THE WU-FAN MEETS
ANOTHER evening had arrived in Chinatown. Tonight, odd Oriental buildings were aglow, even to their pagoda-shaped roofs.
A Chinese parade was moving along the narrow street beside the Mukden Theater. The eyes of viewing throngs were watching it. No one paid attention to those who jostled their way along the narrow sidewalks behind the pageant crowd.
Among the few who were pressing past the standing hordes was Cleve Branch — in his disguised personality of Hugo Barnes. He was on his way to something more important than a motorized version of an Oriental pageant. He was bound to a meeting of the Wu-Fan.
Moy Chen had served him well. Without even mentioning the name of the undercover Chinaman, Cleve had made the acquaintance of the men whom Moy Chen had suggested.
A roll of paper money, tactfully displayed in a Chinese shop, will work wonders. With Cleve — or Hugo, as he preferred to call himself — it had proven a perfect passport.
He had made friends with three Americanized Chinese. From one of them, he had heard of the Wu-Fan. He had mentioned the subject to another. The third had discussed it of his own accord.
Through his expression of admiration for Chinese customs, Hugo Barnes had received an unexpected invitation to be present at the meeting of the order. He had accepted. The place had been named. It was Ling Soo’s.
Cleve paused before the entrance to Ling Soo’s abode, and waited while a Chinaman detached himself from the crowd that lined the curb.
The Celestial entered Ling Soo’s. Cleve gave him time to reach the elevator; then went in alone. He waited for the lift to descend, and rode up to the floor where Ling Soo lived.
He drew the cord at the anteroom door. This was in accordance with instructions. Foy appeared and glared suspiciously. Cleve lost no time in declaring his false identity.
“My name is Hugo Barnes,” he said. “You savvy? Go tellee boss that Melican man is here.”
The words had their effect upon Foy. The stoop-shouldered man evidently recognized the name of Hugo Barnes. He hesitated no longer. He opened the door and allowed Cleve to enter.
There were more than two dozen persons in Ling Soo’s reception room. Cleve stood uncertainly for a moment; then one of his Chinese friends came forward and drew him toward the large chair where Ling Soo sat in state.
Awkwardly following his companion’s gesture, Cleve touched his forehead with his forefinger and received Ling Soo’s salute.
The leader’s eyes were mild, but quizzical, as they rested upon the American. There seemed to be some purpose in Ling Soo’s study. Americans were rare converts to the Wu-Fan, Cleve fancied. There were none here tonight besides himself. Perhaps they were much desired. From what Moy Chen had said, Ling Soo always required capable traveling delegates.
“It is a pleasure, Mr. Barnes,” said Ling Soo, with a friendly smile. “A pleasure, indeed, to have you with us this evening. I have heard about you from my friends. They say that they have told you the purpose of the Wu-Fan.”
“They have,” replied Cleve, in the voice he used for Hugo Barnes. “I was very interested in what they had to say about your order.”
“They have suggested,” continued Ling Soo, “that you be named a member of the Wu-Fan. Is that your wish?”
“I should consider it an honor,” said Cleve.
“So it shall be,” declared Ling Soo.
HE clapped his hands. There was silence in the room. Foy crept forward, and stood beside his master’s throne. Ling Soo, in the singsong words of the Chinese language, made an announcement to the others. A response of approval came in reply.
At Ling Soo’s command, Foy thrust forward a small box. From it, Ling Soo produced a small blue badge that bore the head of a golden dragon. He tendered it to Cleve.
“My comrade,” he said, in slowly enunciated English, “you are now an associate of the Wu-Fan. Those you see here tonight are men high in our order. All who wear the badge of the Wu-Fan shall be your friends. You have received the first honor; the others will be yours, in the future.”
Foy had gone away while his master was speaking. Now the man returned and held a brass dragon head between Ling Soo and the new member.
Solemnly, the leader of the Wu-Fan touched the dragon’s head with his forefinger, and then pressed the finger to his forehead. He nodded to Cleve. Acting the part of Hugo Barnes, the government operative placed his own forefinger upon the dragon’s head and pressed it to his forehead.
The members of the Wu-Fan saluted, and Cleve stepped back. The men who had introduced him were extending their congratulations. Cleve fastened his badge upon his coat. It seemed to be the practice, here at the meeting, to keep the badges in view.
Cleve noticed that the emblems were of different colors; but all were alike in that they bore the dragon’s head.
Ling Soo was speaking in Chinese. Between the sentences, one of Cleve’s Oriental friends was trying to interpret the remarks.
Ling Soo was discoursing upon the glory of the Wu-Fan. All were listening in awed silence. When Ling Soo had finished, some of the Chinamen approached him one by one. Each individual appeared to have some request. Ling Soo responded gravely to each in turn.
To Cleve, the meeting was both assuring and disappointing. He was confident that Ling Soo had no idea of his identity; that the enthroned Chinaman had accepted him as Hugo Barnes. But at the same time, he had hoped that he might learn important secrets here tonight. This hope was unfulfilled.
It became apparent that there were no rites or mysteries conferred upon one who had just joined the Wu-Fan.
Unconsciously, Cleve found his thoughts turning to other matters than the meeting.
What would Joseph Darley say if he knew the character which Cleve had assumed! Cleve had called Darley tonight; but had learned that the committeeman had left by airplane for Los Angeles.
Cleve’s call had been in response to a message sent to the hotel where he had been stopping. After three days as Hugo Barnes, Cleve had made a phone call to his old hotel. In his natural voice he had announced himself as Cleve Branch.
He had learned that a call had come from the Civilian Committee two days before. Hence, Cleve had called Darley at his home, only to learn that he was out of town.
What had Darley wanted? Did he have new information on the Wu-Fan and its activities?
Cleve smiled in the style of Hugo Barnes. Right now, a stranger in San Francisco, he was in a better position to learn facts pertaining to the Wu-Fan than was Darley.
LING SOO’s firm tones came to Cleve and interrupted his thoughts. The leader was speaking forcefully to one of his subordinates. The man was bowing in apology. Cleve could see the fiery flash in Ling Soo’s eyes.
There was silence as Ling Soo’s voice raised, and he addressed the assembled group. Cleve could not understand the flow of Chinese words. His blank look attracted the attention of a sour-faced Chinaman who happened to be standing beside him.
“You hearee?” asked the Chinaman, in a low voice. “You no savvy? Me tellee you. He say he has go to the Sun Kew. He showee this” — the speaker thumbed his dragon-headed badge — “and tonight he sayee he not go.
“Ling Soo velee angry, him not go. He sayee he send someone else, mlaybee. Tonight blig talkee down at Sun Kew. Velee important one go. Mlaybee more go. They keepee dlagon here. They showee him!”
The man’s action was explanatory. He pointed again to his emblem; then indicated beneath his coat. Cleve understood.
Something was happening at the Sun Kew. The badge of the Wu-Fan would serve as a mark of identity.
Ling Soo’s anger had subsided. One by one, the members were approaching him, and each listened for a few moments; then received a sign of dismissal. Soon all but Cleve had departed. He approached the Chinaman’s throne.
Responding to Cleve’s salute, Ling Soo spoke.
“You will learn of our next meeting, Mr. Barnes,” he said, in a pleasant voice. “Before then, you may come here when you wish. I should like to see you — often. I shall have time to talk with you in English. I understand” — Ling Soo’s voice was almost questioning — “that you are a gentleman who spends much time in leisure.”
“That’s right,” returned Cleve, in his affected voice.
“I shall discuss that matter with you,” smiled Ling Soo. “In the meantime, remember that wherever the Wu-Fan is welcome, you are welcome. All privileges are yours. None shall question them.
“I may state that I confer special duties upon all our American members when they desire them. These, also, we may discuss when you visit me alone.”
Ling Soo made the sign of the Wu-Fan. Cleve returned it and stood as though at a loss for what to do next. He was playing the part of the fictitious Hugo Barnes to perfection.
Foy was approaching. Ling Soo indicated the servant. Understanding at last, Cleve followed the leering creature to the anteroom.
WHEN he reached the street, Cleve found that the passing pageant had ended. The meeting at Ling Soo’s had lasted longer than he had supposed.
But the evening was not yet over. Cleve still saw work that he could do.
The Sun Kew!
That was to be his next destination. From what his Chinese informant had said, something was taking place there tonight. Whatever it might be, the Wu-Fan was concerned, and the badge which Cleve had received would be a token of recognition.
Cleve slipped the badge from his coat and surreptitiously fastened it to his vest.
Ling Soo, so Cleve understood, had delegated a man to be present at the Sun Kew. That man, for some reason, had presented an excuse. It was assumed that Ling Soo had sent one — or more — of the followers in his stead.
Who was to know which ones had received the order? Ling Soo had talked privately with each departing member. Could he not have told Hugo Barnes to go, also? That seemed likely enough; but another thought occurred to Cleve.
Ling Soo had assured him that all privileges were his. Ling Soo could not become angry if his new follower took advantage of this one and appeared at the Sun Kew, tonight.
To incense Ling Soo would, of course, be to jeopardize his newly gained standing. Cleve realized that; but he saw no risk. Everything appeared advantageous.
Cleve’s mind was settled. Hugo Barnes would be a visitor to the Sun Kew.
Cleve had not been idle during the past three days. As Hugo Barnes, he had been gaining a wide acquaintance with the ins and outs of Chinatown. Many portions of that labyrinthic region were still unknown to him; but he had seen the Sun Kew more than once.
It was a dilapidated place that appeared to be a decadent Chinese restaurant. Ten minutes would take him to that obscure portion of Chinatown where the building that housed the Sun Kew was located.
Wending his way along the street, Cleve so guided his course that he had opportunity to glance behind him.
Once again, he might be followed. He knew but little, so far, of the Wu-Fan and its methods. It might be customary to trail new members.
His second visit to Ling Soo’s had brought Cleve once more into the field of surveillance — but now he was a new person, introduced by Chinese members in good standing, instead of Joseph Darley.
Yes, Hugo Barnes was safe! There was no sign of a follower tonight — not even a glimpse of an elusive shadow. The Shadow! Cleve thought of the unknown man, and indulged in the smile that was characteristic of Hugo Barnes.
He had seen no trace of The Shadow, since he had come — a new man — from the shop of Moy Chen.
But while Cleve Branch was congratulating himself upon that very point, a vague blot upon the curbing slid phantomlike across the street behind him.
It escaped Cleve’s vision for that moment. Then it was obliterated by the darkness of the side street into which Cleve Branch had turned.
The Shadow had not been deceived! The Shadow knew!