“That’s right,” recalled Hartnett. “I did meet you there.”
“At one of Maxine Schofield’s parties,” reminded Urvin. “She mentioned that you were her grandfather’s attorney.”
Hartnett recalled the incident. Maxine, twenty-year-old granddaughter of Barton Schofield, entertained frequently. Hartnett, whenever he was there, was introduced to the guests.
“I am going out there tomorrow night,” continued Urvin. “Perhaps I may meet you again.”
“Possibly,” said Hartnett. “I shall probably be there early in the evening. I was talking to Mr. Schofield over the telephone, just before you came in.”
“The purpose of my call,” declared Urvin, changing the subject, “is in regard to my own affairs. I have just passed through a period of financial difficulty, which is now ended. I have managed to readjust my income to an excellent basis.
“However, I let matters slide very badly. The result is that I am being dunned for certain bills which I have already paid. I have been gathering proof of such payment — canceled checks and letters — but I hardly know how to proceed with my self-styled creditors.
“It occurred to me that you could handle the matter for me. I would like to meet you at your office; and the whole thing has been worrying me so much that I thought this call would enable me to make an early appointment.”
“Hardly tomorrow,” mused Hartnett. “The day after, perhaps. Call the office day after tomorrow, Urvin. Will that be soon enough?”
Hugo Urvin became thoughtful. He arose restlessly from his chair and strolled over by the window, where he looked down into the gloom of a courtyard while he stroked his chin. He finally turned to the lawyer and nodded.
“Day after tomorrow,” he agreed. “Of course, I could come here late tomorrow night and leave my papers with you. After I come back from Schofield’s—”
“I shall be here,” returned Hartnett quietly. “In fact, I intend to come directly to this apartment after I leave Mr. Schofield. But I would prefer to have you call at the office the next day.”
Hugo Urvin nodded as he heard the finality of the lawyer’s tone. Then, changing his worriment to affability, he glanced about the living room.
“Nice diggings you have here,” he remarked. “Are you living all alone, Mr. Hartnett?”
“My wife is away,” explained the lawyer. “I keep no servants. She will be back within a few days; in the meantime, I go out for my meals. I am merely sleeping here — except for some evening work at the desk.”
Urvin shook hands and departed. Hartnett smiled as he sat down at his desk. He was used to troublesome clients like this one. Urvin, with his petty affairs, had seemed more worried than some big business men for whom the lawyer had handled matters of real importance.
An evening call — emphasis on the importance of an appointment — then the result would be some trifling unpaid bills that could be settled by letter with the collection attorneys.
Such cases annoyed Westley Hartnett, especially when someone whom he did not like was concerned.
The lawyer had little use for Hugo Urvin, for he knew the fellow to be a spendthrift and an idler.
OUTSIDE, Hugo Urvin was strolling up Broadway, singing to himself. He had done good work tonight.
He was sure that Westley Hartnett had not divined the real purpose of his visit. The crux had been when Urvin had gazed from the window.
As he walked along, Urvin was mumbling certain details which he had noticed. Hartnett’s window was the fifth in from the southeast corner of the courtyard. It was on the ninth floor. Six windows away, around the turn, was the end of a short hall. Moreover, a narrow ledge protruded a few feet beneath the rows of windows.
Near Forty-seventh and Broadway, Hugo Urvin sighted a Chinatown bus. He approached the barker and paid the man fifty cents. He received his ticket, and found a single seat near the rear of the big car.
There, he jotted down what he had noted at Hartnett’s. He folded his message into a tiny wad, and inserted it in an envelope smaller than a playing card.
Pulling a newspaper from his pocket, Urvin began to read by the light that came from the illuminated corner. A bustle finally told him that the bus was ready to start. Men were taking down the sign and the Chinese lanterns, to hang them on the next bus that would stop at the corner.
Hugo Urvin smiled. Soon he would be in the Buddhist shrine. There, by the wishing sticks, he would secretly drop his tiny envelope. Going out, he hoped, he would remove a wrapped gift from solemn-faced Chon Look — a gift meant for Urvin.
Urvin’s smile broadened. He could already feel the crinkle of crisp new currency. Tonight’s information was exactly what he had been sent to learn. He had every right to expect new funds for his faithfulness to Kwa!
The bus rolled down Broadway. Time seemed long to Hugo Urvin. The patter of the facetious guide, as he pointed out the sights of Manhattan, was boring to this one listener.
At last the bus reached the borders of Chinatown. The passengers alighted and were led toward the glaring lights.
Hugo Urvin, lagging at the rear of the crowd, noted Chinamen standing at the doors of their shops.
Chancing to glance along the sidewalk, he noted a peculiar silhouette that lay there. Looking upward, he observed a solemn-faced Chinaman in American clothes, who was standing near the doorway of a little store.
There was something uncanny about the fellow’s face. Urvin could not forget the peculiar hawkish countenance. Looking back over his shoulder, he still saw the Chinaman staring straight ahead. The blotch upon the grimy sidewalk seemed to have a sinister, yellowish hue.
Hugo Urvin could not forget the incident, even when the party neared the Buddhist shrine. There was a reason why the young man should be troubled. Hugo Urvin was now the accomplice of a criminal. A tool of crime, he had seen the master whose very presence was a menace to evildoers.
That sinister Chinaman was none other than The Shadow. Here, in Chinatown, the superman had adopted an Oriental disguise. He was seeking clews that would lead him to the lair of Kwa!
Yet in his quest for the Living Joss, The Shadow, master though he was, had engaged with a brain of consummate cunning. Before his very eyes, Hugo Urvin had passed as one of a group of sightseers.
Well had Kwa planned. Seeking to reach beyond the confines of the Chinese district, he had smuggled in an aid so ingeniously that even The Shadow had not, as yet, detected the artful ruse!
CHAPTER VIII. THE YELLOW FACE
WESTLEY HARTNETT and Barton Schofield were seated on the sun porch of the old banker’s home.
The strains of music came through the half-opened door that led into the main portion of the house.
“Maxine enjoys these parties that she gives,” remarked Hartnett. “Doesn’t the noise ever disturb you after you have gone to bed?”
“Seldom,” responded Schofield, with his weary tone. “My room is isolated upstairs. I am entirely alone, and the room is almost soundproof.”
The mention of the old man’s habit of retiring early seemed to have an immediate effect. Barton Schofield arose from his chair, and started weakly toward the door.
“It is after nine o’clock,” he said. “I am going to bed. Good night, Hartnett.”
The lawyer helped his client through the door. A servant came forward and assisted Barton Schofield in his labored progress toward the staircase. Westley Hartnett strolled into a large room where a dance had just ended.
Maxine Schofield spied the attorney. She came over to greet him with a smile. Clasping Hartnett’s hand, she drew him toward a corner where a young man was standing.