A SHOT FROM THE DARK
TO enter the apartment house, Cleve Branch took the simplest and most effective method. He walked in the front door.
He knew that an attendant was sometimes on duty. If the man happened to be there, Cleve intended to make a false inquiry, using a fictitious name. But the attendant was not on hand, and Cleve calmly sauntered up the flight of stairs at the side of the quiet lobby.
He used this course because he did not wish to wait for the automatic elevator, which might be on an upper story. The apartment which Darley occupied was on the third floor. Cleve arrived there a minute after he had left the lobby.
The question of forcible entrance was one that proved perplexing for a time. The apartment house, like so many San Francisco buildings, was on a hill, and Darley’s apartment faced the upper side. Entrance by a window would have meant a climb of nearly twenty feet. The door was the better plan — if Cleve could get in this way. But the special lock offered a difficult barrier.
Recalling what he had seen of the apartment on his visits to Darley, Cleve remembered that the place had an unused kitchenette. That would be at the back. Cleve spied the entrance to a fire escape down the hall, and went in that direction. He stepped out on a railed platform.
There he saw a window — the only window at the end of the apartment. He could almost reach it from the fire escape. Climbing over the rail, Cleve reached out and tried the window with one hand. It appeared to be locked, but it rattled loosely.
There was no fear of detection, for this new apartment house was isolated from neighboring buildings. No lights showed from the window above or from the window below.
Cleve jarred the window of the kitchenette. He pushed inward and upward, with his right hand, while his left clung to the rail of the fire-escape platform.
The window yielded suddenly. Only Cleve’s firm grip upon the rail prevented him from falling.
He clambered through the open window and made his way through to the front of the apartment. There, he reached the living room. He turned on a lamp and looked about him.
Cleve had noticed several tables in this room; and now the question arose as to which would be the proper one to search first.
The drawers of one table were unlocked. He rummaged there, but found that they contained few articles and no papers. The second table had locked drawers; this, Cleve decided, must be the one.
He could handle locks after a fashion; but something prompted him to try the third table before he proceeded with the picking.
Here were unlocked drawers, and the first bottom drawer that Cleve opened brought him his reward. The drawer contained two stacks of papers. Lifting them, Cleve discovered others strewn beneath.
DARLEY had been wise, he realized. An unlocked drawer, filled with useless papers, would not command a thorough search by a burglar.
Cleve withheld his haste, for he realized that it would be wise to replace these papers as he found them. So he laid the stacks upon the table, exactly as they had been in the drawer. One by one, he began to examine each of the odd papers.
He stopped at odd moments to listen. There was a tenseness to this work, and Cleve realized that he must proceed with caution for the task might prove to be most important.
Once, fancying that hidden eyes might be watching him, Cleve stared toward the window, but saw nothing except the jet-black pane, because of the reflected light of the lamp.
Again, he listened, wondering if he had heard the door of the apartment open. He laid these qualms to his fancy.
Ordinarily, Cleve was cool and indifferent to danger; but the sinister atmosphere of Chinatown had made him susceptible to sudden suspicions.
He reflected that the job of burglary which he was now performing was by far the simplest and least dangerous task that he had undertaken since his advent in San Francisco. Here, at least, he was safe from the unseen menaces that hovered over Chinatown.
Cleve reached the last paper in the drawer. He unfolded it in expectation. It must be the one he sought. He could see markings through the sheet as he unfolded it. Then, with the paper spread before him, he stared perplexed.
It was, without doubt, the paper that Ling Soo had mentioned. But it did not contain a word of English. It was inscribed with a series of Chinese characters!
What could this message mean?
Darley, Cleve felt sure, had no extensive knowledge of the Chinese language. The only solution was that Ling Soo had given certain information to Darley, and had included this paper as evidence. But to Cleve, the paper was no more enlightening than a laundry ticket!
Cleve hesitated, wondering what to do. He could take the paper with him, but he felt that such a course would be an error. The only man whom he could trust to translate it was the undercover agent, Moy Chen.
That would mean a trip to Chinatown; time lost there; and a return journey, to get the paper back into the drawer. In the meantime, Darley might return.
If possible, Cleve did not want Darley to find the paper missing. That might lead to difficulties and complications. A safe course would be to copy the Chinese characters on another sheet of paper.
But they were numerous and intricate. Cleve knew well that any inaccuracies in the transcription might ruin the import of the message.
Seeking an answer to this dilemma, Cleve stood staring at the paper, forgetful of all about him. The light was dim, for the floor light which he had turned on was in a corner at the opposite side of the room.
Then came a sudden end to his reflections.
Cleve, fancying he heard a footfall, turned. His mind, working with lightning speed, flashed the thought that it must be Joseph Darley, and that explanations would be in order. At that instant, a man leaped upon him. Cleve had not seen the face of the attacker; nor could the man have seen his, for an arm swung fiercely as it wrapped itself about Cleve’s head.
Backward went Cleve, wrested by a powerful opponent. His hands clutched wildly in thin air. Twisted sidewise by the arm that lay across his face, Cleve’s eyes had just enough space to peer upward and catch the gleam of a shining, pointed knife!
His legs gave way beneath him. Cleve landed flat on his back, half beneath the table, his face staring upward as the knife descended.
Half stunned by the blow against the back of his head, Cleve saw and heard everything in disjointed fashion.
Like a portrait in a frame, he recognized the evil face of Foy, the servant of Ling Soo. Descending with arrowlike aim came the flash of the falling dagger as the yellow hand aimed it for the victim’s heart.
Then, from the direction of the window came a sharp report accompanied by a flash of flame. Like a dummy figure, Foy’s form sprawled sidewise and rolled upon the floor, the knife still extending from the tight-clenched fist.
The lamp went out. Lying in darkness, his head throbbing, Cleve wondered what would happen next. Silence followed. Then came the sparkle of a tiny flashlight.
It moved about the room, while Cleve, prone and helpless, felt himself incapable of motion. The light flickered on his face.
Almost wearily, Cleve closed his eyes. He opened them again to see the paper with the Chinese characters, held suspended in air by an invisible hand.
Eyes in the dark were reading that message! They were the eyes of The Shadow!
The light was turned upon the drawer. The paper seemed to fold itself and drop back in its hiding place.
Other papers rustled. The light moved away; then went out.
Cleve’s senses were returning; still he lay motionless. He knew that The Shadow was in action. Once again, the man of the dark had saved his life. The best course now was to wait until he could divine The Shadow’s purpose.
All noise had ceased, and Cleve wondered what was happening. The events that had just taken place began to seem like an incredible dream.
Gripping the leg of the table, Cleve drew himself to his feet. He stood swaying in the darkness. His ears detected no sound. Cleve groped his way toward the lamp in the corner. He found it. He drew the cord.
Amazement followed. He was alone in the room!
The table drawer, its papers replaced, was closed. The Shadow was nowhere to be seen. But, most astonishing of all, Foy had disappeared!
Cleve rubbed the back of his head. This was incredible!
Foy had sought to kill. The Shadow had shot Foy. They must be enemies; yet both had left. It was possible that one had been instrumental in the departure of the other; still Cleve wondered that he had not heard them going.
Then he realized that his own deadened senses must have betrayed him. He had lost all knowledge of the passing of time. Even now, he was unsteady on his feet.
He pieced it all together. The Shadow had shot Foy from the window. The wounded assassin must have fled by the door. The Shadow, making no effort to follow, had remained a short while; then had departed by the window.
Cleve went to the window, and found it closed, but unlocked. He opened the window and inhaled fresh air. He closed the window and stole across the room to the hallway; there, he found the door of the apartment. It was closed, and the latch was turned.
What next?
The paper! He must go back to it; take it away if necessary.
Cleve was turning toward the living room when he heard a sound outside the door. He slipped along the hall toward the kitchenette. He heard the clicking of a key in the lock, and gained his refuge just as a flood of light appeared in the hallway.
Peering from darkness, Cleve saw Joseph Darley enter and turn toward the living room. The light there must have attracted his attention, for Cleve had left the lamp burning.
Darley’s momentary departure served Cleve well. He slipped through the window of the kitchenette, and gained the fire escape, making very little noise as he went.
He traveled softly down the iron steps and reached the darkness at the bottom of the building. His mind was pondering dully as he made his way toward the street.
Why had The Shadow let Foy escape?
That was but one problem. More important was the matter of the paper which Cleve had been forced to leave neglected.
What was the import of its Chinese message?
The thought of that paper hovering before the glimmer of a tiny light made Cleve realize that another besides himself had viewed it!
The message was a mystery to Cleve, but perhaps The Shadow knew its meaning!