Urvin was about to bark an angry reply, when the voice added, more emphatically than before:
“Much money?”
“Yes,” drawled Urvin. “Have you got some for me?”
The voice chuckled insidiously. Urvin felt ill at ease. He was sure now that this could not possibly be a practical joke at his expense. The speaker at the other end was advancing a definite offer.
“There is money for you,” asserted the crackly voice, “if you will promise to obey.”
The last word was heavily accented.
“Give me the proposition,” declared Urvin, in a steady tone. “I’ll take it.”
“You are alone?” queried the voice.
“Yes,” asserted Urvin.
“Continue to be alone,” came the order. “Leave your apartment at once. Go directly to Forty-seventh Street and Broadway. Stand upon the southwest corner, near the curb. Listen to the first person who speaks to you. Do exactly as he suggests.”
“Southwest corner,” repeated Urvin, in a wondering tone. “Forty-seventh and Broadway — the first person who speaks to me. Say — what is this all about? What do I get out of it?”
“Much money,” declared the voice in a convincing tone.
“All right,” said Urvin, with a laugh. “I’ll do it. I’ll be there.”
“Wait.” The voice was emphatic. “That is not all. Later, you will hear someone utter a certain word. Wherever you are when you hear that word, remain.”
“What is the word?”
“The word” — the crackling tones were very slow — “is a name which you must not repeat. It is Kwa. Do not repeat it now or later. Kwa. Do you understand? Kwa.”
Urvin caught himself on the point of repeating the name. Instead, he simply said:
“Yes. I understand.”
“Then,” ordered the voice, “leave at once.”
The conversation was ended. Hugo Urvin scratched the back of his head, perplexed.
The telephone call might be a practical joke, but he did not think so. There was something convincing about that crackly voice.
The young man pulled a few dollars from his pocket. This cash constituted his sole supply of funds. With a grunted laugh, Urvin donned his coat and hat to leave the apartment.
ARRIVED at the appointed corner, Urvin lighted a cigarette and idled near the curb. Hundreds of people were passing this busy point. Other men were standing about, and Urvin wondered how he would be picked from the crowd. He decided that the person who had called must be someone who knew him.
Urvin frowned. He began to suspect a hoax — some pretended friend near here to enjoy a laugh at his expense.
Urvin threw his half-finished cigarette into the gutter beside the rear wheel of a heavy sightseeing bus.
This vehicle was adorned with Chinese lanterns, and it bore a large sign marked with the word,
“Chinatown.” Urvin noted that the bus was half filled with passengers, and as he still stared, a uniformed barker approached him from the side of the bus.
“Chinatown bus,” announced the man. “Big trip for half a dollar. See Chinatown—”
“Nothing doing,” growled Urvin.
“Waiting for someone, bo?” questioned the barker. “Girl friend, maybe? Bring her along when she gets here. Take her down to Chinatown.”
Urvin swung his back on the fellow. The man annoyed him. The barker did not seem to mind the rebuff; he simply walked a few paces and began to urge another man to take a trip to Chinatown.
Minutes went by. Urvin began to be impatient. He stared about him, looking for peering faces of acquaintances who might be playing a joke on him. He glanced at the bus again, wondering if someone was watching him from within. The bus was nearly filled, and the anxious barker was avoiding the growls of passengers who wanted the bus to “get started.”
“Come on, bo,” the uniformed man was trying to persuade Urvin again. “One more passenger and we start. She ain’t coming along. Take the trip — only half a buck—”
Hugo Urvin was about to express his ire, when a sudden thought burst upon him. Angry words died upon his lips.
Forty-seventh and Broadway — the first person who spoke to him—
“COMING, buddy?” questioned the barker.
Urvin looked at the man. He had never seen the fellow before, but he could tell that the chap was used to this business. Nevertheless, this barker was the first man who had spoken to him; and his instructions were to do exactly as the first person would suggest!
Fishing in his vest pocket, Urvin produced a half dollar and handed it to the barker. The fellow gave him a ticket, without even grinning. He was used to customers who changed their minds, no matter how hostile they had been at first.
Hugo Urvin entered the bus and took the last remaining seat. A guide joined the chauffeur, and the big sightseeing car pulled out.
Going down Broadway, Urvin gave no heed to the wise-cracking palaver of the guide. He looked upon the sightseeing business as a racket, so far as seeing anything of importance was concerned. He began to wonder if he had added to his folly. If this were a hoax, he had certainly fallen heavy.
At the same time, the young man sensed that a clever brain might have contrived this meeting. The bus barkers accosted every one who loitered at their corner. It was obvious that one of them would speak to him. Hugo realized that the barker might well be an unwitting agent of the man with the cackled voice!
THE lumbering bus neared Chinatown. It came to a stop, and the guide told the passengers to alight.
Headed by the uniformed man, the group of some thirty persons moved into a narrow street, where they soon encountered the lights of Chinatown.
Lingering near the rear of the cluster, Hugo Urvin listened for the word that had been given him over the telephone. It kept ringing in his brain, more mysterious than before, now that Chinatown had been reached.
Kwa!
What could it mean?
The guide turned into a narrow entry. He led the sightseers through a small door, and they entered an oddly furnished room, which was evidently a shrine of Buddha, judging by the statues set along the wall.
A solemn Chinaman, dressed in Oriental robes, was introduced as Chon Look, the priest of the secret temple. In English, Chon Look explained the purpose of wishing sticks, of paper talismans, of other objects used by Buddhists.
Reaching the door, Chon Look extended his hand and mumbled Chinese words as he bowed. Most of the departing visitors laughed as they followed the guide, and heard the strange lingo of the Buddhist who kept this shrine.
But as Hugo Urvin approached, he heard a single word which the bowing Chinaman introduced at the end of every sentence. To him, that word had a meaning!
“Kwa!”
Urvin hesitated; then stopped as other sightseers went on by him. He watched the lips of Chon Look, and saw, as well as heard, the next utterance of the mystic word.
“Kwa!”
Moving away from the last of the throng, Hugo Urvin stopped to examine the wishing sticks which had been shown to the visitors. Again, he heard the name of Kwa. When he looked around, all the bus passengers had gone. The outer door of the shrine was closed.
There had been two Chinese girls in attendance. They, too, had left the place.
Hugo Urvin was alone, with the solemn-faced Chinaman named Chon Look. There was something fantastic about the man’s appearance now, as he stood alone, in his Buddhist robes, blinking solemnly at the only American who remained.
“Kwa,” announced Chon Look, staring directly at Hugo Urvin.
The young man nodded. He remembered the admonition not to repeat the name. His silence seemed to be what Chon Look had expected.
“Come.”
The robed Chinaman took Urvin by the elbow, and led him to the center of the room. The lights went out with unexpected suddenness. In the midst of jet-black darkness, Urvin was swung around by the Chinaman’s grasp, so effectively that he lost all sense of direction.