The Shadow studied another paragraph.
“We are fortunate,” he declared, “to have gained news this evening. At midnight, Shan Kwan holds a meeting of his cult. The gathering will take place in his reception room, on the floor above the temple.”
“Which means,” assured Doctor Tam, “that a full hundred will be there! Shan Kwan has gained many listeners in Chinatown. It means also that your visit will have to be postponed.”
“It means,” pronounced The Shadow, with a mocking tinge, “that our stroke shall come this very night. At midnight!”
DOCTOR TAM stammered. He did not think The Shadow could be jesting; yet the suggestion of action at the hour of assemblage was the last possibility that he had expected.
“At midnight,” added The Shadow, firmly, “Shan Kwan will be occupied with his cult. The very fact that he has numbers will make him derisive of opposition. Moreover, he will not wish to bring these new followers into a fray. He would prefer to rely upon his servants.
“Most of them will be upstairs. Our work will be half accomplished before they arrive. Midnight, Doctor Tam, will be our hour. That is when you are to invade by the side entrance. Be careful to assemble your men quietly; because police are present.”
“My men are watching the police,” stated Tam, still lost in admiration at The Shadow’s explanation of his midnight choice. “My men, moreover, are of quiet, abiding nature. The very last whom the police will observe. Despite the fact that their leader — the famous Detective Cardona — is in charge of their forces.”
“The law will have its part,” assured The Shadow. “That will begin, once we have made our rescue. Have the truck in readiness for the Fate Joss, within the garage behind the laundry.”
The Shadow was donning his black gloves. A look of query came upon Doctor Tam’s face. Hopelessly, the Chinaman pointed to the diagram, his finger upon that block of rooms that flanked the chamber holding Harry and Cliff.
“Your stroke starts from here!” exclaimed Doctor Tam. “But how can you reach this spot? Once you begin battle with Shan Kwan, in his reception room, your path will be blocked by—”
“I shall not start conflict with Shan Kwan,” interposed The Shadow, with a whispered laugh. “I shall visit him as his guest. As his guest I shall remain.”
The cloaked figure swished through the opened panel, while Doctor Tam stood wide-mouthed. For the first time, Tam had realized the daring of The Shadow’s strategy. The Shadow intended to dine with Shan Kwan tonight!
As guest, The Shadow would experience the delights that gave the mandarin power over those who met him. Lulled and stupefied, he would sink beneath Shan Kwan’s power. Helpless in the mandarin’s control, he would be carried to the confinement of a prison like the one his agents occupied.
Yet The Shadow’s stroke was set for midnight; he had commanded Doctor Tam to attack at the same hour. For a moment, Doctor Tam felt doubt; his confidence in The Shadow wavered. Then came the realization that if The Shadow dared this venture, he must surely know that he could endure it.
Doctor Tam’s mind reverted to three nights ago, when that lone black conqueror had invaded this very room, herding a squad of temporary foemen beneath the muzzles of his automatics. That recollection brought a smile of surety; a nod of the physician’s head.
With The Shadow — so Doctor Tam was willing to concede — the incredible was possible. Despite the dangers that lay ahead, the odds that The Shadow must encounter, there was a chance of full success. Wild though it seemed to him, Doctor Tam could even visualize the recapture of the Fate Joss from Jehol.
CHAPTER XXI
THE SHADOW’S TEST
TINKLING music; perfumed incense; soft light that added to the languor of an exotic scene. Such was the interior of Shan Kwan’s reception room, for the present a dining hall, where two figures sat beside a teakwood table.
One was Shan Kwan the Mandarin. Clad in a robe of vivid scarlet, adorned with golden dragons, Shan Kwan was chuckling as he surveyed his guest. For the cloaked visitor across the table was leaning heavily as he toyed with a newly filled cup.
“Time passes pleasantly here,” observed Shan Kwan, speaking in high caste Chinese dialect. “It is an honor, always, to have as guests those who are friends of Yat Soon.”
The Shadow, hatless, allowed a smile to appear upon his lips. He was wearing the disguise that Yat Soon had given him; his face was that of a Chinaman. His features, however, showed no inflexibility. Under Shan Kwan’s delightful torture, his firmness had relaxed.
“In courtesy,” declared The Shadow, slowly, “I have come as one of China. A courtesy to Yat Soon; and to yourself, Shan Kwan. I have spoken the language of your choice.”
He paused and raised the golden goblet to his lips. Shan Kwan watched him quaff it at a single draught. It was the same sweet nectar that Cliff Marsland had tasted. Shan Kwan clapped his hands. A servant arrived, with a silver bottle. He poured a cup full of the liquid that had dazed Harry Vincent.
“I have returned your courtesy,” reminded Shan Kwan. “I have told you of those men who served you; those whom I rescued from the schemer, Doctor Roy Tam. They are my guests; and they are happy here.
“They told me much concerning you. Too much, perhaps.” Smiling, the mandarin paused: “But I would not allow them to continue their indiscretion. They have dined with me since; but always with little conversation.
“For I expected you in person, Ying Ko. You, whom men of your own country call The Shadow. I wished to tell you of Doctor Roy Tam, that you might deal with him. It is rightfully your task, Ying Ko. For Doctor Tam, through his servant, Hoang Fu, has dealt doom to your countrymen.”
THE SHADOW’S eyes revealed a sudden blaze. Soft light glinted from those optics as indication that his fury had been aroused. The flash ended; apparently The Shadow was too lulled to think further concerning punishment for Doctor Tam.
The girasol sparkled as The Shadow’s left hand raised the golden cup. The guest drank of the tartish liquid; moved his lips in enjoyment of the taste; then finished the goblet. He tried to speak; but wavered slightly.
Another clap of Shan Kwan’s hands. The servant arrived with the bottle and again filled the cup. Eyelids half closed, The Shadow drank again, this time slowly. His words were mumbled, incoherent. Shan Kwan spoke.
“The hour of nine had passed when you did me the honor of arriving here,” he said. “Since then, two more have gone; we have talked of China. I had told you of the Fate Joss that stands within the temple of the open doors.
“Though I, through odd circumstance, became the instrument of its removal, I did not take it willingly, Ying Ko. You have told me that you gained it in hope that it would be sent to China. There, some day, it shall be; if the Joss itself so chooses.
“For the present it dwells with me, along with its muzzled War Dogs, in a resting place that well befits it. The destiny of the Fate Joss is its own. You were once its instrument. The doors of its abode are always open for those who served the mighty Fate Joss. If—”
Shan Kwan stopped. The Shadow was swaying. His cloak had fallen, revealing the top of his Chinese tunic. The mandarin beckoned to two servants. They came forward and caught The Shadow as he slumped. While they raised him to his feet, another person entered the room — Loy Ming.
Placidly, the girl watched The Shadow rally long enough to pick up his slouch hat and groggily place it on his head. For a brief instant, Loy Ming’s eyes reflected deep concern. Then the girl caught her uncle’s gaze. She heard his order to conduct this stupefied guest to his room.