GREEN EYES SPEAKS
ONCE again, the green spots shone from the sign above the Mukden Theater. But tonight, no eyes were watching them from the twelfth floor of the St. Thomas Hotel. Henry Arnaud had checked out the night before.
The lights were not visible to Ling Soo, across the street from the theater. For he was seated on his throne in the windowless room, where he dwelt in state. His placid countenance was more inscrutable than ever.
Ling Soo clapped his hands. Foy came skulking into the room. Ling Soo addressed the servant in a singsong voice. Foy replied.
The master arose from his throne and waddled across the room, with Foy at his heels. Pressing a spot upon the wall, Ling Soo operated a panel that slowly opened. He ordered Foy to go first. The servant entered; Ling Soo followed, and the panel closed.
The two passed down a spiral stairway that was hidden in the darkness. They seemed familiar with the pathway, for they moved steadily toward the bottom. When they were far below the level of Ling Soo’s apartment, they stopped before a solid barrier, which, like the panel, opened at Ling Soo’s touch.
This revealed a dim corridor. Ling Soo stepped by his servant and took the lead along the narrow passage. There was a turn, and then another passage.
The men were passing through a tunnel laid beneath the street. They came to a final barrier. This slid away and closed after both had made their exit. They were at the entrance of a room.
Ling Soo rapped once. He paused and rapped again. A door slid up into the ceiling. The leader of the Wu-Fan entered, followed by his minion.
A small group of men were seated about the room. Their forms were barely visible, for the room was shrouded in gloom.
These persons were awaiting the arrival of others. Ling Soo and Foy joined the group.
Here, Ling Soo was no chieftain. He was one of a select few. That was all. A rap at the door. Another man was admitted. The circle was complete.
A light came on at the top of the room. It was a peculiar, flickering glow that cast an odd hue over the assembled men.
It showed them clad in long robes, much like the black attire that Ling Soo wore. But it made faces difficult to distinguish. Yellow and white, alike, were toned with a strange, colorless pallor.
One member of the group spoke a single word in the Chinese language. All turned in his direction. At first glance, he was no different from the rest. But as the combined gaze was focused upon him, a strange oddity asserted itself.
The man’s eyes shone a brilliant green!
There was mystery in their glare — a strange, unaccountable mystery. The glow from those eyes sparkled in the light. It seemed to be a flashing, living flame! It disappeared at moments; then returned.
Green Eyes!
He was the amazing member of this assemblage. No greater than any other — for all were equal — he seemed to dominate through that uncanny individuality which he possessed. No one could meet the glance of those green eyes without feeling an impression of their power.
THE silence which followed was broken by the voice of Ling Soo. The leader of the Wu-Fan spoke in English. It was the use of this language that revealed the personnel of the assemblage.
Most were Chinese, of culture and with command of English. A few were Americans, unfamiliar with the Chinese tongue. The English words were understandable by all.
“Our plans are made,” declared Ling Soo. “We were prepared last night. We have now discovered danger.”
He paused to let the words make their impression.
“We have discussed this one man who has troubled us,” continued Ling Soo. “We let him join the Wu-Fan to mislead him. I purposely let him hear of the Sun Kew. He went there, but escaped. How, we do not know. But he did not suspect me of planning his death.
“I told all this two nights ago. Last night, I supposed that all was safe. But he has appeared again — this man from the government — and he is seeking to uncover us.”
A low murmur of suppressed rage came from members of the circle. Ling Soo silenced it with upraised hand.
“I sent Foy, The Slayer,” declared Ling Soo. “Last night, Foy did not kill. Foy has not spoken. He does not need to speak. The man has escaped. That is all. He must not escape again!”
Another member spoke. His voice, though quiet, was less deliberate than that of Ling Soo. This man was evidently an American, from his speech.
“An agent of the government,” he said, “is dangerous, even though he may know but little. It was wise to let him go his way. But now he is a danger. If he knows—”
“He does not know,” interposed Ling Soo, “but he may learn. Should he learn now, the danger would be great.”
“What do you propose?” came a question.
“I have misled him once,” replied Ling Soo calmly. “He became a member of the Wu-Fan. He expects to learn more of the Wu-Fan. I can promise him more. I can mislead him again.”
A murmur of approval greeted the plan. Then came Ling Soo’s next statement — uttered with quiet composure.
“Let him see Green Eyes,” said the leader of the Wu-Fan.
“Let him see Green Eyes!”
The echo came from the other men, as they spoke almost in unison.
“The time is near,” said a solemn voice. Green Eyes was speaking. “Until now, it was wise to wait. But we cannot act with this danger present. Let us rely on Ling Soo. Let him bring our enemy here. Here, he shall find death.”
“Green Eyes has spoken,” declared Ling Soo, as he blinked in owlish fashion.
“Green Eyes has spoken,” echoed a murmur.
ALL seemed satisfied with the verdict. Silence gripped the group of plotters. The most important business had been settled. Still, they waited. Ling Soo spoke, addressing Green Eyes.
“Shall the death be that of torture?” he questioned. “Or shall it be by the hand of Foy?”
“The torture is not needed,” replied Green Eyes. “The hand of Foy has been known to fail.”
“It cannot fail us when the man is our prisoner.”
“You are right,” declared Green Eyes. “Foy shall have his opportunity to correct his error. Our enemy shall die at the hand of Foy.”
“Green Eyes has spoken,” said Ling Soo.
“Who shall be the witness?” came a voice.
“Let our brother from China be the witness,” pronounced Green Eyes. “He shall see the hand of Foy, The Slayer.”
“Green Eyes has spoken,” declared Ling Soo.
“We await the action of Ling Soo,” asserted the man called Green Eyes. “When he is ready, I shall know. My call shall tell that the time has come. It shall be the last. After it, our work must be done.”
“Green Eyes has spoken,” came a low response.
There was a motion in the subterranean room as the members of the insidious group began to retire, one by one. Those who remained, spoke to each other in low voices.
Ling Soo, with Foy standing at his side, became engaged in conversation with a man in the corner. Their discourse was in the Chinese language:
They formed an odd trio.
Ling Soo, squat, heavy, and owl-eyed; Foy, stooped, silent, and leering; the third man, aged but well-featured. He was listening intently, this stranger, and his face could be seen by both Ling Soo and Foy. The man was Foo Chow, the Chinese actor appearing at the Mukden Theater.
“Our brother from China shall see.” This was the import of Ling Soo’s words. “He shall see the hand of Foy. When that hand strikes, its work is quick and sure. When Foy has failed — as you have heard Green Eyes say — it is only because he has not found the opportunity to strike.”
“Foy deals death to traitors?”
“Yes,” declared Ling Soo. “There was one who died not long ago, but by another hand. It was Green Eyes, himself, who dealt death then. It is seldom that Green Eyes strikes. His hand is firm, but not so certain as the hand of Foy. For Foy is The Slayer.”
The pride in Ling Soo’s voice indicated that Foy was his protege. Foo Chow nodded solemnly.
“We all have work,” declared Ling Soo. “Green Eyes has spoken. It is for me to watch and act; that the time may come when Foy shall strike. You, brother from China, have your work there.”
Foo Chow nodded approvingly.
The room was almost deserted. Foo Chow observed the fact and bowed to Ling Soo. Then the actor left by the door.
When he had gone, Ling Soo spoke to Foy. Followed by his silent servant, the leader of the Wu-Fan made his exit.
One man alone remained. He was seated in his chair, thoughtful and still. He was a sinister figure in that flickering light. He was looking straight ahead and, as he gazed, his eyes glowed and flashed their sparkles of green light. They were eyes that held a dominating sway.
The light in the room went out. But in the semigloom that still remained, the dull glow of two green spots was visible. Those spots moved upward and across the room. They marked the progress of Green Eyes, as he, too, made his departure from the meeting place.
The members of the inner shrine had made their plan. The dragonmen, who controlled the Wu-Fan as their pawn, had plotted death tonight.
Green Eyes had spoken!
The silent, secret room was devoid of occupants. Far above it, on the roof of the Mukden Theater, a huge, illuminated sign flashed forth into the night. The uppermost circle of light upon that sign was a blank space now. Two glowing bulbs of green had been extinguished.
No longer did the call of Green Eyes beckon to the few who knew its meaning. When next it sent its message through the night, its words would be the call of death!
Death by the hand of Foy, “The Slayer”!
So Green Eyes had spoken!