The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER XIX. AT THE LAUNDRY

THE SHADOW’S visit to Blefflinger’s had necessarily been late in the afternoon. Dusk was approaching as the limousine neared the Cobalt Club. Time would soon bring word from The Shadow’s agents. It would be phoned to Lamont Cranston at the club.

Already events were in the making. Moe Shrevnitz, cruising about under his right name, had stopped his cab near Chinatown. He had chosen an appointed spot. There, two solemn-faced Orientals had entered the taxi. The men were dressed plainly, in American clothes.

Moe had taken orders. They had given an address near an uptown corner of Sixth Avenue. Arrived there, the two had left the cab to enter a Chinese restaurant. They had given instructions when they left.

Instructions that were almost a query. Moe had nodded his understanding.

Parked in front of the restaurant, the taxi driver could see a full block ahead. Off beyond an elevated structure, he made out a uniformed figure standing in a doorway. It was Jericho. Moe kept his eyes fixed upon the distant man.

Upon Jericho’s actions depended Moe’s next step. Moe, in a sense, was a contact between Jericho and the two Chinese who were lingering in the restaurant. A signal from Jericho; Moe would stroll into the chop suey house to ask the Celestials if they still wanted his cab. They would then return to the taxi. After that, Moe’s duties would be definite.

Yet two hours had passed since Moe’s arrival here. The taxi driver was getting impatient. It seemed as though the signal would never come. Jericho was still visible, but dusk was gathering. Soon Moe would have to count on the street lights to make out the shape of the huge African.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye was also waiting at an appointed spot. The little man was in the vicinity of the Castellan Apartments. He, like Moe, was becoming anxious. But his impatience ended when he saw a solemn-faced man come from the big building, carrying a bundle under his arm. It was Hubert, the valet.

Hawkeye took up the fellow’s trail. Hubert reached Sixth Avenue. He took a turn at the corner of the street where the laundry was located. Hubert’s destination was obvious. Hawkeye moved ahead, sidled through a passage between two buildings and reached the back of the house where the laundry was located.

Stepping into a recessed doorway, Hawkeye found a locked portal. He produced a skeleton key and shoved it into the keyhole. An inner key twisted loose and fell. Hawkeye opened the simple lock with his skeleton key. He entered a dingy hallway.

A door on the right proved to be unlocked. Opening it a trifle, Hawkeye gained the view he wanted. He was looking into the back room of the laundry. Almost immediately, a Chinaman appeared from the front. The Mongol was carrying a bundle that looked like Hubert’s. Hawkeye saw him open it. From the folds of a Tuxedo shirt, the Chinaman produced an envelope.

A message from Monte Agland. One that was to be forwarded. Positive that Hubert had gone out again, Hawkeye decided upon prompt action. Moving into the rear room, the trailer produced a revolver and shoved its muzzle against the Chinaman’s ribs.

YELLOW hands went up. The Chinaman made no outcry. Helplessly, he stood there until Hawkeye gave a low-voiced order. Then the Chinaman turned around to face his captor. Hawkeye grinned. This Chink had been easy. The man’s helplessness was ludicrous. Hawkeye backed him toward the wall. He intended to hold him there; then wait for the other Chinaman to appear.

Suddenly, Hawkeye’s prisoner sprang forward. He grabbed for Hawkeye’s wrist. Taken by surprise, the little man twisted away. He swung to aim his gun; but he was too late. A form came leaping toward him.

It was the second Chinaman. Hawkeye went down in a heap. His gun clattered on the floor.

The Chinamen leered as they made Hawkeye prisoner. To the invader, both Celestials looked alike. He could not tell Loon Goy from Hoy Wen. Nor did their chatter tell which was which. It happened that Loon Goy had been the first whom Hawkeye encountered. Hoy Wen had been the one who had remained out front. But this distinction did not concern Hawkeye for the present. The two were just Chinamen to him; and he liked neither of them.

Hoy Wen drew a long-bladed knife and held it above the half-huddled form of Hawkeye. He looked to Loon Goy for an order. The second Chinaman was about to speak when a clink came from the front of the shop. With a motion that meant for Hoy Wen to wait, Loon Goy went out through a curtained door.

There was a counter just beyond. Loon Goy came face to face with Jericho. The uniformed card-passer was holding a bundle that he had brought from the doorway across the street. Loon Goy had observed the African during the past several days. He suspected nothing.

“The doctah’s laundry,” remarked Jericho. “Open it up and tell me how much you want to charge. Doctah’s particular about the price.”

Loon Goy complied. That was the simplest way to get rid of this customer. But as he was opening the bundle, the Chinaman suddenly looked up. Jericho had raised the hinged portion of the counter. He had stepped through to reach the Chinaman’s side.

With an evil grimace, Loon Goy shot his hand beneath his coat. He was after a knife; but he never reached it. Jericho’s huge arms shot forward and caught the Chinaman in a powerful grip. Then, with unconcern, Jericho twisted Loon Goy underneath his left arm and dragged the struggling Celestial into the back room.

Hoy Wen, knife in hand, was poised above Hawkeye. Coming up as Jericho dragged Loon Goy into view, Hoy Wen leaped forward, with the flashing blade in motion. Jericho’s massive right paw swung through the air. As one would catch a mosquito, Jericho plucked Hoy Wen’s driving wrist and twisted it upward.

Hoy Wen delivered a sharp outcry. The knife dropped from his fingers and fell upon an ironing board.

Hoy Wen twisted his wrist free. Loon Goy pulled one hand out from under Jericho’s arm and clawed at the African’s face.

Viciously, Hoy Wen leaped forward, thinking that Loon Goy could aid him. It was just what Jericho wanted. Hoy Wen’s clawing hands reached the collar of Jericho’s heavy uniform; then the second Chinaman found himself struggling in the grip of a powerful right arm.

Hawkeye, half-dazed, came to his feet to aid. Then he sprang from a corner of the room as three milling forms came lurching toward him. Jericho’s arms were loosening. Four Chinese hands were at his throat.

His case looked bad. Backing away, Jericho was gripping each Chinaman by the back of the neck.

It seemed a futile process. Hawkeye, diving across the floor, found his revolver and turned toward the three fighters. He saw the face of Jericho, wearing a broad grin, framed in the wildly driving arms of the Chinese. He saw the powerful grip that the African’s hands had gained upon the back of each Oriental neck.

Then, as Hawkeye stared, the finish arrived. Laughing as he leaned back to avoid swinging fists and clawing fingers, Jericho brought his outstretched hands together. Two Chinese pates cracked sharply as they met. Jericho’s hands relaxed. Slumping, the released Chinamen rolled side by side at Jericho’s feet.

“Boy!” exclaimed Hawkeye, in admiration. “That was somethin’. Bouncin’ their conks together. Say — both of them Chinks is out cold!”

Jericho grinned as he surveyed Loon Goy and Hoy Wen. He saw that there would be no trouble from either of them for a while. He nudged Hawkeye’s gun, indicating that it would not be needed. Then, with a chuckle, he strolled out through the front of the laundry.

When he reached the street, Jericho removed his long-visored cap and mopped his brow with a rainbow hued silk handkerchief. He strolled back to his post across the street. He had given the signal that the job was done. Two minutes later, Jericho was passing out cards when Moe’s cab pulled up in front of the laundry.

MOE’S Chinese passengers alighted. Blandly, they entered the laundry. They looked like two visitors coming to see Hoy Wen and Loon Goy. Actually, they were; but they had no friendship for the two crooked Chinamen. These new Celestials were agents of Yat Soon, the arbiter.

Hawkeye knew that they were coming. He received them with a grin when they entered. He pointed to the bodies on the floor. The new Chinese spoke together in their native tongue. Then one of them went out to the front of the laundry, while the other began to bind and gag Hoy Wen and Loon Goy in turn.

Hawkeye watched the process in admiration. The Chinaman was as capable at his job as Jericho had been at his. Using thongs that he produced, Yat Soon’s agent made short work of trussing up the Oriental crooks.

In the course of his work, he fished out two Chinese disks that Hoy Wen and Loon Goy had been carrying. Leaving the two men bound, he went to the front of the shop. Hawkeye, peering through the curtains, saw him give one disk to his companion and keep the other for himself.

There were boxes in the back room. Large ones. When the agent of Yat Soon returned, he called on Hawkeye to aid him. They loaded Hoy Wen in one box; Loon Goy in another. Hawkeye nailed lids on the boxes while the Chinaman used the telephone to make a call.

This done, the Chinaman found brush and ink. He painted Chinese characters upon the boxes; then added a name and address in English. The name was that of Yat Soon. This careful work required nearly ten minutes, for the Chinaman was deliberate. Hardly had he finished before there was a pounding at the rear door.

The Chinaman admitted two truckmen. They carried out one box; then came for the other and removed it also. Seated in a corner, Hawkeye looked on in wonder. He had heard of Yat Soon. He wondered what punishment would come to Loon Goy and Hoy Wen when they were delivered to the arbiter.

To Hawkeye, the two new Chinese looked exactly like the pair that had been shipped away. He realized that these men of Yat Soon were taking over the business. As a reminder of that fact, the Chinaman who had addressed the boxes suddenly handed Hawkeye the envelope that had come with the laundry left by Hubert.

The envelope was sealed. Hawkeye hesitated to open it. The Chinaman settled the matter when he observed Hawkeye’s dilemma. Over in one corner was a washing machine. All this while it had been bubbling with boiling water. Steam was coming from beneath the lid.

The Celestial took the envelope. Deftly, he passed it back and forth in the escaping steam. The flap of the envelope loosened; the Chinaman peeled it open and removed a sheet of paper which he handed to Hawkeye. Hawkeye stared at the message that he found. It was printed in capital letters:

“Imsok,” read Hawkeye. “What does that mean? Sounds like Russian, don’t it?”

“You writee him down?” questioned the Chinaman, standing with a laundry slip and a pencil.

“Sure,” replied Hawkeye. “Imsok.”

He copied the word and handed the paper back to the Chinaman, who replaced it carefully in the envelope and closed the flap. Hawkeye watched the Chinaman run an iron over the envelope. The neat job killed all traces of the envelope having been opened.

Hawkeye picked up the telephone and made a call. It was to a number that Slade Farrow had given him.

Hawkeye was calling Harry Vincent. When Harry responded, Hawkeye reported. He told the contents of the note. When he repeated the word “Imsok,” Harry asked him to spell it. Hawkeye complied; then, in response to a new question, stated that all the letters had been capitals. Harry’s tone denoted satisfaction.

The Shadow’s agent had promptly understood the meaning of the message. This was because Harry had overheard Monte Agland talking, last night, with Gautier Ranaud. “I M S” meant “International Mining Syndicate.” “O K” signified itself: the slang expression “O.K.” It was Agland’s tipoff to Diamond Bert that the job could be worked to-night.

HAWKEYE remained in the rear room. Darkness had settled over Manhattan; evening was under way.

Stolidly, Yat Soon’s men were running the laundry in place of Hoy Wen and Loon Goy. Hawkeye was watching through the curtains. He saw a middle-aged man enter.

The arrival laid a laundry ticket on the counter. One of Yat Soon’s agents picked it up. Instantly, the customer raised his hand, holding it cupped so the Chinaman could see an object in the palm. Hawkeye caught a flash of a Chinese disk.

The Chinaman promptly displayed the token that he carried. He found the customer’s package and carried it into the rear room, passing Hawkeye who drew back from the curtains. Picking up the ironed envelope, the Chinaman thrust it into the overlapping edge of the package.

He went back to the customer. A clink announced that the man had gone with his package. The Chinaman appeared at the curtains and beckoned to Hawkeye; then pointed to the door. Hawkeye nodded. He strolled out to the street.

A cab rolled up. It was Moe’s. Hawkeye sidled into the rear and stared out through the front window.

He saw the man with the package turn the corner. Moe started the cab. As it turned the corner, Hawkeye caught sight of the man ahead. The fellow was springing into a cab.

The chase began. A cab ahead, with Moe following. Moe’s craftiness gave Hawkeye the jitters. Moe would linger far behind, so that the man in the front cab would not know that he was being followed. Yet Moe did not lose the trail.

Hawkeye settled back in the rear seat. He tried to relax; to leave the chase below. He thrust out his arm.

It encountered something in the darkness of the rear seat. Hawkeye turned to stare squarely into burning eyes that stared from solid blackness.

A soft laugh whispered in the cab. Hawkeye shivered and stared straight ahead. He was not alone on this chase. With him was another, a master trailer. One with whom Hawkeye must work to-night.

A personage whom Hawkeye feared, even though he was an ally with that being. Hawkeye was riding with The Shadow!