Maxwell Grant
The Fate Joss
CHAPTER I
THE SHADOW’S QUEST
CHINATOWN’S lights were aglow. Beneath the sultry night they formed an exotic glare throughout this bizarre section of Manhattan. A city within a city, Chinatown was a splash of Oriental splendor centered within drab surroundings.
Blobbed blackness fringed the Chinese quarter. To those who approached Chinatown’s center, there were darkened stretches to be passed through, secluded thoroughfares that gave no indication of the brilliance that lay ahead.
To ordinary visitors, those outlying regions offered no significance; but to those who knew the ways of Chinatown, the fringing borders were important. They were like the suburbs of a miniature metropolis. Though they seemed no part of Chinatown, they were actually inhabited by quiet, retiring Celestials, the overflow of those who dwelt in the quarter itself.
Blackened windows above obscure thoroughfares. Any one of those casements might be a lookout spot for spying eyes. On many nights, passers might traverse these streets unnoticed; but on this sultry evening, slanty eyes were sure to be on observation duty.
For Chinatown had begun to seethe beneath its surface of placidity. It had become an area of rumor, wherein cautious voices babbled their high-pitched dialects. Mystery was afoot; and those who talked of it were wise to confide only in their closest associates.
Blackness enshrouded in blackness. Such was the weird figure that moved along the gloomy sidewalk of a side street. Bound toward Chinatown, this weird figure clung close to the darkened fronts of houses that were seemingly deserted. If there were eyes above, they did not see this being of blackness.
That stalking form was the cloaked figure of The Shadow.
Chinatown was one of The Shadow’s habitats. He knew its ways; its people; he had friends amid the dwellers in that district. The rumors that irked Mongol minds had reached The Shadow’s ears. Because of those reports, he had chosen to keep his visit secret.
The Shadow’s course was swift despite his caution. His gliding pace slackened, however, as he reached a turn in the narrow street. As he passed that point, The Shadow could see the glow of the central district. He was almost within sight of the corner of Mott and Pell — the Times Square of Chinatown.
Pausing, The Shadow gazed keenly along the street ahead. He watched strolling figures pass from view. He eyed windows above; satisfied that they were unoccupied, he glided into momentary view, moving straight toward a row of lighted shops that lined the intervening stretch between this point and the lighted district. Almost at the first shop, The Shadow turned suddenly. His cloaked form blended with the blackness of an alleyway.
There was a single shop just off the street; an obscure store that seemed to have been crowded into the alleyway through lack of a better location. It was a place that could hardly hope for business; for its display windows were but dimly lighted and the shop’s lone door looked uninviting.
The Shadow could easily have passed that one store unobserved. Instead, he turned and entered the shop itself.
A LONE Celestial was seated at a table in the corner. He was occupied with an account book and his form was almost out of sight behind a counter laden with Oriental curios. The Chinaman did not hear The Shadow’s entry; nor did the visitor seek to make him aware of it. Instead, The Shadow glided past the counter and stopped before a paneled wall near the rear of the shop.
He pressed a hidden spring. The panel opened. The cloaked figure joined the blackness beyond the opening and the wall slid shut. The watchdog at the desk had failed to detect The Shadow’s arrival.
Mazelike passages formed a labyrinth ahead. The Shadow followed corridors, down steps and up; he was guided by dim ceiling lights that shone at intervals. At times, he paused to listen to the rhythmic tramp of guards; when those had faded he went onward.
There were various passages to be chosen; there were metal barriers that blocked the way. The Shadow knew which paths to choose; he also understood the secrets of the doorways. Panels opened at his pressure; when he had passed the final one, The Shadow stood in a square room, where paneled walls were visible amid soft light.
Instantly, a panel arose at the rear of the room. A voice spoke melodiously. The Shadow heard the welcome and entered an inner chamber. There, amid Oriental surroundings, sat a placid-faced Chinaman, clad in maroon robes so dark in hue that they were almost as The Shadow’s black.
The panel dropped immediately after The Shadow’s entrance. The visitor from the night was in the presence of Yat Soon, the arbiter of Chinatown.
Old friends: The Shadow and Yat Soon. Both believed in justice; each had his way of gaining it. The Shadow, by open battle against men of crime; Yat Soon, through judicial decisions that he rendered to disputing factions within the borders of Chinese influence.
Evidently Yat Soon had expected this black-cloaked visitor; for the arbiter’s greeting, delivered in perfect English, was one of quiet dignity. Viewing The Shadow, Yat Soon could see no features other than a pair of gleaming eyes, for The Shadow’s hat brim obscured the upper portion of his visage, while the folds of his cloak collar covered his chin.
Yat Soon, however, was accustomed to see this visitor garbed in such fashion. He expressed no curiosity.
Instead, he bowed profoundly as The Shadow spoke in reply. Uttering words in the Chinese tongue, The Shadow was returning salutations. His voice continued in singsong fashion, as he explained the purpose of his visit. From beneath his cloak, he drew forth a folded sheet of rice paper; with gloved hand, he extended it to Yat Soon.
Soberly, the arbiter read a message that consisted entirely of Chinese characters. His perusal ended, Yat Soon spoke.
“HONORED friend,” he said, in English, “you tell me that this letter has reached you through the Chinese general, Cho Tsing. We were friends in China, Cho Tsing and I, in the days when he was governor of the ancient province of Jehol.
“It is apparent that you are his friend as well. You, whom he addresses as Ying Ko, which means The Shadow. For he requests that you regain the Fate Joss that was stolen from the temple of Je Ho. As Cho Tsing had said, that ancient temple has long been closed. It would be well, could he reopen it for those who have made such request. But without the Fate Joss, he cannot do so. There are those who would believe that Cho Tsing himself had stolen the Fate Joss.”
A pause. The Shadow put a question in Chinese. Yat Soon nodded and spoke blandly.
“Many Chinese,” he stated, “have heard it said that the Fate Joss is here in America. That is why they speak among themselves, those whom you may pass upon the street. They say: ‘The Fate Joss is powerful; the Fate Joss can be carried nowhere against his own will’; that, indeed, is their belief.”
Once more, The Shadow spoke. Yat Soon listened to a statement; then repeated it in English as he gave his explanation:
“You say that the Fate Joss has been stolen from China,” remarked the arbiter. “It is true that the Fate Joss has been removed from the temple of Je Ho and brought to America. But the man who took it — whether bad or good — was but an instrument of the Joss itself.
“That, honored friend, is the belief. It may seem strange, perhaps, to believe that a huge statue of bronze and gold can will its own destiny, yet those who honor the Fate Joss do so believe. I, as an arbiter, can do no more than concede to their wishes in this case.”
The Shadow spoke. Yat Soon showed the slightest flicker of a smile. The Chinaman bowed his head in agreement.
“What you have said is true,” declared Yat Soon. “Should you gain possession of the Fate Joss and return it to General Cho Tsing, you would have my full approval. I, Yat Soon the arbiter, would then declare that you, The Shadow, had been an instrument in its return.