The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW MOVES

IT was late the next afternoon. Joe Cardona was seated in a little office. The acting inspector was glum as he talked with Detective Sergeant Markham. Joe’s voice was reminiscent.

“Remember Inspector John Malone?” he inquired.

Markham nodded.

“It was right here at this desk,” recalled Cardona. “Right here that Malone was sitting. I was standing just like you are. And we were talking about a mess as bad as this one up at Tatson’s.

“The Laidlow murder. Jewels mixed in that, too. And a secretary. I forget his name — Burgess, I think it was. Committed suicide down in Florida, after we implicated him.”

“Several years ago, wasn’t it?” asked Markham.

“Yes,” replied Cardona. “And in back of it all was a guy called Diamond Bert Farwell. A foxy egg, Diamond Bert. Passed himself off as a Chink. Used the alias Wang Foo.

“Well, here we are again. I’m behind the desk instead of Malone. You’re walking around instead of me. A murder. Jewels gone. A secretary. And here’s the Chinese end of it.”

Cardona plunked the grayish disk upon the desk. Markham studied the object curiously.

“Chinkee Chink,” growled Cardona. “Find him. A Chinaman’s chance. It’s the same guy back again, Markham.”

“Diamond Bert?”

“Yeah. He’s out of the big house. Left there yesterday and we let him slip. Shows what a guy can get away with by pulling the good behavior gag.”

A shadow fell across the table where Cardona was eying the Chinese disk. The acting inspector looked up to see a tall, stoop-shouldered fellow who had entered with mop and bucket. Joe studied the dull face of Fritz, the janitor.

“Cleaning up early?” questioned Cardona.

“Yah,” responded Fritz.

“He was here, too,” recalled Cardona. He indicated Fritz as he spoke to Markham. “Mopping the room while Malone and I beefed away. The one guy that’s sure of a job here is Fritz.”

“Yah,” grunted the janitor, in methodical fashion.

CARDONA forgot Fritz. He thumbed a report sheet. Markham watched Joe scowl. Finally, the acting inspector planked the paper on the table beside the Chinese disk.

“Joland’s old man didn’t send that telegram,” asserted Joe. “Joland didn’t go to Newfield after he left Tatson’s house. He beat it, Joland did. It’s a cinch he’s got the gems. That’s the line-up I’m going to work on.

“I’m going to find out everything about that guy Joland’s past. Whether or not Diamond Bert is the big shot, it’s a cinch that Joland was working with him. Tatson is sure that Joland couldn’t have opened the wall safe; but I’m convinced that he did.

“Somebody sent him a phony telegram from Newfield. Why? To make it look like Joland was on the level. Joland bumped Gorwin, and stuck a note in the butler’s pocket, to make it look like all was on the square.

“Maybe he figured on going to Newfield. He got cold feet, that’s all. Anyway, he got a cool quarter million in sparklers. Joland was around when old Marlin Norse came to see Norris Tatson. Norse was a jeweler, talking business with Joland’s boss. All the while Joland was snooping, figuring out how he could grab the gems.

“And there’s the proof of it. That disk. Like every smart crook, Joland made a slip. Forgot the disk when he took it on the lam. Left it in the pocket of his other suit. Where I found it. The rest of this report means nothing. Tatson, with his talk about Gorwin turning on the light night after night — Gorwin friends with Joland — nobody knowing the combination of that safe — all that got us nowhere.

“My investigation is what counted. I called up the Newfield police chief. They checked up on things there. That’s how I found out the telegram was a dud; how I learned that Joland didn’t come in on that train from New York.

“I’m going to dig into Joland’s past like a farmer with a harrow. I’m going to find out everything he did from the time he came with Tatson. Too bad that Gorwin is dead. Well, the poor guy probably found out too much about Joland. That’s why the secretary croaked him.”

With this conclusion, Cardona thrust the report sheet into a drawer and locked it there. He growled something about an appointment with Commissioner Barth. Then he stalked from the room with Markham following.

FRITZ ceased his mopping. The stoop-shouldered janitor sidled over to the desk. He produced a pick and opened the drawer. He studied the report sheet that Cardona had laid aside. His eyes were keen — no longer the eyes of Fritz. They noted every item in the report. Then a hand slid the drawer shut and locked it.

The janitor shuffled from the room. He made his way to an obscure locker. There he parked his mop and bucket. From the locker, he produced jet-black garments. A cloak slipped over his shoulders; a slouch hat settled on his head.

A black form glided away along a corridor. The role of Fritz had ended. The pretended janitor had become The Shadow. He was leaving before the real Fritz arrived. Joe Cardona was correct when he had remarked that Fritz had been around headquarters ever since the days of Inspector Malone. The Shadow had been assuming the part of Fritz even in those dim days of the past. Yet no one had ever suspected the imposture.

EVENING had settled. A shapeless mass of blackness, The Shadow was wending his way through the narrow streets near Chinatown. Past the blackened front of the deserted shop that belonged to Tam Sook, the Chinese merchant. Into an alleyway that was the last turn before the glowing center of Chinatown itself. The Shadow entered the door of a tawdry little Oriental store.

The place was empty. Evidently its owner had stepped out. The Shadow reached the wall and pressed a panel. The barrier opened. The Shadow entered a corridor and closed the opening behind him. The panel fell in place just as the Chinese shop owner came in from the street.

THE SHADOW had found steps that led downward. He followed a twisting passage that led beneath the street. He ascended steps; then edged to the wall as he neared a barring door. The portal slid open as The Shadow pressed a spot on the wall.

The Shadow came into a lighted anteroom. He pressed a knob on a huge brass door. This barrier also opened. Up a flight of steps; there The Shadow chose one of two narrow passages. Weaving his way through a labyrinth of turning corridors, he came to a final door. There, The Shadow picked up a padded stick that lay at hand. He struck the door. The signal sent a clang resounding through the passages. The door slid upward.

The Shadow entered a room where a solemn Chinese was standing, This man was clad in a robe of dull red, ornamented by dragons of dull gold. He faced his visitor and gazed with firm cold eyes. The brass door had descended; against its background, The Shadow formed a sinister figure. Yet the Chinaman showed no dread.

This Chinaman was Yat Soon, the arbiter. His name was law among the tongs, those strange secret societies that exist among the Chinese. Yat Soon, however, was a neutral. It was he to whom rival leaders came to arbitrate their differences.

The justice of Yat Soon was a legend in New York’s Chinatown. There was a saying: ‘When Yat Soon speaks, all must do his bidding.’ Such was the power that this one Celestial wielded. And Yat Soon, being a just man, was friendly toward The Shadow.

Though ordinary visitors to Yat Soon’s invariably encountered blocking challengers, The Shadow had displayed the ability to enter as he chose. Yat Soon apparently regarded this as The Shadow’s prerogative; for the darkeyed arbiter evidenced no surprise as he faced his spectral visitor. Yat Soon spoke, in quiet tone. His words indicated that The Shadow had come here two nights before.

“We have been seeking Tam Sook,” stated the Chinaman. “Only I know that the real Tam Sook is dead; all others think that it is the real Tam Sook we seek.”

The Shadow’s tones responded. The whispered voice put a question in the Chinese tongue. Yat Soon replied in English. In these conversations, The Shadow and Yat Soon each used the other’s language.

“We have found a place where the false Tam Sook has been,” declared Yat Soon. “Once, long ago, the real Tam Sook had a servant. One named Loon Goy. This servant was given money by Tam Sook. He went away from Chinatown.

“Loon Goy had a laundry on a street near Sixth Avenue. With him is a man called Hoy Wen. The business, though it is seemingly theirs, truly belonged to Tam Sook. It was there that one of my watchers saw Tam Sook this afternoon.

“The word was brought promptly to me. But after that came new word, the belief that Tam Sook was no longer there. Either Loon Goy or Hoy Wen had seen my searchers. Yet Tam Sook had not been seen passing from that little store.”

Again The Shadow spoke. Yat Soon nodded before responding. The Chinaman’s tone was solemn:

“My watchers had seen an American man depart from Loon Goy’s. He was one whom they seen not seen enter. They wondered; and to me they brought that word. Then did I know that this man you seek had gone away.

“He has learned that we have watched. Hence my watchers are there no more. Chinese people are easily seen among others when they venture forth from Chinatown. Yet it may be that the man you seek — the American, Diamond Bert — will some time come back to the laundry of Loon Goy and Hoy Wen.”

Yat Soon paused. He heard a brief question in Chinese that came from The Shadow’s lips. Yat Soon nodded, for the second time.

“I know that you are right,” he said. “No more will Diamond Bert be as a Chinaman. Not as Wang Foo, whom he once was; nor as Tam Sook, who is dead. He will be American.

“It is wise that you should have watchers of your own to spy upon Loon Goy and Hoy Wen in their laundry. Should you find that you must deal with them, you may call upon me. I should like to give the punishment to Loon Goy and Hoy Wen.”

A word from The Shadow. Yat Soon bowed. He stepped to the side of the room and pressed a switch.

A panel rose close beside him. The Shadow passed through that exit. The panel descended. Through a new maze of passages, The Shadow traced a downward course. Doors opened of their own accord, apparently controlled by Yat Soon in his hidden room. The last opening brought The Shadow into a small, dingy cellar. He ascended a flight of steps and came out upon a secluded street.

SOME distance from Chinatown, yet fringing the East Side, was a district that spoke of bygone importance. Here were square-walled buildings, eight stories high, blocked close together, with only tiny passages between.

The plate-glass windows of wholesale houses were in evidence. One of these was backed by heavy metal bars. The name painted on the window declared:

Eyes from the darkness observed that legend. Then a phantom figure glided through the opening between the building and the next. The Shadow had come here from Chinatown. He found bars on the rear windows; but he had no difficulty in entering the building itself, through a door that did not lead directly into Norse’s.

There The Shadow found a strong door connecting with the jeweler’s. The glimmer of The Shadow’s flashlight showed an electrical connection in the form of an antiquated burglar alarm. This device was no trouble to The Shadow. He skillfully detached the connections; then worked on the door itself.

Soon The Shadow stood in Norse’s darkened store. The bulk of an old-fashioned safe showed on the other side of the room. That box would have been easy for the average cracksman. In fact, its old fashioned style was proof that Norse must deal chiefly in quantity lots of cheap jewelry that would offer no lure to burglars.

Of greater interest to The Shadow was a doorway that led to a space behind the shop. He entered this and found a passage that terminated in a flight of inside stairs. Evidently they led up to living quarters, where Norse could stay over night if he chose.

To the right was another door. It was locked but unprotected by alarm devices. The Shadow probed its lock. He unfastened the door and entered a little office. Here were drawn window shades that hid the bars outside the windows.

There was a small safe in the corner. Like its big brother in the outer store, this box was obsolete. The Shadow passed it and went to a desk in another corner. Using his flashlight, he began to unlock drawers and draw out record books that he found there.

These showed facts concerning Norse’s business. Figures told of transactions in which the wholesaler had acted as agent. The real valuables that Norse sold never came into his possession. There were also pages of figures that concerned large quantities of cheap jewelry. These did not interest The Shadow.

The silent investigator was looking for something else; searching for a prize that he seemed sure he would find. At last, his quest was ended. Dipping deep into a drawer, a gloved hand felt among a box of paper clips. Fingers, unhampered by their thin covering, obtained another object and brought it into the light.

There, held between blackened fingers, shining dully beneath the rays of The Shadow’s torch was another of the Chinese disks!