The Man From Shanghai

CHAPTER V – TRAILS CROSS

IT was late the next afternoon when The Shadow strolled from the Royal Arms. He still wore his roundish-featured disguise; he nodded affably when the doorman addressed him as Mr. Furbish. Standing by the curb, The Shadow waited while the attendant hailed a taxi that was parked at the nearest hack stand.

This was The Shadow’s own cab, driven by one of his agents – Moe Shrevnitz. Other aids of The Shadow were in the vicinity; he had summoned them to keep watch during his absence, in case the real Furbish should arrive. The Shadow noted that his men were keeping well under cover.

A quarter block from the Royal Arms, The Shadow’s cab passed an old house with shuttered windows, that stood on the other side of the street. As they swung the corner, The Shadow observed a decadent antique shop that extended back to the old house. The Shadow spoke to the driver; the cab wheeled at the next corner. Riding through a narrow street, The Shadow saw a deserted store directly in back of the old house.

He was sure that the old house formed a lookout post for crooks; one that could serve them well, for it had three exits. Under other circumstances, The Shadow might have investigated those premises. Today, however, he avoided that task. If thugs were keeping tabs on the Royal Arms, The Shadow’s agents could offset them in a pinch. At present, The Shadow preferred to keep criminals lulled.

From the very beginning of crime’s swift sequence, The Shadow had recognized that he was dealing with a superman of evil. Though he had no clue to the identity of Kenneth Malfort, he could detect the hand of such a crimemaster.

Jerome Blessingdale had been the victim of bold murder; nevertheless, there had been no trail to the thugs who had slain the mining promoter aboard the Southeastern Limited. William Hessup had received prompt death at the Merrimac Club; another instance of evil work by underlings who had immediately scurried to cover.

There had been a lead in Hessup’s case: namely, Durlew. The druggist had been murdered before the law had a chance to even guess that he was in the game.

These facts produced The Shadow’s conclusion. He saw the existence of a master crook, who worked through a competent lieutenant. The chances were that lesser thugs had no knowledge of their real chief’s identity. To mix with small-fry would be a mistake. Such a course would give the master crook a key to The Shadow’s move.

The Shadow had pictured a lieutenant such as Spark Ganza. He believed that such a rogue had murdered Durlew, for the druggist’s death had been a one-man job. The Shadow had also concluded that there was another killer who had direct contact with the mastermind. That man was the yellow-faced assassin who had visited Furbish’s last night. A lone worker, that Mongol must have gained his orders from the top; not through any intermediary.

Traces of the yellow-faced assailant would be better than any other trail. They could produce a direct route to the master crook without other interference. That was why The Shadow had made his telephone call after Ku-Nuan’s departure. The Shadow was on his way to learn what effect his call had produced.

UNFOLLOWED, the taxi took a twisting course, tricky enough to shake off any pursuit. Dusk had settled when the cab halted on the outskirts of New York ’s Chinatown. The Shadow alighted; he was shrouded in his cloak of black.

Picking a gloomy stretch of sidewalk, The Shadow reached a narrow, darkened street. He proceeded along a twisty course until a turn showed a glare ahead. The Shadow was close to the lighted area of the Chinese district. Veering into an alleyway, he reached the front of a dimly lighted Chinese shop. Entering the store, The Shadow found it deserted. He pressed a panel at the rear wall. A secret door clicked open.

The Shadow entered a labyrinth of stone-walled passages. Steps led him down and up, from building to building, beneath streets that intervened. His course ended in front of a huge brass door. A knobbed stick was hanging by the barrier. The Shadow raised the stick and clanged a circle of brass in the center of the door.

The barrier slid upward. The Shadow entered a square room, where mellow light revealed paneled walls. In the center of the room stood a solemn-faced Chinaman, whose drooped mustache and long, thin beard gave dignity to his important bearing. The Celestial was clad in robes of deep maroon, adorned with dull-gold dragons. His eyes, firm and cold, were coal-black. They met The Shadow’s gaze.

The Chinaman was Yat Soon, known as the arbiter of Chinatown. Yat Soon was the judge who decided disputes between warring tongs. His word was law among the Chinese.

Yat Soon had expected The Shadow. The Chinaman delivered a profound bow, that brought a glitter from a crownlike headpiece that he wore. Motioning his visitor to a teakwood taboret, Yat Soon took a similar seat for himself.

The Shadow spoke words in Chinese. Solemnly, Yat Soon shook his head.

“There is no word,” said the Chinaman, in English. “We have found no sign of the evil man whom you seek.”

The Shadow questioned in Chinese. This time, Yat Soon bowed a nod.

“I have learned the man’s identity,” he declared. “His name is Ku-Nuan. With brains as twisted as his body, Ku-Nuan has ever dealt in murder. Months ago, Ku-Nuan was in Shanghai. Later, he appeared in San Francisco. One week past, he was seen among my people, here in New York.”

Yat Soon paused; then added:

“Ku-Nuan may have brought word from Shanghai. Word to some one who had schemes of evil. One, however, who is not of my people.”

The Shadow spoke in singsong fashion. Yat Soon corroborated the words.

“You are right, Ying Ko,” acknowledged the arbiter, using the Chinese words that meant “The Shadow.” “Ku-Nuan must live close to the evil master whom he serves. You did wisely, Ying Ko, to let Ku-Nuan escape, that he might show the way to his master. From the moment that you called me last night, my faithful men have been searching for Ku-Nuan. They have not found him.

“If Ku-Nuan served a master who dwells here in Chinatown, he would have returned. If Ku-Nuan served a man of China who dwells elsewhere, I would know of such a master. My search will continue, Ying Ko, but it will bring naught unless Ku-Nuan returns to Chinatown.”

THE SHADOW questioned Yat Soon. He was asking the arbiter about Ku-Nuan’s past. Slow headshakes were Yat Soon’s replies, until The Shadow changed the query. He asked if Yat Soon had recent news from Shanghai, apart from Ku-Nuan.

“This holds interest, Ying Ko,” announced Yat Soon, his statement inspired by The Shadow’s query. “There is a man from Shanghai but recently arrived in New York. He is not of my race; he is an Englishman. He served once as a commander among the Chinese armies.”

Pausing, Yat Soon stroked his long beard in reflective fashion. He was recalling facts about the man whom he had mentioned.

“This man,” stated the arbiter, “calls himself Major Philip Rowden. He has taken residence in the penthouse of the Maribar Hotel. Certain merchants of Chinatown have called to greet him. None have been received; all have been turned away. Nor have calls upon the telephone been answered.

“Until this day, it was my belief that Major Rowden could be one who cared to form no friendships with Chinese. Your words, Ying Ko, have made me change that belief. It may be that Major Rowden wishes none to view his abode.”

The Shadow spoke, his Chinese words included the name “Ku-Nuan.” Yat Soon bowed his agreement. Both he and The Shadow had formed the conclusion that the penthouse atop the Maribar Hotel might be the hiding place of the yellow-faced assassin.

With thanks to Yat Soon for his information, The Shadow departed from the arbiter’s presence. The Shadow’s visit to Yat Soon had brought no direct result. Nevertheless, the chance clue offered possibilities. Two men recently from Shanghai were in New York. One, Major Philip Rowden, had avoided all visitors. The other, Ku-Nuan, had prowled in quest of murder.

To such Mongols as Ku-Nuan, Chinatown was a sure refuge after deeds of crime. There were pathways in that quarter that the law could not find. Only The Shadow had contact with such important Chinese as Yat Soon; and his connection was secret. Lesser Chinese did not know the extent of The Shadow’s influence in their own bailiwick.

Had Ku-Nuan recognized The Shadow to be his adversary, he would have headed for Chinatown in preference to another quarter; unless – as The Shadow supposed – Ku-Nuan had a better hideaway under the protection of a master chief. Major Rowden’s penthouse could be such a refuge. Nevertheless, there was one point that prevented The Shadow from falsely attributing to Rowden the part that actually belonged to the unknown Kenneth Malfort.

The hidden supercrook had used ordinary thugs in other murders. It was unlikely that Major Rowden would have New York gang connections to match any possible acquaintanceship that he held with Shanghai assassins.

Nevertheless, the possibility of a link was great enough to give The Shadow an immediate objective. Departing from Yat Soon’s, The Shadow planned a prompt trip to the penthouse atop the Maribar Hotel.

TIMED almost to The Shadow’s departure from Yat Soon’s, events broke elsewhere. They were occurrences that offered interference with The Shadow’s new mission; for the instigator of these cross purposes was Kenneth Malfort.

The master crook was seated by his fireside, calmly reading an afternoon newspaper that carried only a short item concerning the death of Durlew, the druggist. The police had attributed Durlew’s end to gang connections. They had seen no link between the obscure apothecary and the important Northern Drug Company, whose label had appeared on the poison bottle in Hessup’s room.

Malfort was pleased by that fact.

Another matter, however, suited him less. Malfort laid the newspaper aside, to look toward a corner where a crouched man glared from the depths of a squatty chair. Malfort’s companion was Ku-Nuan. The firelight’s flicker made the foiled assassin appear more venomous than when The Shadow had encountered him.

Ku-Nuan looked like a lesser demon in the presence of his satanic master. The evil gloat that Malfort framed was like a language to Ku-Nuan. The Mongol’s ugly lips widened; a hiss escaped his fangs.

Malfort saw Ku-Nuan thrust a quick hand beneath his jacket, a sign that he was ready to draw a fresh knife at his commander’s order. Malfort quieted the Mongol with a wave of his hand. Purring, Malfort spoke:

“Who is it, Wardlock?”

The moon-faced secretary had stepped into the room without Ku-Nuan detecting his entry. That made it even more astonishing that Malfort, as usual, had caught the stealthy tread.

“Spark Ganza is here, sir.”

“Tell him to come up.”

WARDLOCK departed. Half a minute later, Spark entered in apparent haste. Grunting a quick greeting, he gave prompt information.

“The guy beat it,” he told Malfort. “The mug we thought was Furbish. Stepped right in a cab and rode away. He didn’t show much hurry.”

A hissed snarl came from Ku-Nuan. Malfort silenced the Mongol. Musing, the supercrook remarked:

“I have never seen George Furbish. He could have acted as this man has done. Furbish – granting that he has nerve – would have departed as openly as he arrived.”

Spark started to give objection, but thought better. Malfort spoke further. “The Shadow, too, could have come and gone openly,” he added. “That equalizes the matter. I am still doubtful regarding last night’s episode.”

Spark decided to interject a comment.

“It would have taken The Shadow to handle Ku-Nuan,” he insisted. “Believe me, chief, on that one. Say – I’ve been jittery all day, on account of figuring that some of my gorillas might be wise to The Shadow being in it!”

“One moment, Spark.”

The lieutenant paused abruptly as he heard Malfort’s harsh note.

“You forget the sequel,” rasped Malfort. “When Ku-Nuan fled, he was an open target for The Shadow. Ku-Nuan tells us that four shots were fired. Does The Shadow miss aim so consistently, Spark?”

“No,” admitted Spark. “Maybe he was groggy, though, after the battle with Ku-Nuan.”

“Let us take the opposite possibility,” chided Malfort. “Assume that Furbish was fortunate in his struggle; that luck enabled him to put Ku-Nuan to flight.”

Spark considered. He saw likelihood in Malfort’s theory. The master crook added to his statement:

“We would then have Furbish firing deliberately; unable to drop Ku-Nuan because his aim was poor. Quite as plausible a situation, Spark.”

The lieutenant nodded; then questioned:

“Suppose the guy was Furbish. What then? You want me to handle him?”

“Yes,” replied Malfort, “but not at the Royal Arms. Furbish may not return there. Tonight, however, he is likely to appear at the Maribar Hotel.”

Spark grinned in anticipation.

“He must not be disturbed when he enters,” reminded Malfort. “We want no trouble at the Maribar Hotel. Keep the area covered, as usual. Be at your station, ready for a call from Barthow at the desk. He will notify you when Furbish calls at Rowden’s.”

“I get it,” nodded Spark. “Barthow tips us off. We close in while Furbish is in the penthouse. We nab Furbish afterward, instead of before.”

“Exactly!”

With an imperious gesture, Malfort dismissed his lieutenant. When Spark was gone, the archplotter turned to Ku-Nuan, who had been listening eagerly to every word.

“Go, Ku-Nuan,” ordered Malfort. “Watch the penthouse from your secret post.”

Ku-Nuan’s eyes gleamed snakelike. Twisting from his chair, the yellow killer sidled to the door. His creeping footsteps faded.

Alone, Malfort stretched his hands before the fire and spread a smile that the firelight painted into a demon’s leer.

Kenneth Malfort had set a double snare. He was satisfied that either George Furbish or The Shadow would enter the twofold mesh.