Ling Chow tapped four times. The door opened. Ling Chow ascended.
At the top of the stairs, he paused in the open doorway that was the entrance to Wang Foo’s den. The old Chinaman was seated behind his desk. The visitor was standing near by.
“It is time for you to go,” said Wang Foo to the stranger.
Wang Foo beckoned to Ling Chow, who respectfully approached the desk, and received instructions in Chinese to the effect that he should proceed downstairs and see that the street was clear. Ling Chow waited in the doorway again, until the stranger should be ready.
The man with the beefy face suddenly reopened conversation with Wang Foo.
“The old boy may have the goods any time,” he said. “But for some reason he’s holding back.”
“Perhaps he is not yet prepared,” replied Wang Foo.
“But the job was pulled.”
“I know that.”
“Maybe he’s going to fence them some other place.”
“I think not.”
“He’s a foxy fellow. Treats me all right, though. I’m one he hasn’t got anything on - maybe that’s why. He trusts me, too, because I came from you. He hasn’t anything on you, either.”
“No one has anything on me.”
“That’s so, Wang Foo.”
“That is why I bring you here. Remember, if the police ever suspect you of anything, out you go.”
The red-faced man laughed.
“There ain’t much chance of that, Wang Foo. The bulls know me all right, but they ain’t ever found me mixed up in anything crooked. That lunch wagon I’m running is a great hangout for crooks. That’s why the bulls think I’m all right. When they come snooping around my place, the boys behind the counter keep their mouths shut.”
“Don’t the police ask you for information?”
“Not any more. They know I ain’t no stool pigeon. Treat ‘em both straight - crooks and cops; that’s my game.”
The beefy-faced man paused, then added:
“You know, Wang Foo, I’m supposed to be out of town. I’ve got lunch wagons in other cities. Couple here around New York. So when I’m working for you nobody knows I’m anywhere near here.”
“It never pays to feel too sure,” warned Wang Foo. “Be careful.”
“Sure,” said the man, grinning. “Only feel safe two places - with the old boy, and here with you.”
Wang Foo raised his scant eyebrows.
“With the old boy out on Long Island,” explained the red-faced man, “anybody’s safe, because he’s got his racket, and it’s a good one.”
“Whereas with me?”
“Perfect. You’re one chink that minds his business and plays straight. I bet you don’t have no worries.”
“Not many,” smiled Wang Foo. “But I have been careful lately.”
“Why?”
“Some other Chinese tried to work something. They sent a false messenger in here. I trapped him.”
“Was he a chink?”
“No, an American.”
“How do you know that Chinamen were behind it, then?”
“Because only Chinese would have known about the messenger. After I caught him and had him upstairs, a Chinaman rescued him.”
“Whew! That’s bad. How did the chink get in?”
“He must have followed the messenger, and remained hidden in the hall outside.”
“How did you trap the messenger?”
“I had two men behind the curtains. I always have under such circumstances.”
“Maybe you’ve got them there now, watching me.”
In reply, Wang Foo rose and went to the wall. He lifted the curtain.
“Look anywhere you want, Johnny. I trust you.”
“Thanks, Wang Foo. Well, I hope there’s no more trouble.”
“I don’t expect it. Both men escaped. The Chinese fought his way out. That’s my only trouble, Johnny. My own people. The police mean nothing.”
“Why, Wang Foo?”
The Chinaman spread his arms, with the palms of his hands upward.
“If they came here,” he said, “and found me with the goods, what would it mean? Some trouble, yes. But I have never been under suspicion. They would believe my story - that I had bought without knowing that the articles had been stolen.”
“I guess you’re right at that. But suppose somebody should happen to be here with you?”
“Ah! That is why I deal only with those who have never been suspected. You, for instance. You are my friend. As innocent as myself, and quite surprised to learn that the goods were stolen.”
“You’re smart, Wang Foo.”
“It is profitable to be smart.”
“You’re right.”
“I always am.”
The red-faced man chanced to glance at the floor. He started nervously as he observed a long shadow beside him. It was the shadow of a human being, grotesque because of its great size. He looked hastily behind him and saw Ling Chow standing silently in the doorway.
“Say,” he said to Wang Foo. “I didn’t know that chink was standing there. He musta heard us talking.”
Wang Foo smiled.
“Ling Chow knows very little English,” he explained. “Furthermore, he is reliable. He has been away from me for some months; but it takes a Chinese of his type a lifetime to learn English. He is employed in the shop downstairs. Like his cousin, Loo Choy, he is indolent. These men know little. They are faithful. Therefore, they are useful.”
The man called Johnny looked at Ling Chow, and then at the silent Chinaman’s shadow. Funny things, shadows. A little man with a big shadow!
Wang Foo then repeated to Ling Chow the instructions that he had given him some time before. Ling Chow toddled downstairs and the big man with the red face followed, to wait in the shop while Ling Chow went out to the street. The Chinaman came back and bowed, indicating that the way was clear.
“Funny bunch, these chinks,” the American muttered. “Wang Foo is different from the rest of ‘em, though. No wonder he watches out for trouble.”
He walked heavily down the steps.
“Now to find a cab,” he muttered. “I was lucky last night. But it’s later now, and I may have to walk a ways.”
He started up to the end of the street and whistled as he neared the corner. A cab was standing near the intersection, and he could hear the motor.
“Taxi, sir?”
“Right-o!” answered the beefy-faced man as he thrust his heavy body through the door.
CHAPTER XXII
FRESH TROUBLE
THE big man in the back of the cab grunted as the car bounced along a poorly paved street. Evidently the driver did not know the best way to the address that had been given him.
The cab swung a corner, rolled along a street that was somewhat better, then began to increase its speed. Suddenly the passenger in back whistled.
“Whoa, boy,” he said. “Let’s stop in here a minute.”
He pointed to a lunch wagon they had just passed.
“Might as well let them know I’m in town,” he muttered to himself. “Now that I’ve fixed things with Wang Foo, there’s nothing to do until I see the old boy on Long Island. I’ll hear from him in time to plan another business trip.”
Stepping from the cab, he turned to the driver.
“Come in, boy,” he said to the taxi driver.
Harry got out of the front seat reluctantly.
“Don’t like to spare the time,” he began.
“Forget it,” replied the beefy-faced man. “Leave your meter running. This is on me.”
Together they entered the lunch wagon. A cry went up from two men seated there, and the cook waved his hand in recognition.
“English Johnny!”
The red-faced man laughed.
“They call me that,” he said, “but you fellows know I ain’t an Englishman.”
“Perhaps not,” said one of the customers, “but you’ve got some English in you, and you sure look English.”
English Johnny turned to Harry Vincent.
“Sit down, bud,” he said, “and order up.”
Vincent called for a cup of coffee. He listened to the conversation, but learned nothing except that the man they called “English Johnny” was well known and well liked.
“When did you get back, Johnny?” came a question.