Hype headed for the bar and ordered a drink. Knowing that the man would be occupied for several minutes, The Shadow entered the alcove and went to a telephone booth. He called a San Francisco hotel and gave a room number. Harry Vincent answered.
In low-toned accents, The Shadow gave double orders. Harry was to don evening attire and come to the Club Monterey. He was to watch Colin Eldreth. Miles Crofton, in turn, was to visit the Thurbley Hotel, there to look for David Kelroy, registered under the name of Lawdon.
Coming from the alcove, The Shadow spied Durling. The man was standing at the doorway to the roulette room, keeping an eye straight toward Colin Eldreth. The Shadow’s masklike lips formed a slight smile.
He spotted Durling as a private dick; the fact that the fellow was keeping Colin under surveillance was something that promised later investigation on The Shadow’s part.
Hype Mellick was starting toward the outside door. The Shadow reclaimed his bag and followed. Hype went out; The Shadow paused to speak to the doorman. Pete grinned and addressed The Shadow as Mr. Arnaud; that was the name that The Shadow had used in visiting this gambling house.
“I may be back,” stated The Shadow, quietly. “If a friend of mine — Mr. Vincent — comes here, admit him. He is all right.”
Pete nodded in agreement. The Shadow stepped to the street. He saw Hype sauntering toward the corner. Moving into a blackened area, The Shadow whisked open the bag and donned cloak and hat.
The bag collapsed and went beneath his cloak. He was pulling on black gloves as he followed Hype’s trail.
AT the corner, Hype had stopped to hail a taxi. As the cab door opened, Hype gave an address; then stepped aboard. The cab pulled away. Another taxi had stopped; its driver fumed because he had lost a fare. He was mistaken. As he started to drive away, a voice spoke from the interior of the cab.
Wide-eyed, the driver nodded as he heard an address. How this passenger had come aboard was a mystery to him. He had seen nothing; he had heard nothing. For that matter, neither had the driver of the first cab.
No one had seen The Shadow glide so close that he had caught the address that Hype Mellick had given. Nor had eyes discerned his swift passage to the second taxi. It was gloomy between the street lamps along this antiquated thoroughfare. The Shadow had found perfect cover for his rapid operations.
A soft laugh whispered in the darkness. There was reason for the mirth. No crime was due tonight; The Shadow knew that fact, because Hype Mellick was traveling abroad, with no need for an alibi. Crooks had already gained results. Tonight was one for planning.
CHAPTER XV. NORTH OF CHINATOWN
NORTHWARD, past the lights of Chinatown. Such was the route The Shadow’s cab was following. The trail was moving into another of San Francisco’s foreign districts, the Latin Quarter beneath the towering slopes of Telegraph Hill.
Extending from the neighborhood where Columbus Avenue makes its diagonal crossing of Broadway, the Latin Quarter forms a picturesque location. Kearny Street, extending northward, makes giant strides on the precipitous climb of Telegraph Hill, where topply buildings cling precariously to the heights.
On the southern fringe lies the business section, as foreign as an old world city. It was to this terrain that Hype Mellick was riding.
The Shadow had lost sight of the cab ahead. He was pursuing a blind course, banking on reaching the destination not far behind Hype’s taxi.
But when the cab swung across a lighted, populated street and stopped upon a steep, dingy thoroughfare, it was plain that The Shadow’s driver had lost precious minutes in the race. Hype Mellick had arrived; his cab had gone.
A gloved hand thrust a fare through the front window. The Shadow stepped from the cab; he swung the door shut and faded into darkness. The cab pulled away; The Shadow’s only clue was the fact that Hype had come here.
For he was sure, from close observation of the gambler, that Hype had not suspected anyone upon his trail. Reasoning thus, The Shadow felt positive that Hype must be in one of the buildings close at hand.
Several of the structures appeared eligible. They were buildings that looked like half-deserted tenements, easy of entrance and with poorly lighted halls. The Shadow entered one of the buildings and began his search.
So stealthy was his action that spying eyes did not discern his cloaked figure. Those eyes belonged to a huddled watcher, crouched in a space between two buildings diagonally across the street.
In fact, the watcher was outside the building that Hype had actually entered. The Shadow had missed on his first choice, but he had puzzled the watching man. That fellow had seen the second cab arrive after the first; but he had not witnessed any passenger alighting from it.
Hence the watcher was half puzzled as he continued his vigil. There was a double reason for the spy’s crouch. In addition to the fact that he was on secret duty, he was one who preferred to keep under cover in the Latin Quarter. The watcher was a Chinaman.
INSIDE the building, Hype had reached a dingy room at the rear of the second floor. Dim light had shown Hype as he rapped cautiously at the closed door. From across the hall, sharp eyes peered through the space of a door that was ajar.
The Chinaman, outside, was not the only watcher on duty about this crumbly building. Hype, however, passed the inspection of the inside guard. No motion came from that partly opened door.
The closed door opened in response to Hype’s knock. The gambler entered; he came face to face with Zack Ruggey, who was standing in the glare of a kerosene lantern that rested on a rickety table. Hype delivered a grin; Zack responded sourly.
“What’s the matter?” growled Hype. “Getting cold feet here in this hideout?”
“Pretty near it,” retorted Zack. His face, unshaven, added to the ugliness of his appearance. “The bulls ain’t going to look forever in Chinatown. This is their next bet, Hype.”
“But they haven’t spotted you yet. Not even when you sneaked down to that Mex restaurant to get my call.”
“No. Nobody’s bothered me. But it won’t be long before Romson wises to himself. He knows we used greasers on that job at the bazaar. He ought to figure that they’d come from hereabouts.”
“Romson is still looking for Tsing Chan.” Hype chuckled. “That’s keeping him busy. Tsing Chan has buried himself so deep that it would take a Chinaman to find him. No Chinaman will talk. For all the bulls know, Tsing Chan may have taken it on the lam.”
Hype paused to look around the room. Zack opened the battered door to a closet and thrust his arm deep into a high shelf. He came out with a blackened object — the teakwood box with the glittering silver dragon!
“Here it is, Hype,” stated Zack. “Time you were coming to take a look at it. What do you make of it?”
As he spoke, Zack opened the teakwood box and extracted a folded silken tapestry. He spread the cloth upon the table. Hype chuckled at the sight of ornamental squares. Each section of the tapestry contained a special symbol. There were twelve squares in all; three in each cross row, and the design was four lines deep.
“Here’s where I match them,” announced Hype. From his pocket he drew a thick wad of prayer papers.
“Let’s see the top line on this tapestry. Blue pagoda — red sun — green spider. Here they are, on the prayer papers.”
“Say!” exclaimed Zack. “Where did you get those? They’ve got words written on them—”
“Sure,” interrupted Hype, with a snort. “That’s why I’m using them. Blue pagoda means ‘key’; red sun means ‘small’; green spider means ‘find.’ That’s pidgin English for you: ‘Small key find,’ for our first line.”