my presence.”
“That is true,” nodded Tam. “The cause was urgent, although time still remains. Here, in San Francisco, I have encountered one of the strangest cases that I have ever seen in all my career as a physician.
“That is why I telegraphed Yat Soon, asking that he communicate with you at once. I urged that you should come here, to take my place, my hope being that you could gain the answer which I have failed to obtain.”
The Shadow remained silent. Doctor Tam took this as a sign that he was to continue. Briskly, the Chinaman resumed his statements.
“I came to San Francisco,” declared Tam, “to continue the work that I had begun when we first met: namely, to aid fellow Chinese in their efforts to adopt American ways and methods, to throw off superstition and achieve progress.
“In this work, I discovered that my fame as a physician was valuable. I was recognized because of my medical knowledge. As a consultant, I was welcomed in many quarters where ordinarily a man of my advanced views might not have been received. It was in the capacity of physician that I visited the home of Ku Luan.”
There was something significant in the way that Doctor Tam pronounced the name Ku Luan. His emphasis expressed both awe and admiration.
“A dead man who lives.”
DOCTOR TAM pronounced the sentence solemnly. His face was tense; his eyes strained as he stared toward The Shadow. Sincerely hoping to gain belief, Tam repeated the amazing statement.
“A dead man who lives!” Awe tinged Tam’s tone. “That is the only way to describe Ku Luan. He is of old China, Ku Luan. He is one who served the Manchu dynasty in the last years of its reign. When the Emperor Suan-t’ung abdicated, nearly twenty-five years ago, Ku Luan left China. He came to America and has lived in San Francisco ever since.
“Five days ago” — Doctor Tam raised his right hand; outstretched thumb and fingers indicated the number — “five days ago, Ku Luan died. I say ‘died’ because he has shown no sign of life; yet in a sense he lives. Wearied, he knew that death was coming. Voluntarily, he chose the semblance of death before his hour had come.
“We know the reason why. Ku Luan has words to speak. He was living in hopes that he could talk to someone who is not yet here. Who that person is, we cannot guess; nor can Ku Luan’s servants tell us. But of this, I am certain. Ku Luan, knowing that he had but ounces of strength left within him, showed the amazing power to reserve that last-minute effort until a future time.
“One might say that Ku Luan is in a trance; yet that does not properly describe his true condition. It is rarely true that a man can assume a trance at will; even more seldom can anyone rally from such a condition. Yet Ku Luan has taken on a condition that looks like death; and somehow I believe that he will shed it when he chooses.”
When Tam delivered his final statement, The Shadow spoke in return. His whispered tone was one of analysis.
“You have spoken of Ku Luan,” declared The Shadow. “Ku Luan is one who holds a message. He will resume life only when he is visited by a person to whom he is willing to entrust his secret. He will know when that person has arrived.”
Doctor Tam nodded eagerly. Such were the very thoughts that he was holding.
“Though Ku Luan seems dead,” added The Shadow, “you have tried to impress him with your will. You have hoped that he might speak to you.”
“That is true. On my last visit to Ku Luan, I nearly gained success. As I spoke to him, I sensed that his life force was gathering for its final effort. I lacked the will, however. Ku Luan did not speak.”
“You believe that Ku Luan would speak to me?”
“I do. My hope is that you will visit Ku Luan in my stead. He has accepted me as a friend, if not as a confidant. If he will accept you as he has accepted me”
Doctor Tam broke off, staring. Gloved hands were moving upward from the front of The Shadow’s cloak. Blackclad fingers brushed away the slouch hat, then plucked loose the collar of the cloak.
Falling garments revealed a square-jawed visage. It was sight of that countenance that had caused Doctor Tam’s astonishment.
THE Chinaman was looking at his own face, as clearly as if he had been staring into a mirror. The Shadow had taken Tam’s request literally. A master of make-up, The Shadow had adopted a countenance that was the exact duplicate of Doctor Tam’s.
“I am prepared,” announced The Shadow. His voice had become the choppy speech that characterized Tam’s own tone. “At what time shall Doctor Roy Tam visit Ku Luan, to learn a dead man’s secret?”
Doctor Tam gasped. Then, managing a smile, he reached for the telephone. He spoke in Chinese, giving the name of Doctor Doi Yan. For the Chinese in San Francisco use their own exchange, where the names of fully one thousand subscribers are known and recognized by Chinese telephone operators.
Doctor Tam referred to this fact while he waited for the connection.
“Although I consider myself to be American,” stated Tam, “I wisely established my office within the boundary of Chinatown, in order to be closer to those whom I meet.
“Doctor Doi Yan is Ku Luan’s physician. I shall learn at what hour he intends to visit his patient. I shall arrange for you” — with a broadening smile, Tam corrected himself — “I shall arrange for myself to accompany Doctor Doi Yan this evening.”