The call ended, Satsu hung up the receiver and turned out the lights. He went into the parlor and paused there; his broad, yellow face showing an odd, wise grin. Satsu turned out the last light. Complete darkness reigned within the boarded-up house — a darkness that was silent save for the sound of Satsu’s creeping footsteps.
Raymond Roucard had made good his boast to Shan Kwan. Smoothly, cagily, Roucard had gained the Fate Joss and shipped it to the appointed spot. But even before Roucard had visited the old house, Doctor Roy Tam had learned that the Fate Joss was there.
ELSEWHERE in Manhattan, a truck was rumbling southward beneath the structure of an elevated. Aboard it lay the Fate Joss and the guardian cannons, so swathed that Roucard’s truckmen could not guess what the bulky objects were. Behind that truck was a following coupe, from which two yellow faces peered.
Spies sent by Doctor Tam had reached the mystery house before the truck’s departure. Calling back to their chief, they had received new orders, based on later word from Satsu. These Chinamen were trailing the truck to its appointed destination, the courtyard in back of the old Calumet Theater.
Delayed delivery had been a part of Roucard’s scheme. An interval between the dropping of the crates and their collection. That time space was designed to prevent a meeting between Roucard’s hired truckmen and the Chinese carriers whom Shan Kwan would later order to pick up the Fate Joss and the cannons.
Unknown to either Roucard or the mandarin, that time period was to offer an opportunity to Doctor Roy Tam. He, like Roucard and Shan Kwan, had willing workers who would do his bidding. Strange might be the travels of the Fate Joss before it reached the brass-walled room that Shan Kwan had provided for its reception.
CHAPTER VI
MURDER AT MIDNIGHT
THE old Phoenix Hotel was obscure and poorly located; it fronted on an avenue that was topped by an elevated railway. Because of the noise, the choice rooms were at the rear of the hotel; and from those windows the prospect was one of dingy alleyways and backs of dilapidated buildings.
Raymond Roucard had chosen the Phoenix Hotel partly because of its seclusion, partly because it was not too far from Chinatown. His trips to Shan Kwan’s residence had proven inexpensive at a time when Roucard was counting upon coming funds.
Roucard’s room was on the second floor — number 228 — and he had not returned to it after his departure from Shan Kwan’s. Instead, he had gone directly to Chichester Laudring’s new house; and he had waited outside that building until Laudring had arrived with Satsu.
Hence there had been no opportunity for The Shadow to pick up Roucard’s trail; but present circumstances indicated that the master sleuth would soon have a tracer on the dapper chap who had arranged the transfer of the Fate Joss. The proof of that lay within the walls of Roucard’s room at the Phoenix.
A single lamp was burning on a corner table. Its shaded rays produced but little illumination in the other portions of the room. Hence the figure that moved within Room 228 was nothing but a phantom shape that glided within edging gloom. No eye could have discerned The Shadow in that light.
Arrived at the Phoenix Hotel, The Shadow had gained entry to Roucard’s room. He had found that single lamp aglow; it had served his purpose well. For The Shadow was profiting by Roucard’s absence to make a systematic search. Table, bureau, suitcases, closet — all had come under his inspection.
The search had been a slow one, for Roucard’s room was in great disarray. His suitcases contained stacks of papers; the table drawer was filled with time-tables, clippings and other items. So, for that matter, were the pockets of an old suit and a light overcoat that hung in the closet.
Roucard, apparently, was a man of shady enterprise. The Shadow had brought many items into the light, to study them and then return them. He had found letters, with carbon paper replies that had evidently been typed by Roucard, for a portable machine stood in one corner.
Roucard’s correspondence covered many subjects. It was plain that the man made a business of acting as intermediary in various undertakings. In one letter, he offered to visit a factory in Ohio, to pose as a prospective purchaser, thereby gaining information for a rival manufacturer. In another he expressed a willingness to dispose of some doubtful gold mine stock on a commission basis.
The clippings concerned affairs in which Roucard saw opportunity. His method, apparently, was to follow up any leads that came to his notice.
Sifting all these items, The Shadow had discovered a few of uncommon interest: he had gained inside details on matters that he would take up later, much to the confusion of certain persons who were planning doubtful enterprises.
But the subject that gave The Shadow present concern was entirely untouched in Roucard’s documents. Not one clipping; not one letter contained any mention of the Fate Joss. Either Roucard had destroyed all existing data, or he had been wise enough to carry such evidence upon his person.
HIS long search ended, The Shadow was standing motionless beside the wall when a key grated in the lock of the outer door. Instantly, The Shadow’s cloaked shape performed a fading glide toward a darkened front corner of the room, away from the single window. His gloved fist found the knob of the door that led to an adjoining room. The Shadow opened the barrier and eased into darkness just as a man came into the room and pressed the light switch.
Peering through a tiny crack, The Shadow saw a dapper man with pointed mustache. He knew that this must be Roucard; he could tell by the fellow’s sallow grin that he was pleased with some accomplishment. The Shadow watched Roucard stroll about the room, digging out the very papers that The Shadow himself had so recently examined.
Bundling all his documents, Roucard stacked them on the table where the lamp was still glowing. From his pocket, he produced a thin sheaf of folded papers and laid them on the top of the pile. The Shadow divined immediately that those must be the documents that concerned the Fate Joss. Among them, doubtless, would be names and addresses; in all probability a direct clue to the whereabouts of Chichester Laudring. For The Shadow was sure that Roucard, true to form, had become an intermediary in some transfer of the idol that Chichester had brought from Jehol.
Roucard was packing up; he had tossed his suitcases in the center of the room and was chucking clothing into the bags. He was between The Shadow and that corner table; that prevented any opportunity of gaining the important papers that Roucard had added to his stack.
The Shadow’s chance, however, might soon be due. Roucard had a suit and an overcoat in the closet which was located near the outer door of the room. When he went there to get the garments, The Shadow would have time to glide into the room and remove the papers that Roucard had laid aside.
The Shadow waited, ready. Roucard completed packing and turned about. He stopped short, after a single pace. A telephone bell had begun to ring.
The telephone was on the table where Roucard had laid the papers. The dapper man picked up the instrument and spoke, his tone a trifle nervous. The Shadow saw Roucard’s lips form a smile as the man recognized the voice on the wire.
“Yes, indeed,” remarked Roucard, suavely. “This is Mr. Roucard… Yes, I obtained it… I intended to call you shortly… The price? Just what we expected… Yes, I paid the party the full fifty thousand…
“The commission? Certainly, I insisted on it… Yes, ten percent. That was in the deal. I collected a small shipment charge, too… Certainly, he saw the truckmen; but he didn’t know where they were going…”