THE CHINESE THEATER
IT was gala night at the Mukden Theater. All the elite of Chinatown had turned out. The reason was the return to America of Foo Chow, one of China’s most celebrated dramatic actors. Since the days of the dowager empress, this famous impersonator had dominated the theaters of old China.
The prices rivaled those of a “Follies” premiere. Chinese first-nighters were entering the playhouse so eagerly that it was difficult to distinguish individuals in the throng. Americans were there, displaying advance reservations.
Joseph Darley and Cleve Branch arrived afoot. Darley had discharged his limousine. He had picked up two friends on the way, and with four seats reserved, there would be room for all the party.
Within, the Mukden Theater resembled a large American playhouse. In fact, it was more American than Chinese, for in its construction, the builders had adopted the most modern plans. The seats which Darley had obtained were on a side aisle. Cleve noticed that there were boxes on both sides, but only the upstairs ones were occupied.
This was probably due to the narrowness of the stage. The aisles converged sharply, And the entire stage was not fully visible even from the spot where Cleve was located. The upper boxes, projecting over the audience, might be satisfactory; but the lower ones were practically useless.
The downstairs portion of the theater was not entirely filled. Darley explained that this was due to the high prices asked for seats. Later in Foo Chow’s engagement, prices would be lower, Then the less wealthy Chinese would throng the playhouse.
The show began. It was Cleve’s first experience in a Chinese theater, and the costumes and gestures of the actors were interesting at the beginning.
Gorgeously dressed women appeared upon the stage. Darley explained that they were impersonators. For years there had been a taboo on actresses in China, and that custom was in force here.
Tragic gesticulations and chanting singsong voices became monotonous. Cleve looked over the sea of faces in the theater. He could just distinguish solemn yellow countenances.
He wondered if Ling Soo had fared here tonight. Probably not. Lost in his fantastic dream of a Yellow Empire, the leader of the Wu-Fan would probably have no time for theaters.
The body of the theater was bathed in gloom. The side aisles by the walls were black. All eyes were toward the stage. Hence neither Cleve nor any one else in the vast throng observed a motion there.
A tall, black figure was gliding along the wall. It reached the curtain that marked the entrance to the side boxes, It moved through.
A phantomlike shape stood beside the individual entrance to Box C. Then it passed the last curtain, and stood in the box itself.
Box C was a deep recess, with a high, solid railing. Its black interior was impenetrable while the performance was going on. The black form stationed itself in a corner of the box, and waited there, motionless.
The Shadow was in the Mukden Theater — in the very place that Stephen Laird had tried to designate!
Shrouded in blackness, the invisible man of the darkness was prepared for all who might come this way. A silent, unseen form, he was seeking hidden facts.
What did this visit presage? Only The Shadow knew!
THE performance continued on the stage. Foo Chow made his appearance, garbed in a mandarin costume. He was a tall, well-built Chinaman, whose very appearance excited the approval of the audience.
His work was more interesting than that of the other actors; but, to Cleve Branch, it grew monotonous, and he was pleased when Foo Chow’s part had ended.
Joseph Darley seemed to share Cleve’s restlessness. He spoke to his companions in a low voice.
“Would you like to meet this celebrated actor?” he questioned.
His friends replied in the affirmative. Darley stated that he could arrange it.
“Foo Chow’s part is ended now,” he explained. “I met him once before. I’ll go back stage and arrange an interview with him. You can expect me back shortly.”
He left his seat, gained the aisle, and followed the wall until he reached the curtains that led to the downstairs boxes.
Cleve watched Darley go, and saw him disappear behind the curtains. Then Cleve studied the stage indifferently, and settled himself back in his seat. This evening was a wasted one, he decided.
The performance was nearly ended when Darley returned. He motioned from the end of the row, and they arose and joined him at the side aisle.
“Come on back,” he said. “This way — through the entrance by the boxes.”
They pushed through the thick curtain. Cleve was the last of the four. He noticed the inner entrances to the unoccupied boxes, as he passed. Then they reached the sliding door to the wings of the stage. Darley conducted the party to a dressing room, where he introduced his friends to Foo Chow.
The Chinese actor was a most interesting specimen of his race. He was much older than he had appeared when on stage. He shook hands in American style, and beamed pleasantly.
“I like these visits to America,” he said, in perfect English. “There is an appreciation here that one does not find in my own land. There, they are used to my work. Here, it is new to those who witness it.”
To Cleve, the brief visit was as uninteresting as the performance had proved to be; but he made no comment. He saw no possible connection between Foo Chow and the affairs of Chinatown.
Ling Soo — the Wu-Fan — the Tiger Tong. These were matters that seemed of more importance than a visit back stage at the Mukden Theater.
Such thoughts brought Cleve’s mind to The Shadow. He was still thinking of the mysterious man in black when he left the dressing room with his companions.
They followed the narrow passage beside the boxes, Cleve again at the rear. As they came to the curtain, the man ahead of Cleve dropped the hanging, and Cleve stood alone in the darkness.
Something prompted him to look in the nearest box. It was Box C, although Cleve did not know it, and would have thought nothing of the fact. He stepped past the curtain of the box. He saw the outlines of seats, by the high, built-up rail.
A board creaked under Cleve’s foot as he approached a chair and stood there, watching the stage.
The Chinese play was drawing to its close. Cleve Branch viewed it mechanically. He had a vague impression that someone was here, close beside him, in this box. He turned instinctively and stared at the shadowy corner.
It was nothing but a mass of blackness. The impression still persisted.
Cleve shrugged his shoulders and left the box. He felt that his imagination was getting the better of him. Chinatown was strange enough, without giving way to fancies and odd qualms.
Yet as Cleve walked up the side aisle, beside the wall, he could not help but glance back at times. He seemed to sense someone gliding behind him. Yet each quick inspection revealed no one.
DARLEY and the others were waiting at the entrance of the theater. They walked slowly through the lobby, one man stopping to point to a picture of Foo Chow, whom they had just met. It was a full-length likeness of the Chinese actor.
Cleve’s eyes, moving to the right, stopped suddenly. There, on the marble panel of the lobby, was a long, mysterious shadow. It bore a striking resemblance to a man — to the man whom Cleve had seen that night at the Sun Kew!
It was the shadow of The Shadow!
A grotesque, silhouetted face — a black portion that was shaped like a large slouch hat — in every detail, Cleve saw the replica of the man whom he was seeking.
As though it possessed eyes that sensed Cleve’s gaze, the substanceless shape melted away. Cleve whirled, and was in time to glimpse a tall figure moving into the dark. The cloak — the hat — both betokened the departure of The Shadow!
For an instant, Cleve was about to spring in wild pursuit. Long had he sought The Shadow. This time, he must trail the strange man of the dark.
But Darley’s hand was upon his arm, and realizing that the committeeman was watching him, Cleve abandoned his desire. The matter of The Shadow was one that he chose to discuss with no one — not even Joseph Darley.
“Come,” suggested Darley. “My limousine is waiting. We can go up to my apartment and enjoy ourselves for a while. These Chinese theatricals are all right — for the Chinese. But they leave the evening rather tasteless for me.”
There was nothing to do but accept the invitation. Cleve went along with Darley and his friends. He was silent as they rode away from Chinatown.
Why was The Shadow at the Mukden Theater tonight? Cleve wondered over the perplexing question. Then he remembered the thoughts that he had experienced while he had been standing in the box. He had felt sure that someone was there; that someone had followed him up the aisle.
That someone could only be — The Shadow!
The more Cleve Branch pondered, the less he knew. He sought for a hidden connection, but could not find one. Joseph Darley — Foo Chow — the two Americans he had met tonight — these could hardly interest The Shadow.
In the past, The Shadow had shown an interest in Cleve’s affairs. Tonight, there could be no reason for such interest.
Amid these scattered thoughts, Cleve realized one important fact. He must remain in San Francisco. He must spend his future time in Chinatown. Somehow, he felt that the interests of The Shadow were identical with his own.
Behind the Wu-Fan — in spite of Darley’s opinion to the contrary — there might lay the key to a mighty scheme that carried a threat of danger. Cleve’s duty was to uncover such a plot.
This mysterious man he had termed The Shadow must know facts that were important. It would be imperative to meet him and find out what he knew. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Tonight, the best plan would be to assert that his work in San Francisco was ended. The identity of Cleve Branch must go; once again, Hugo Barnes must rove the streets of Chinatown.
That box in the Mukden Theater! Was it The Shadow’s hiding place? That was a thought, but like all others, it led to no conclusion.
While Cleve was cogitating thus, a simple event was taking place at the St. Thomas Hotel. Gentlemanly Henry Arnaud was asking the clerk for the key to 1216.
Arriving in his room, Arnaud looked about and smiled. He extinguished the light and walked softly toward the window. He stood there, staring out across the city.
Once again, the eyes of The Shadow were upon the glittering lights that topped the Mukden Theater. Crawling lines, varicolored flickerings, and the ring of stationary lights were glowing as before.
But no longer did two lurid spots of green stare forth into the darkness, like glowing, Promethean eyes. The mysterious lights had vanished.
Green Eyes had sent his message. The call had been answered.
Strange events had happened tonight. Cleve Branch had been where he could have learned them, had he known. But only The Shadow knew!
The Shadow laughed, as he had laughed before. His laugh was one of hidden understanding.
For The Shadow had learned what he wanted to know!