“Perhaps,” observed The Shadow, in Tam’s tone, “our patient has already chosen to exert his will.”
“That is possible. Yet we have no indication of it, Doctor Tam.”
“The case is unique, Doctor Yan. One can be sure of nothing.”
“That is true. But — ah! Here we are, at the house.”
Doi Yan ascended the steps and rang the doorbell. There was no immediate response. Doi Yan rang again. The Shadow, standing beside him, was silent. The Shadow could guess why the door remained closed.
Something had already occurred within the home of Ku Luan. Harry Vincent’s report of an arriving taxicab was sufficient cause for such a conclusion.
IN fact, the clang of the doorbell had produced a sudden effect within those portals, particularly in the room where David Kelroy and Tsing Chan still stood silent beside the dead form of Ku Luan. The door to the hall was open; the first sound of the ringing had caused Tsing Chan to turn suddenly toward his American companion.
Beckoning, Tsing Chan urged Kelroy out through the hallway and toward the stairs. As they descended, Kelroy remembered the message that Ku Luan had spoken.
Wong Soy was in the lower hallway, apparently waiting Tsing Chan’s order before admitting new visitors.
Thinking nothing of the doorman’s presence, Kelroy gripped Tsing Chan’s arm.
“Wait!” exclaimed the young American. “I must tell you what Ku Luan ordered. I am to go to the storeroom; then to make my departure. You are to show me the way.”
Understanding dawned upon Tsing Chan. The steward nodded solemnly and spoke, just as the doorbell clanged for a third time. Tsing Chan pointed along the hallway past the stairs.
“Go out by the little door,” he said. “Follow the small passage until you reach the last door on the right. It is the house which holds the storeroom of Ku Luan.”
Kelroy nodded and hurried along the hall. He reached a door at the back; as soon as it closed behind him, Tsing Chan turned to Wong Soy and babbled words in Chinese. The doorman stood still, waiting while Tsing Chan hurried up the stairs. Then Wong Soy unbolted the front door.
Doctor Doi Yan entered with The Shadow. Hardly had they stepped into the hall before Tsing Chan appeared upon the stairs. Coming down, the steward delivered a solemn bow. In English, he spoke sadly.
“You are welcome, gentlemen,” announced Tsing Chan, “but you have arrived too late. I have come from bedside the body of my master. Ku Luan is dead.”
Together, Doi Yan and The Shadow ascended. They entered the bedroom, conducted there by Tsing Chan. The steward gestured toward the body, as if inviting the physicians to study the glazed gaze of Ku Luan’s eyes.
“Ku Luan is dead,” decided Doi Yan. “I am sure of it. He is not as he was when we last saw him, Doctor Tam.”
THE SHADOW nodded his agreement; then turned to Tsing Chan. Owlish, the steward eyed the composed visage of Doctor Tam.
“You were the last who spoke to him?” queried The Shadow, in choppy fashion.
“I was the last, Doctor Tam,” replied Tsing Chan. “He told me only that his instructions were to be obeyed.”
“What instructions were those?”
“The ones that concerned Ku Luan’s will. His goods are to be sold. I, Tsing Chan, am to retain one half of the amount and to divide the rest among his faithful servants.”
“How many are they?”
“They are four.”
“Including Wong Soy?”
“Yes. He is alone downstairs. The others are in their rooms above.”
“Ku Luan spoke to one of them?”
“He spoke to me alone.”
The Shadow questioned no further. Doi Yan, however, had gained an inkling as listener to the conversation. He spoke to The Shadow.
“You held to a theory, Doctor Tam,” said Doi Yan. “You were sure that Ku Luan had been retaining life in expectation of some visitor. You thought it wise not to mention that fact to Tsing Chan; but since Ku Luan is dead—”
The Shadow shook his head, in Doctor Tam’s fashion.
“Ku Luan is dead,” he declared. “That alters the situation, doctor.”
“But perhaps Ku Luan had a visitor,” insisted the Chinese physician. Then, turning to Tsing Chan: “Did anyone disturb Ku Luan tonight. Did any stranger come to this house?”
“No one came here, doctor,” replied Tsing Chan. “I alone have seen Ku Luan. Wong Soy remained below, where he is always stationed.”
The Shadow had not needed to hear this falsehood. He knew, from Harry Vincent’s report, that someone had come to the house. He had deliberately avoided too close a questioning of Tsing Chan.
“I have an appointment,” said The Shadow to Doi Yan. His manner of speech was casual; apparently, he had accepted Tsing Chan’s word. “There is no need for me to remain while you are preparing the death certificate. I shall leave you here.”
He stepped briskly toward the door; then turned as Tsing Chan was about to follow.
“I shall unbolt the door myself,” said The Shadow. “You can lock it later, Tsing Chan. For the present, you must remain with Doctor Doi Yan. He will need your statement when he prepares the death certificate.”
TSING CHAN bowed his acceptance of the order. Bag in hand, The Shadow departed from the room, still copying the stride of Doctor Tam. He descended the stairs and reached the front hall. Wong Soy was not there.
A soft laugh came from The Shadows yellow-dyed lips. He had anticipated this possibility. He had wanted to see Wong Soy; more than that, he had wished to observe what the doorman was doing. There was one sure way to learn.
The Shadow unbolted the front door. That was to stand as evidence that Doctor Roy Tam had gone out to the street. The first point established, The Shadow began a quick obliteration of the character that he had represented.
He opened the bag that he was carrying. From it, he drew the black cloak and the slouch hat. Donning these garments, he pulled on a pair of black gloves.
Too late to interview a living dead man, The Shadow had chosen to learn more concerning the events that had preceded Ku Luan’s sudden death.
Keenly suspicious of Tsing Chan’s secrecy and Wong Soy’s absence, The Shadow had donned his garb of black. He was ready to rove, unseen and unsuspected, within the confines of these premises that had so recently been the property of Ku Luan.
CHAPTER VI. STABS IN THE DARK
DAVID KELROY had acted promptly in making his departure from Ku Luan’s house; but his hurry had ended the moment that he had stepped from the rear door.
He had found the little passage mentioned by Tsing Chan. Picking his way through the dark, the young man had reached the last one on the right.
Trying the brass keys, he had unlocked the door. He had entered a musty building. With the aid of a match, he found a light switch. He had locked the door behind him, then gone on through an open door to find a smaller chamber which proved to be the storeroom.
Another light switch had produced a glow that showed a huge assortment of crates and boxes. Wedged in a corner was the iron chest of which Ku Luan had spoken.
In Kelroy’s opinion, the chest was the equivalent of a modern safe, for it stood more than six feet high and its blocky shape gave it a similar width and depth. The door, moreover, was massive. Trying the keys, Kelroy found one that fitted the lock.
Opening the big door, Kelroy stared at a varied assortment of unusual objects. The great chest was filled with curios: vases, gongs, small Buddhas, and even bells that could have come from some Pagan temple.