DARLEY OFFERS ADVICE
CLEVE BRANCH glanced at his watch. It was five in the afternoon. One could not gauge time without a watch, here in Moy Chen’s upper office, for the little room was windowless. Cleve Branch was himself now. The disguise of Hugo Barnes had been discarded.
Moy Chen smiled placidly as he saw Cleve rubbing his shoulder. The wound had been a nasty one; but Moy Chen had shown himself equal to the task of mending it.
Cleve had been living here since that eventful night at the Sun Kew, and now he was ready to sally forth in his normal guise.
“I shall be back, Moy Chen,” he said, as he arose from his chair. “I intend to visit Ling Soo, when the Wu-Fan holds its next meeting.”
“Visit Ling Soo,” said Moy Chen quietly. “But do not go to that place where you did go — to the Sun Kew.”
“No, thanks,” grinned Cleve.
Moy Chen had explained that the Sun Kew was a gathering place for members of the Tiger Tong — a secret society that had often wreaked havoc in Chinatown. For some years, now, the Tiger Tong had been quiet; but its members did not relish intrusion by Americans, at any time. That, to Moy Chen, was the probable explanation of the trouble Cleve had encountered.
Cleve had mentioned that he had shown the badge of the Wu-Fan. That, Moy Chen presumed, had caused the Chinese ruffians to class him as an impostor.
Moy Chen, Cleve had discovered, played a very passive part in the affairs of Chinatown, and seldom paid attention to the business of his neighbors. As an undercover man, it was wise for the Chinese merchant to avoid all conflicts.
Since Cleve had signified his readiness to depart, Moy Chen guided him. They went into the passage, and at the end, Cleve found the open door that took him to the head of the obscure stairway. He did not enter the Hoang-Ho Cafe. Instead, he made his way to the side street.
While recovering from his wound Cleve had lost all contact with outside affairs. He had resumed his normal personality for the definite purpose of visiting Joseph Darley. He knew that the chairman of the Civilian Committee was constantly feeling the pulse-beats of Chinatown; and through Darley, Cleve might learn new facts now.
HE arrived at Darley’s apartment shortly before six o’clock. Cleve found Darley at home. The committeeman welcomed him.
“Well, well,” said Darley. “I’ve been looking for you. Tried to communicate with you before I went to Los Angeles. Where have you been?”
“In and out of Chinatown,” replied Cleve, with a smile. “Browsing about the district.”
“I’m going there tonight,” said Darley. “Why don’t you come along? We’ll have dinner at the St. Thomas Hotel; then we can head for Chinatown. We’ll see a show at the Mukden Theater.”
“All right,” agreed Cleve.
This was convenient. As Cleve Branch, the government agent could visit the Chinese district with Joseph Darley. As Hugo Barnes, he could go alone and attend the meetings of the Wu-Fan. So the invitation for tonight was a good one to accept.
“You have been out of town?” inquired Cleve.
“Yes,” said Darley. “I just arrived home this afternoon. I called you at your hotel. I wanted you to go with me — if you had been able to spare the time. I had a most enjoyable trip; down to Los Angeles by air, back by private yacht.”
“An enjoyable trip?”
“Wonderful! Leo Frane, the movie magnate, is the owner of the yacht. He is East at present, and he ordered it up here to Frisco to meet him on his return. We had delightful weather from the time we left San Pedro.”
“Frane is a friend of yours?”
“Yes. I have cruised with him occasionally. He knew that I was coming to Los Angeles, so he had the yacht held there until I arrived. I may go back to Los Angeles with him when he comes West — and if you have business in Southern California, I know that you would be a welcome passenger.”
They left the apartment for the hotel. Darley found a secluded table in the corner, and ordered a sumptuous repast for himself and his guest.
To Cleve, after his recent adventures, the luxurious hotel seemed a strange contrast to Chinatown.
Within walking distance of this fine hostelry, where wealthy guests appeared in evening dress, lay the region cut by bizarre streets, where the intrigue of the Orient lay deep. It seemed incredible that these two contrasting districts did not overlap.
Chinatown, true enough, had adopted the mechanical inventions of America. Had social San Francisco, in turn, succumbed at all to the intrigue of the Chinese quarter?
As Cleve’s thoughts dwelt on Chinatown, Joseph Darley’s conversation turned to that very subject. Leaning across the table, he spoke in a low voice.
“I had almost forgotten it,” he said. “I had information for you — that time I phoned to your hotel. Something that I had learned shortly after I gave you my report on the Wu-Fan.”
“Which was—”
“That the Wu-Fan has encountered the open enmity of the Tiger Tong — an organization that has caused a great deal of trouble in the past. It is rumored that the Tiger Tong has been active against members of the Wu-Fan.”
Darley’s statement was intensely interesting. It explained something that Cleve had found perplexing. He realized now why the displaying of the Wu-Fan emblem at the Sun Kew had brought on the sudden attack.
But the Bureau of Investigation agent carefully refrained from giving indication of his extreme interest. He had his own plans to follow.
THERE were matters which Darley should know and matters which he need not know. Facts about Moy Chen belonged in the latter class. So far as any one except Moy Chen was concerned, the connection between Cleve Branch and Hugo Barnes must remain unknown.
“That was all I had to tell you before I left,” continued Darley. “Today, at the office, I found another report on the Wu-Fan and the Tiger Tong. With it was a letter from Ling Soo.”
“What did he have to say?”
“I only glanced over the papers. Tomorrow I can let you see them. I think, however, that I can give you the general facts, right now, from memory.”
“I’d like to hear them.”
“It appears,” said Darley, “that the Tiger Tong made it known in no uncertain terms that it did not like the Wu-Fan. So Ling Soo sent a delegate to talk with a leader of the Tiger Tong, who makes his headquarters at a dive called the Sun Kew.”
This was illuminating! The delegate must have been the man who said he would not go again!
“The delegate,” continued Darley, “encountered some sort of trouble. So Ling Soo ordered three men to go there instead.”
“They waited until late at night, because the riff-raff of the Tiger Tong are usually around the Sun Kew in the evening. When the delegates arrived there, they found the police in possession. There had been a riot at the Sun Kew.”
“What caused it?” asked Cleve.
“The police could not find out,” declared Darley. “But it was in reference to that riot that Ling Soo wrote to me. He believes that the Tiger Tong lured a few members of the Wu-Fan to the place and attacked them.
“Whether or not Ling Soo’s followers rendered a good accounting and escaped, is a matter of speculation. It seems evident, however, that the disturbance was made by the members of the Tiger Tong themselves.”
“It happened in their bailiwick,” agreed Cleve.
“Yes,” resumed Darley, “and it would be extremely unlikely that Ling Soo would have ordered an attack at that place. The Wu-Fan is not admired by the other tongs. If the Wu-Fan should start trouble with the Tiger Tong, it would place itself in a very dangerous position.”
“This may be important,” said Cleve.
“It is important,” declared Darley. “Important to you as well as to me.”
“Why to me, particularly?”
“Because it proves that any member of the Wu-Fan is in danger. It settles — in my mind — the question of Stephen Laird’s death on the Mountain Limited.”
“You believe that he was murdered by Chinese opposed to the Wu-Fan?”
“Without a doubt.”
Cleve reflected. Joseph Darley’s theory appeared correct. Stephen Laird had died from a knife thrust. The members of the Tiger Tong had been knife-wielders. They had attacked Cleve — an American and a member of the Wu-Fan.
IT was logical that Stephen Laird — also an American affiliated with the Wu-Fan — had been a victim of the Tiger Tong. If this were true, it meant that Cleve’s investigation of this case was ended.
The Chinese tongs were already under surveillance. The Bureau of Investigation was interested in the Wu-Fan only because it was a new organization. Laird’s death had appeared as a smirch upon its record. With the Wu-Fan exonerated, Cleve could make his final report and leave San Francisco.
He put one question to Joseph Darley, because he knew that the answer would have an important bearing on the situation.
“We must remember,” he said, “that Stephen Laird was not killed in San Francisco. He was murdered while traveling. Is that in accord, with tong practice?”
“Yes,” said Darley emphatically. “At least to the degree that it affects this case. Had Laird been killed far away from San Francisco — or in some small city — we could hardly blame the tong. This city and New York are the strongholds of the tongs. But Laird was less than a night’s journey on his trip eastward.
“Some member of the Tiger Tong may have been appointed to kill Laird. Failing, the assassin took the chance of following him on the train. It goes badly with tong members, you know, if they fail in a definitely appointed task.”
Cleve was thinking. He was recalling the dying words of Stephen Laird, as they had been emblazoned in the newspaper reports. “Tag A — see in the box.”
These statements and a vague reference to someone with green eyes were the only message that Laird had given. After all, they sounded trivial.
Perhaps, somewhere, Laird had left a report. A tag marked “A” might have been a bit of evidence that would lead to the man who had murdered him — a man with green eyes.
Green eyes! Cleve had noticed none as yet. Ling Soo’s eyes were usually dull. They flashed at times, but they were dark — not green. So were the eyes of his crouching servant, Foy. Dark eyes — all dark eyes.
Cleve smiled as he looked at Joseph Darley. Thinking of eyes, he encountered those of the committeeman. Mild, kindly eyes, of a light grayish-blue. Like Darley’s countenance, and the man’s gray hair, they expressed sympathy and understanding.
“I think that you are right,” declared Cleve. “While I remain in San Francisco, it would probably be best for me to learn facts about the Tiger Tong instead of the Wu-Fan. Can you aid me in that?”
“I shall do as much as possible,” said Darley. “The police can also give you information. They know of men who are reputed to be killers.”
“Tomorrow, then,” said Cleve, “I shall prepare to finish my report.”
The decision seemed a good one. It obviated further necessity of being Hugo Barnes. With complete data on the Tiger Tong — evidence, perhaps, of attempted killings or actual deaths of Wu-Fan members — Cleve could terminate this adventurous stay in San Francisco.
With thoughts along these lines, Cleve dined with Joseph Darley. But as he ate, Cleve had new thoughts — impressions which meant that he must stay a while before his work was ended.
Cleve was thinking of The Shadow.
The invisible man who had chosen to appear on one occasion still remained a mystery!
Why was The Shadow here? Why had he been at Ling Soo’s? Why had he followed Cleve? Why had he made the rescue?
Important questions — all. But there was another realization that brought a furrow to Cleve’s brow as he considered it.
The Shadow had followed him while he was Cleve Branch, and also while he was Hugo Barnes. Could it be possible that this man of the dark knew the existence of both identities?
Cleve recalled that he had been left close by Moy Chen’s shop. Evidently, The Shadow knew that Hugo Barnes had contact there. Where was the explanation of the riddle?
Instinctively, Cleve glanced about him. His eyes sought the floor. They saw a shadow there! But there was no mystery to this shadow. It belonged to a gentleman who was dining alone at a table close by — scarcely within earshot of Cleve Branch and Joseph Darley.
Cleve watched as the gentleman arose and strolled from the dining room, his shadow moving with him. A waiter was bowing as the man went by.
Evidently a guest at the hotel — not a person whom one could connect with darkened alleyways and sinister dives in Chinatown.
The departing guest was speaking to the head waiter at the door of the dining room. That was a considerable distance away, and Cleve lost his passing interest. He turned to dinner and continued with the course that he was eating.
Yet his thoughts were still of The Shadow. That man of mystery was one whom Cleve could not forget. Although he did not mention it to Darley, Cleve intended to remain in San Francisco.
He was determined to learn the secret of The Shadow!