He had left the bag in the downstairs hall. He had forgotten it when he had descended with Tsing Chan.
Probably the bag had been put somewhere by Wong Soy.
That did not matter. The bag contained nothing of importance. Kelroy had left Shanghai hurriedly, in response to Ku Luan’s letter. He had money, still safe within his wallet. He could buy clothes tomorrow, something that he had intended to do anyway.
The teakwood box with the silver dragon. That important object had come to Kelroy’s mind. He recalled that he had not even found the box during his short search through the iron chest. Wong Soy’s interruption had come early.
Wong Soy! In his last glimpse of the fellow, Kelroy had seen Wong Soy in his death throes. Well, the traitor had deserved it. But what of the black-clad fighter who had eliminated the murderous Chinaman?
Kelroy felt a sudden pang of regret.
After all, the cloaked fighter had saved his life. Had he shown the proper policy in taking to flight? Should he have remained to talk with the rescuer? The chances were that the capable avenger would have proven to be a friend. He had risked his life to mow down thugs.
A friend!
THAT was what David Kelroy wanted most at this hour. His mind was groping, seeking some chance hope. It came, along with new recollections of the important words that Ku Luan had uttered from his deathbed.
“The destined man was Tobias Eldreth — Tobias Eldreth is dead, but he has grandsons — take the teakwood box to them”
Such had been Ku Luan’s order. Ku Luan had apparently trusted both Tsing Chan and Wong Soy. Yet David Kelroy had encountered trouble with Wong Soy; and it was possible that the fellow had acted at the order of Tsing Chan.
Had his mind been less confused, Kelroy might have figured that Ku Luan’s estimate of the Eldreth grandsons could prove incorrect. But in his present dilemma, the young man from Shanghai did not reason that far ahead.
Kelroy felt himself to be a hunted man, betrayed by Chinese, sought by thugs who were still at large in Chinatown. He wanted security; he feared that no hotel would afford it. One friend in San Francisco was all he needed. His thoughts were concentrated on the name of Eldreth.
ARISING from the bench, Kelroy pushed through the fog. The dank, swirling mist had become a slimy shroud; but Kelroy was grateful for its presence.
Few persons were abroad; those whom Kelroy passed were obscured by the haze.
He had reached a residential district in his flight from Chinatown. The dim lights of a small drug store caught his eye. Kelroy made in that direction; he stepped into an old-fashioned pharmacy that was to his liking.
The place was small; it had no soda fountain; and only the pharmacist was present. Kelroy saw a telephone booth and went there to consult the directory.
The name Eldreth was an uncommon one and Kelroy found it listed only twice. He noted that Colin Eldreth had his residence listed as the Coronado Apartments, while Mark Eldreth’s name was followed by a street address. Kelroy let the telephone book fall and dangle from its chain. He made inquiry of the druggist.
“Whereabouts are the Coronado Apartments?” he inquired. “Very far from here?”
“A mile, I should say,” replied the pharmacist. “A pretty steep walk getting there.”
“I have a friend living there,” stated Kelroy. “Maybe he wouldn’t be there, though. Let me see—”
He pondered; then repeated Mark Eldreth’s address aloud. The druggist nodded.
“That’s nearer,” he told Kelroy. “An easy five minutes’ walk from here. On the way to the Coronado Apartments, too.”
“How do I get there?”
“Well, the place is probably one of those old-fashioned residences on Nob Hill. got to strike California Avenue — you’ll know it by the cable line. Here, I’ll mark it out for you.”
A FEW minutes later, David Kelroy left the drug store bearing a rough-penciled diagram that the druggist had drawn on a piece of wrapping paper.
Pacing through the fog, he found California Avenue and stopped while an old-fashioned cable car rolled past; taking an upgrade at a smooth, constant speed that made Kelroy stare in fascination.
Continuing, Kelroy reached a steep slope. By a street lamp, he observed a massive, reinforcing wall that rose to cliff-like proportions from the street corner. This was the street that Kelroy wanted. He advanced up the slope.
Another retaining wall supported a second house. The hill was so steep that these bulwarks were necessary to make ground-floor levels for the residences. There were steps at the front wall of the second house. Upon a post, Kelroy saw the number that he wanted. He had reached Mark Eldreth’s.
Lights glimmered through the heavy fog. Faintly, Kelroy heard the sound of music. He ascended the steps and rang the front doorbell. A porch light gave sudden illumination; then the front door was opened by a liveried servant.
“I should like to speak to Mr. Eldreth,” explained Kelroy. “Is he at home?”
The servant stared at Kelroy’s attire. He noted that the visitor was not wearing evening clothes.
“A recital is in progress, sir,” explained the servant, stiffly. “The affair is a formal one. Mr. Eldreth is not receiving other visitors.”
“But I must see him,” protested Kelroy. “It is urgent. Please tell him so.”
“The name, sir?”
“David Kelroy.”
The servant ushered Kelroy into the hall; then motioned to a chair in the corner. Kelroy seated himself, then took a survey of his surroundings. Mark Eldreth’s hallway was furnished in an almost Oriental fashion. Chinese rugs adorned the floor; a huge vase ornamented one corner. Chinese carvings were present on the wall.
A PUDGY, moon-faced man came from a doorway through which Kelroy had heard the sound of music. The man was attired in tuxedo, his air of inquiry indicated that he must be Mark Eldreth. Kelroy arose to meet him. Mark studied the visitor with a puzzled stare. He asked:
“You are Mr. Kelroy?”
Kelroy nodded.
“I have never met you,” resumed Mark. “Perhaps my memory is at fault—”
“Not — at all,” cut in Kelroy with a wan smile. “I have just arrived in San Francisco. I came from Shanghai.”
“From Shanghai?”
“I was sent to you,” explained Kelroy, “by a man named Ku Luan. A Chinaman who knew your grandfather. Is the name a familiar one to you?”
“Ku Luan.” Mark Eldreth nodded. “Yes, I recall the name. I remember that my grandfather said that I might some day hear from him. Yet I never have, until tonight. I never understood why, Ku Luan lived here in San Francisco. But now that you say he is in Shanghai”
“Ku Luan is not in Shanghai,” interposed Kelroy, soberly. “I met him here, in San Francisco, when I arrived tonight. I was almost too late. Ku Luan died shortly after I talked to him.”
“You were Ku Luan’s friend?” queried Mark, sympathetically.
“Ku Luan was my father’s friend,” replied Kelroy. “That was why Ku Luan sent for me. When he talked to me, Ku Luan spoke of your grandfather and said that I should call upon you or your brother Colin.”
“Colin is not my brother,” inserted Mark, abruptly, “he is my cousin; and I doubt that he would be interested either in you or Ku Luan. Colin is not a serious-minded person; and he takes but little interest in old family friendships.
“I should like to talk with you further, Mr. Kelroy. You are a stranger in this city; and you have come from Ku Luan. I promised my grandfather that I would receive Ku Luan as a friend, should he visit me. Since you have arrived in Ku Luan’s stead, I give you welcome.”