"Yes, my lady. Those are my orders. But I was told… "
Mai Cha hesitated.
"Yes, dear, what were you told?"
"That Sha Mu would follow, to protect us if necessary."
"You know Sha Mu?"
"He was here a year ago."
"He landed with me. But I am sorry to say he has disappeared!"
"That is bad," Mai Cha murmured.
Mrs van Roorden studied her. She was very young to be a child of Huan Tsung. Her mother must have been pretty, for beauty was not a characteristic of the old mandarin.
"We must go alone. I am a stranger to New York, Mai Cha. Is it far?"
"Quite a long way. We can take the car nearly to where we are going and then we must walk."
"I wonder if you can find me a cloak to put over my frock?"
"Certainly, my lady. I was told to do so."
The careful staff work of Huan Tsung could be detected in this. What he had not foreseen was the loss of her credentials — so that she must convince six men, e.ach one risking his liberty, six men who had never met her before, that she was authorised to preside over their conference…
The car in which Nayland Smith was being driven to Kwang T'see's house of mystery slowed up at a selected point, and Harkness got in. Although the black sedan belonged to Headquarters, there was nothing visible to indicate this fact, and the police driver wore plain clothes.
"Turn right at the lights," Harkness directed, "and cruise along the river front slowly."
"What news?" Nayland Smith asked.
"The meeting is at Kwang's beyond doubt." Harkness fitted a cigarette into his holder. "Something afoot there all right. And we have settled one point that was bothering you. Visitors aren't going in at the store; they're ringing a private bell beside the door on the other street. Small office belonging to the warehouse."
"There have been visitors, then?" Smith rapped. "How many?"
Harkness nodded as he lighted his cigarette.
"Two, so far. Strangers to the area. And both carried cases."
"Similar to Orson's which I have here?"
"That's it. The first man arrived on the dot of One-thirty-five. Exactly at one-forty, the second came along… Ah! here's a report."
He lifted the 'phone, listened, said "Go on reporting," then hung up, "Another?"
"Number three was there on the stroke of one-forty-five. I expect you follow my line of reasoning. Sir Denis?"
"Clearly. The cards are timed so that no two deputies arrive together. My card says: 'Two a.m/ — So I'm evidently expected to be the sixth arrival. Do they all come alone?"
"Yes. On foot."
"Hm."
Nayland Smith stared out across the River, through a gap in dock buildings, to where the Jersey City skyline stretched like far-flung ramparts of some giant castle. A launch of the Harbour Patrol went by, its crew ignorant of the fact that a conspiracy to upset the stability of the United States was brewing close on shore.
"I don't like this business," Harkness remarked in his gentle way. "It's believed, but has never been proved, that the cellars under both those places intercommunicate, in fact form a perfect warren in the time-honoured Chinese style."
"What of it? You may remember that I know something about Huan Tsung's cellars, anyway. Been down there before. Point is, if anything goes wrong, you know I'm there and you know where to look for me."
"Yes. But I feel this should be my job, not yours."
"The hell you do!" rapped Nayland Smith, his eyes suddenly steely. "Don't misunderstand me, Harkness. I quite follow and I appreciate. But, now that poor Orson is gone, there's probably no man outside the Si-Fan who knows more about the organisation than I do. No. Definitely it's my job."
Harkness sighed.
"You have memorised the notes pencilled on Orson's report?"
"I have. But I don't know what some of them mean. I wonder if he had a premonition of what was to happen? Or were they intended to refresh his own memory?"
The notes referred to had been scribbled on the back of one of the typed pages hidden in Orson's hollow stick. They were:
Ring seven times Si-Fan. The Seven Give up card Mask. Gown Seven rings. Sixth bell "The first one's clear enough," Harkness said. "You ring the doorbell seven times. The others are incomprehensible. I can only hope that their meaning will come to you when you get inside. But if anything goes wrong, you know what to do?"
"Certainly. But I should hate to disturb the party before it had properly begun."
The arrival of a fourth man at Kwang's door had been reported:
"Time we were moving," Smith said, rapidly, and glanced at the illuminated dial of his wrist-watch. "Better put the glasses on!"
At a word from Harkness, the sedan shot forward at sudden speed, swerved swiftly left and swept almost noiselessly into a dark street. At this hour of the night on the outskirts of the Asiatic quarter, windows were blackened, there were few people on the sidewalk. These mean houses might have been uninhabited.
Even the show places onMott and Pell Street would be closing. Only one prepared to explore deep in secret burrows could hope to penetrate to the shady side of Eastern life in Manhattan's Chinatown.
The big car came to a sudden halt.
"You can't miss the door," Harkness said. "Remember-I'm standing byl"
Nayland Smith, wearing no disguise other than heavy-rimmed glasses (with plain lenses), got out. He carried Sel-wyn Orson's small leather case. They had driven past the establishment of Kwang T'see an hour before, and it was impossible for him to make any mistake.
As he walked slowly along, he paid an unspoken compliment to the police arrangements, whereby several men had been placed, earlier, so that they commanded a view of Kwang T'see's office door. The store on the next street was also under close observation.
He had the whole of the New York Police Department behind him… and the unknown before…
"We must walk from here, my lady."
Mrs van Roorden alighted from the car. Her green gown was hidden by a dark rainproof coat, the hood pulled over her head. A satchel hung from a strap across her shoulder. Mai Cha, hatless, and wearing a cheap frock in place of her native dress, had stepped out first and held the car door open. The chauffeur sat, silent, at the wheel.
There was garbage piled on the dirty sidewalk. The dingy houses looked as though they had been deserted in a plague. Two or three dilapidated automobiles were parked along the street.
"This is a dreadful neighbourhood, Mai Cha."
"Yes. It is bad. I worked near here for a long time. But further up it is better."
"Which way do we go?"
"To the corner. Then around, half way along the block."
"The car will wait?"
"Of course, my lady."
The warmth of the night had grown sultry. Clouds gathered, to add to the gloom of the depressing street. They had nearly reached the corner when Mrs van Roorden heard the sound of a started engine. She stopped, turned.
"You told me the chauffeur would waft?"
"He will wait, my lady." Mai Cha's placid voice remained soft, soothing. "I shall know where to find him."
They came to the corner, and Mrs van Roorden stood back against a wall decorated with a Chinese poster. A heavily built man, a half-caste of some sort, picturesquely drunk, had al most bumped into her. He pulled up, stared at her, stared at Mai Cha, and staggered on.
"Let's hurry!"
Mrs van Roorden was coolly composed, but delicately disgusted. Her composure might have faltered if she had known that the drunken halfcaste was one of Raymond Harkness' men. That he had returned to the corner to watch them and that, two minutes later, he would report: "The woman has gone in."
They hurried along to a door set beside double, barred gates.