The connection was completed, a few moments later. The Shadow listened while Doctor Roy Tam held a brief conversation with Doctor Doi Yan.
“It is nearly eight o’clock,” Tam told The Shadow. “At nine, Doctor Doi Yan will stop at the new Sun Kew Restaurant. There he will meet Doctor Roy Tam. Together, they will visit the living dead man, Ku Luan.”
THE SHADOW arose. Tam watched him fold cloak and hat, to place them within a flattened briefcase that opened from its collapsed condition and became a small satchel.
The Shadow was wearing street clothes; his attire resembled that of Doctor Tam. The square-jawed Chinaman smiled. His part was to remain here, out of sight, while The Shadow roamed as Doctor Roy Tam.
“At Ku Luan’s,” remarked Tam, “you will meet two servants. One is Tsing Chan, the steward; the other is Wong Soy, who is merely an attendant. I mention these names because I have met both Tsing Chan and Wong Soy. It would be natural for me to recognize them.”
The Shadow bowed in Tam’s own fashion, then responded with a perfect imitation of the physician’s voice.
“I thank you,” said The Shadow. “I shall remember the names that you have spoken. I shall meet Doctor Doi Yan when he comes to the Sun Kew.
“Meanwhile, you may call the Aldebaran Hotel and ask for Mr. Vincent. He accompanied me from New York by plane. Tell Vincent who you are and tell him the exact location of Ku Luan’s house. Also tell Vincent that he is to be outside that house by half past eight, with ‘Miles’ Crofton.”
Doctor Tam bowed. With one hand on the telephone, he watched The Shadow turn about and walk toward the door. Even to his gait, The Shadow was giving a perfect impersonation of Doctor Roy Tam.
This was not surprising, for in the past, when Tam had lived in New York, The Shadow had gained much knowledge of The Chinese physician’s ways and manners. [1]
The door closed to mark the departure of the pretended Doctor Tam. Lifting the receiver of the telephone, Doctor Tam put in the call to the Aldebaran Hotel. Tam was smiling as he waited for the connection; and his smile was one of true satisfaction. For Doctor Tam was convinced that tonight would bring success.
He was sure that The Shadow would return with Ku Luan’s secret, straight from the lips of the living dead man!
CHAPTER II. FRISCO NIGHT
EIGHT o’clock had brought a glow to the streets of San Francisco’s Chinatown. Through the early mist of an incoming sea fog, many lights were gleaming in a galaxy of Oriental glamour.
In contrast, and as reminders that this was America, not China, huge structures loomed high above the bizarre Oriental district. Massive gray ghosts amid the increeping fog, these were the towers of the business section. Just beyond the outskirts of Chinatown, these modern skyscrapers told that San Francisco thrived on finance and big business.
The blanketing fog would have completely obliterated them except for the presence of scattered lights that shone from a few high windows, where a few offices were still open for night workers.
IN one such office, on a twentieth floor, a weary, gray-haired man was seated behind a mahogany desk.
Wizened of face and bespectacled, he was eyeing a young man who stood beside the window puffing at a cigarette. The young man was wearing a tuxedo; he seemed anxious to leave the office.
“Your extravagance must cease!” The gray-haired man pounded the desk as he spoke. “I tell you, Colin—”
“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Dryer,” put in the young man, impatiently. “Just what right do you have to criticize the way in which I spend my money?”
“Every right!” snapped Dryer. “As the administrator of the estate of Tobias Eldreth, it is my duty to see that no funds are wasted. Your grandfather was a careful man—”
“I know all that,” interrupted Colin. “But your duty, Mr. Dryer, concerns only the funds that are under your direct management. My grandfather’s will provided that I was to receive a definite income, with no strings attached. What I do with the money I receive is my business. Not yours.”
“What insolence! Before your grandfather died, he told me specifically that I was to act as adviser to both his grandsons. He mentioned you by name: Colin Eldreth and Mark Eldreth. He said that I was to advise—”
“Save your advice for my cousin Mark. If he wants it, he can have it.”
“But you must take my advice also, Colin. That was your grandfather’s express command.”
Colin Eldreth smiled as he stepped from the window and extinguished his cigarette in an ash tray.
“I’ll take your advice, Mr. Dryer,” he said, indulgently, “but I don’t intend to use it. There is no clause in the will that says I have to follow what you tell me.”
“But you have become a ne’er-do-well — a spendthrift — a wastrel—”
“And I intend to keep on with it. That’s why I’m here tonight. To get my regular quota. The monthly cash and that special quarterly allowance that we were talking about last week.”
DRYER shrugged his shoulders in resigned fashion. He opened a desk drawer and brought out a large, flat check book. Colin Eldreth saw him tear out a check which bore the printed statement “Weldon Dryer, Attorney-at-Law” along the perforated end. The young man smiled and shook his head.
“No checks for me, Mr. Dryer,” he declared. “I would prefer cash. One thousand dollars as the monthly stipend; three thousand for the quarterly. Four thousand total.”
“Four thousand in currency?” questioned Dryer. “That is a large order, Colin. I would much rather give you a check.”
“But I want cash tonight. The full amount. Come along, Dryer; open that safe of yours. You have plenty of money in it. Count out four thousand. I’ll sign a receipt.”
Dryer hesitated, almost timidly. Colin chuckled and lighted another cigarette. He strolled toward the window.
“I won’t be watching while you turn the combination,” informed the young man. “I’ll be looking at the city — that is, as much of it as I can see, through all this fog. Hurry it, Dryer. I have an appointment.”
The lawyer arose. Creaky of gait, bent of frame, he crossed the office and stopped before the front of a large safe. While he manipulated the dial, Dryer threw suspicious glances over his shoulder. These assured him that Colin Eldreth was actually looking out the window.
In fact, the young man was utterly oblivious to Dryer’s actions. Colin had found a sight that intrigued him, the lights of Chinatown. They rose in vivid, changing colors that blinked a swath through the evening fog.
Exotic, mysterious, that glow compelled attention.
Colin Eldreth’s gaze was fixed, almost as though his eyes had sought chosen points amid the Oriental district. The smile upon his lips was reminiscent, an indication that he remembered certain spots in Chinatown.
It was not until Dryer spoke to him that Colin came out of his reverie. The young man swung about to see the lawyer back at the desk. Dryer was counting out four thousand dollars in crisp bank notes.
COLIN approached the desk and picked up a pen. He signed a printed receipt slip that lay beside the money. Folding the bills, he thrust them into his pocket. With a friendly grin, he clapped Dryer upon one stooped shoulder.
“I’ll be seeing you later, old chap,” remarked Colin. “Probably next month, at the earliest. I may be needing some money by the first.”
“What?” demanded Dryer. “You intend to spend all that you have received tonight?”
“Why not?”
“Because you should be storing for the future.”
“While I still have half a million held in trust? Be yourself, Dryer.”
“You cannot touch the trust fund, Colin.”