THE FATE OF A TRAITOR
CLEVE BRANCH was cautious as he approached the entrance of the Mukden Theater. He passed the lobby, walking on the other side of the street, and stared at the display boards, which were the only objects in view.
The lobby was deserted, for the performance was now going on in the theater.
The fact that no one was waiting there was not surprising, for it was not quite ten o’clock, Cleve did not expect the messenger from Ling Soo until that time. He crossed the street and shambled by the lobby, in plain view.
By this time, the men summoned by Moy Chen should be in the vicinity. Moy Chen, always exact, would have given them a close description of Hugo Barnes. Cleve knew he could rely on that, for the features of Hugo Barnes were themselves a creation of Moy Chen’s artful hands.
Cleve stopped suddenly when he had passed the lobby. He fancied that he had heard a hissing whistle in the dark, close by. He listened intently, but the sound was not repeated.
Its significance puzzled Cleve. He did not know that it was a signal used by the secret minions of the Wu-Fan — that it meant that no one should now molest the man who bore the mark of death.
Passing the lobby once again, Cleve made a close inspection from this close range. Seeing no person, he looked along the floor and up the walls.
Perhaps that phantom shade that indicated The Shadow would be here tonight. No, it was absent. Cleve wondered. Had something happened to that mysterious man, whose vigilance had twice saved Cleve from death?
Cleve pulled a watch from his pocket. The timepiece registered exactly ten o’clock.
The appointed hour was here. He must enter the lobby.
Cleve shuffled past the deserted box office, closed now that the evening’s business was done. He stood alone in the light, where he could easily be seen by the men whom Moy Chen had summoned.
They were keeping under cover well, Cleve decided. That was their job. Cleve gave no sign that might betray his interest in their presence. He had often worked this way before. It was his task to play his affected part.
With all the characteristics of Hugo Barnes, he went farther into the lobby, There, a man stepped into view from the innermost corner.
This individual was a placid-faced Chinaman dressed in American clothes. He did not look at Cleve; in fact, he seemed totally disinterested in Cleve’s presence. But the man’s arms were folded, and upon his finger was a ring that bore a dragon’s head!
Even at this distance, Cleve could catch the sparkle of the tiny emerald eyes set in the gold design. Approaching the man, Cleve bent his head a trifle and made the sign of the Wu-Fan. The Chinaman responded with the same salute.
While Cleve stood waiting, the Chinaman turned slowly. With arms still folded, he walked into the theater.
The action meant that Cleve was to follow. He did so, but controlled his shuffling gait to allow time for any concealed agents to take up the trail.
The man looked back impatiently. Cleve sensed that it would be unwise to delay too long. He slipped his hands in his coat pockets — a pose that went with the character of Hugo Barnes — and sauntered leisurely after his guide.
THE Chinaman turned to the left, and silently strode down the blackened aisle. Cleve was close behind him.
He suspected that the Chinaman was going back stage, and thence out into the night; for this was the pathway which Cleve had taken the night he had met Foo Chow, with Joseph Darley.
They reached the curtain at the entrance to the boxes. There, the Chinaman stopped. He motioned for Cleve to step through the curtain.
Cleve did so, boldly. He knew well that a false step now might loose unexpected dangers. He must play his part — that of a neophyte in the order of the Wu-Fan, seeking admission to a higher order.
He might be watched every step of the way; and this part of the journey might be only a blind to test him out.
Cleve was experienced in his work. He knew how to play his part. He obeyed the Chinaman’s gesture; but his hand closed within his pocket as he gripped the butt of his short revolver.
Through the curtain, Cleve was shuffling toward the door to the stage when he felt the Chinaman’s hand pluck his sleeve.
“Sh-h!” warned the guide.
The man opened the curtain of the nearest box. He gripped Cleve’s arm firmly and guided him forward.
Cleve was momentarily astonished to find his foot poised over empty space, where there should have been a solid floor. He was advancing toward the seats by the rail of the box, but he was moving downward, and his guide was following him!
Staring upward, Cleve caught a last vague glimpse of the dome of the theater. Then, almost before he realized it, his head was below the level of the floor!
There was a slight noise above. Cleve kept boldly on, and his foot struck the level. The passage was broad here. The Chinaman was beside him. The guide pressed against a barrier ahead; a door opened into a dim passageway.
They were nearing the meeting place — and it was here, beneath the pit of the theater!
A recollection came to Cleve. He recalled that night when he had stood in the box above; how he had sensed a hidden presence.
He had been at the entrance to the inner shrine of the Wu-Fan — almost at the top step of the concealed stairway — and he had not known it!
He must have been observed, then, by some watcher in the dark. If so, he had been close to death. For the Wu-Fan — no matter how friendly it might seek to be — was, after all, an Oriental scheme.
The ways of the Chinese were dark, reflected Cleve, and he knew that intruders to this secret spot would encounter grave risks.
They were at a door now. The guide tapped once. Then again. The barrier slid upward. The passage had inclined downward, since the stairs and the room which Cleve now saw were far beneath the theater.
While he wondered how effective a revolver shot might prove if used as a signal, Cleve glanced about him to study the men that occupied the room.
The strange, flickering light made him blink. Its peculiar glow was troublesome. He could not distinguish faces; but as his vision swept about the circle, he recognized two men.
One was Ling Soo. Cleve could tell it by the squatness of the man’s form. The other, crouched on a stool beside his master, was Foy.
Cleve noted his guide was making the sign of the Wu-Fan. He, too, performed the salute. It was returned by members of the group.
Again, Cleve’s eyes were roving, past Ling Soo. There he saw a sight that made him pause, aghast.
Two brilliant eyes sparkled in the light. Their green hue sent long flashes, that seemed like livid tongues of flame.
Green Eyes!
The name echoed through Cleve’s brain.
Who was this being? A higher power than Ling Soo?
CLEVE’S guide urged him to a vacant chair. He sat there and waited. The group appeared to be awaiting another arrival.
Cleve assumed the indifferent attitude of Hugo Barnes. The strangeness of this room was menacing; yet he felt a security in his false identity. He believed that calmness and silence would serve him well.
The door slid up, and another man entered. Cleve could not recognize him in the light. Although the man sat close beside him, he was unable to distinguish the features of Foo Chow.
The barrier had closed again. The hush was expectant.
Ling Soo began to speak, in English. His words, though low, were friendly in their tone.
“Tonight,” said Ling Soo, “we have a new friend who seeks to be with the Wu-Fan. Is it right that we should have him here?”
“He has promised to be loyal?”
The question came from Green Eyes. Cleve could see the glowing optics sparkle as they stared in his direction.
“He has made his promise,” declared Ling Soo.
“He may be with us,” said Green Eyes.
Cleve felt a nudge beside him. It was from the man who had guided him here.
“The sign,” came the Chinaman’s whisper, in oddly spoken tones. “The sign of Wu-Fan.”
Cleve understood. Deliberately he arose and stood in the center of the group. He felt no fear, whatever. With this formality passed, he believed he would gain the recognition he desired.
He raised his right hand and placed the forefinger to his forehead.
Although he did not realize the fact, Cleve’s finger rested exactly upon that reddish spot — the mark of death. That spot had shown clearly in this shimmering light.
It was hidden now, by the finger that had made it. Cleve, who had made the mark unwittingly, was now indicating it, himself!
It was toward Green Eyes that Cleve was facing; and the glowing rays that sparkled in the light had gained his whole attention.
He did not realize what was happening behind him. His right hand, absent from his pocket, no longer controlled his hidden gun.
The attack came on the instant. The two men nearest Cleve bounded forward. Each seized an arm.
Struggling madly, Cleve was borne backward. Other members of the insidious crew were thronging forward. Their massed attack was overpowering. Cleve’s arms and legs were held as he lay prone upon the floor.
There was no use struggling. Cleve realized that as his wrists were pinioned behind his back. He felt the cutting pressure of leather thongs as his assailants bound him hand and foot. The gag that was pressed between his teeth proved tight and merciless. The helpless man could barely gasp for breath.
Cleve felt himself raised; then he was laid in the center of the room amid the circle, like a human sacrifice.
Staring upward, he could see only those sparkling green eyes; and to Cleve’s cars came the cold words of Green Eyes, himself.
“You swore to support the Wu-Fan,” came the insidious voice. “Instead, you were a traitor! There were matters which you wished to learn. You had no right to learn them.”
“The work of the Wu-Fan will go on. You can never stop them. Once death was planned for you at hands other than those of the Wu-Fan. You escaped it.
“Again, death was meant for you, by the hand of Foy. You eluded it. Tonight, no effort can avail you.
“Fool! You were not content to believe what you were told about the Wu-Fan. Your life was spared only because the Wu-Fan was wise. But now, the decree of wisdom has been changed. There is one fate for you.
“Death!”
THE room seemed to echo with the sinister word. Caught up by the lips of the others, it was hissed in a low, startling note that brought a shudder to the prisoner.
A momentary silence. Then came the tone of Ling Soo’s voice:
“Green Eyes has spoken!”
The others echoed the statement. Green Eyes was silent; but Ling Soo took up the burden.
“The Slayer,” he declared.
Foy arose and stood crouching by his chair, as sinister a figure as any in that room.
“The witness,” came Ling Soo’s solemn voice.
Foo Chow arose.
Each took his stand beside the helpless body of Cleve Branch; Foy on one side — Foo Chow on the other.
A word in the Chinese language was uttered by Green Eyes. One by one, the members of the fiendish gang began to depart.
Ling Soo leaned forward to stare gloatingly into the face of the man whom he had betrayed. Then he was gone.
Green Eyes — that strange, unknown monster, stood before the victim. The flashing optics sparkled as though kindled by the fury of a demon.
Two hands approached Cleve’s face. The green eyes flashed close before him. The hands, with roughly sweeping touch, pulled away the disguising eyebrows and the other tokens of Moy Chen’s craftsmanship.
There, in the uncertain light, the face of Hugo Barnes had been destroyed, and in its place were the features of Cleve Branch.
It was Cleve Branch who had sought to thwart the vile schemes of the Wu-Fan. It was Cleve Branch, now, who was to die.
Unable to send a cry for help; not even knowing the purpose that lay behind the secret mission of the Wu-Fan, the intruder was to feel the knife that killed.
The menace of the startling eyes was gone; but it brought no comfort to Cleve Branch. Green Eyes, too, had departed. Turning his head, Cleve saw the heavy door descend.
The final thud of that barrier was like a knell of doom. The last hope faded from Cleve’s closing eyes.
Two men remained. Foy, The Slayer; and Foo Chow, the witness.
This was to be the room of death! A traitor to the Wu-Fan was to die!