The Ribbon Clues

CHAPTER II. THE SECRET MEETING

FIFTEEN minutes after Hawkeye had put in his first call to Burbank, a blackened shape emerged from the darkness just below the street entrance of the Wuhu Cafe. There was something sinister in that shrouded pall that glided from obscurity. Phantomlike, it clung close to a wall, avoiding the revealing glow of the nearest street lamp.

The Shadow had arrived at the point where Hawkeye had last seen Dave Callard. Promptly informed by Burbank, the master sleuth had taken up a new quest.

The splotchy light of the restaurant entrance was the one barrier that remained to The Shadow’s immediate progress. That was why he peered so keenly through the night, ready to detect hidden watchers should they be present. One figure alone attracted The Shadow’s gaze.

It was Hawkeye. He had made his second call to Burbank; he had been instructed to post himself in this terrain. Keenly, The Shadow watched his agent shift from one doorway to another. Swishing from the darkness, The Shadow swung swiftly into the street door of the upstairs restaurant. His figure showed in spectral outline as he passed a single light and moved upward on the gloomy stairs.

So well timed had The Shadow’s action been that Hawkeye did not catch a glimpse of his chief’s quick entry into the watched doorway.

Gaining a new post, Hawkeye was about to resume his duty when he spied the glimmering lights of a taxicab stopping half a block away. Hawkeye caught a quick blink as the lights were extinguished. It was a signal meant for him. He knew that the cab was Moe’s.

Hawkeye edged up to the cab. He spoke cautiously; a low reply came from the driver’s seat. Briefly, Moe explained how he had come here.

“Trailed the empty,” stated the cabby. “Stuck close to it for twenty blocks. Got up alongside at a red light. Asked the hackie what was his big idea.”

“Did he spill anything?” queried Hawkeye.

“Sure, he did,” returned Moe, with a grin in the darkness. “I told him I’d had a dick riding with me. Said I’d come along to tip him off so he could lay low in case of trouble.”

“You ask him about Callard?”

“Sure. The guy was going to a house in Talleyrand Place. Number twenty-eight. Changed his mind when he spotted us following. Told the hackie to forget it and drop him off near here. He slipped the hackie a fin and said for him to keep going.”

“Where’s Talleyrand Place?”

“Uptown. Swell sort of a layout over by the East River. I put in a report about five minutes ago. Burbank told me to join you here.”

Hawkeye grunted his understanding. The Shadow must already be on his way to the Wuhu Cafe.

Hawkeye had a hunch that The Shadow might by now have entered the gloomy portals of the Chinese restaurant.

This guess of Hawkeye’s was more than correct. The Shadow had ventured far in his progress. Arriving at the head of the stairs, he had found a little entry that afforded a view of the restaurant’s interior.

Just beyond, The Shadow had spied the opened front of an unused cloakroom. He had moved forward to that vantage point. Hidden in a blackened look-out post, he was studying the limited scene that the Wuhu Cafe afforded.

There were only three patrons in the restaurant. They were seated at different tables, busy with chop suey and chow mein. A solitary waiter was in view; he was an aproned Celestial who stood by a doorway to the kitchen, keeping an eye upon the wants of the diners.

The Shadow watched this Chinaman. The Celestial’s face was expressionless. One minute passed; then the waiter edged toward the kitchen door. Watching, The Shadow saw him dart one quick glance toward a row of curtained booths that began just beyond the cloakroom. Then the waiter went into the kitchen.

The Chinaman’s instinctive glance had been a give-away. The man with the apron had glanced toward the booth that was nearest to The Shadow’s present look-out spot.

Emerging from his hiding spot, The Shadow glided swiftly to the nearest booth. He spread the curtains and made out the surface of a door against the inner wall. The Shadow entered the booth and closed the curtains behind him.

His action was none too soon. At that very moment, the waiter emerged from the kitchen. As before, the Chinaman’s first thought concerned the very booth which The Shadow had just entered. The waiter peered stolidly; the glint of his eyes detected that he had seen the rustle of the closing curtains. After a short period of steady staring. the Chinaman went back into the kitchen.

INSIDE the booth, The Shadow had found the door unlocked. Opening it, he had discovered a darkened passage. Creeping forward through blackness, he had discerned a thin line of light along the floor, at the right. It was a space beneath a closed door.

A tiny flashlight glimmered. Its rays focused upon the blackened keyhole of the door. The Shadow thrust a gloved fist into the flashlight’s glare. His hand turned the knob and pressed; every motion slow and calculated. The door was locked.

Long, oddly shaped tweezers came into the light. The Shadow probed the keyhole with this instrument.

A gloved hand twisted in darkness. Again he turned the knob; this time, the door opened inward.

The singsong tone of voices came to his ears; his peering eye perceived the interior of a lighted office, a windowless room with paneled walls. The Shadow saw the speakers: two men seated on opposite sides of an oak desk. The door stood half open.

One answered Hawkeye’s description of Dave Callard. The adventurer from China was sitting with folded arms. His rugged face showed a sophisticated smile as he nodded while watching the man across the desk.

Callard’s companion was a Chinaman. Squatty, with bespectacled eyes and an owlish face. The Oriental was talking to his visitor in Cantonese dialect. The conversation concerned money.

As the Chinaman’s singsong speech ended, Callard made reply in the same tongue. The American’s statement was simply one of agreement; but The Shadow caught the mention of a name and saw the Chinaman bow. The name was Leng Doy; it was obviously that of the Celestial to whom Callard was speaking.

Solemnly, Leng Doy shifted his squatly body and produced a bulging wallet from his pocket. The Shadow saw the Chinaman extract a stack of American money and count off approximately five hundred dollars, which he passed to Callard. Leng Doy began to speak again.

Suddenly The Shadow whirled in the darkness. As he did, a flashlight glimmered, its rays blazing squarely upon the cloaked figure as The Shadow swung about in the hall. Into the path of light hurtled two huge Chinamen. Long knife blades glittered in their claw-nailed fists.

THE SHADOW acted with split-second swiftness. He chose the one course that gave him opportunity.

Fading suddenly to the right, he whipped his shoulder clear of one descending knife blade, escaping the stroke of his nearer adversary.

The twist brought him directly beneath the arm of the second Chinaman. As that attacker’s hand drove downward, The Shadow’s fist shot upward.

Black-gloved fingers stopped a yellow wrist. The Shadow’s hand was like a trip hammer; his fist delivered a viselike grip. He had plucked the Chinaman’s blow in mid-air. The point of the Mongol’s dirk halted but an inch above The Shadow’s neck.

Snapping forward, The Shadow sped his free hand beneath the Chinaman’s arm. He could have twisted away the would-be assassin’s knife; but there was no time for such action. The first Chinaman was swinging back, rising high to plunge his blade downward with another murderous stroke.

From a half crouch, The Shadow shot upward, swinging with a powerful twist of his limber form. His pistonlike arms hoisted the body of the Mongol whom he had gripped.

With a terrific sidewise snap, The Shadow hurtled the fellow headlong, squarely upon the free Chinaman whose glittering dagger was already beginning its descent.

Knives clattered as the Chinamen sprawled. Over the floundering bodies of his foemen went The Shadow, plunging headforemost from the power of his own attack. A cloaked shoulder struck the half-opened door.

The barrier swung wide as The Shadow precipitated himself into the lighted office. It was chance that had caused The Shadow to strike the doorway; it was design that made him keep on. For danger still existed from those adversaries in the hall.

Revolver shots barked as The Shadow finished his sudden plunge. There was a third Chinaman; the one with the flashlight. It was the guardian waiter who had opened fire as The Shadow dived from the hall; but his bullets came too late to stop the cloaked battler.

As he rolled upon the floor of the little office, The Shadow performed two prompt actions. Flattened face downward, he rolled backward.

His left hand caught the opened door and slammed it shut. As he precipitated his body back against the barrier, his right hand yanked an automatic from beneath his cloak and swung the muzzle of the weapon in the direction of the desk.

The Shadow had not forgotten Dave Callard and Leng Doy. They, potentially, were new antagonists; The Shadow had taken a long chance with his sudden invasion of their meeting place. His hope lay in the surprise of his entry. But it was The Shadow who was due for the surprise, even though it proved a welcome one.

Back against the door, his fist clenching its .45, The Shadow stared at vacancy. Where American and Chinaman had been in conference, there was no one.

THE door quivered under the pound of a powerful attacker from the hall. The Shadow’s body jolted upward; he came to his feet as the door swung inward.

With a fierce drive of his shoulder, The Shadow sent the barrier shut, blocking out the yellow face of the big Chinaman. Quickly, The Shadow turned the key; hard upon that action came new smashes from beyond the door.

The knife-armed Chinamen were starting a new attack. From the hubbub that he heard, The Shadow knew that reinforcements had arrived. To depart through that hallway, The Shadow would have to blaze his way through half a dozen Mongols, fighters aroused to a furious pitch; men whose elimination would be valueless to The Shadow.

There was a better course; one in keeping with The Shadow’s purpose here. That was to follow Dave Callard and Leng Doy. But when The Shadow stared about the paneled room, he discovered a new mystery.

There was no door other than the one by which he had entered. Callard and Leng Doy had vanished from within the windowless, unbroken walls.

Crash! The door from the hall was a stout one; but its panels were yielding to the sledgelike blows of infuriated Mongols. Leng Doy’s guardians were bringing the fight to The Shadow.

Swiftly, The Shadow moved along the paneled walls. His automatic clicked with sharp taps as he struck it lightly against the woodwork, seeking evidence of a secret exit.

He was rewarded when he reached a spot beyond the desk. There, the tapping of his .45 brought back a hollow echo. This was the secret panel. The Shadow sought some hidden catch by which to open it. He found none on the wall.

Still covering the door, The Shadow ran his free hand along the ledge of the desk beside Leng Doy’s chair. His fingers struck a button. The Shadow pressed. A dull click sounded from the wall behind him.

The Shadow turned to spy the secret panel sliding open. From his lips came a weird, defiant laugh, a mockery of those Mongols who had battered at the door. Whirling to the wall, The Shadow reached the secret exit.

A yellow face bobbed back into view beyond the broken door. A knife flashed; the blade whirled, glittering through the air and drove point foremost into a panel beside the opening.

The Shadow had already gained the blackness of a passage just beyond the exit. His laugh sounded a final taunt as the foiled knife thrower dropped away from the break in the door.

The secret panel slid shut automatically. Another slant-eyed hostile Celestial peered from the hall to see the exit close. Singsong voices babbled en masse. The Chinaman battered at the door and rammed it from its hinges.

A thwarted horde surged into the empty room. A big Chinaman reopened the secret panel so that his companions could give pursuit to the cloaked warrior who had eluded them.

THE chase was too late. Already The Shadow had found a lower exit. The next manifestation of his presence came when Moe and Hawkeye heard a whispered voice beside the parked cab. “Report,” came The Shadow’s intoned order.

Hawkeye had already given his information through Burbank. It was Moe who spoke while Hawkeye stared across the street to view two patrolmen who were entering the Chinese restaurant.

Faint sounds of revolver shots had reached the street at the beginning of the fray. Hawkeye heard Moe state that Dave Callard’s original destination as the address in Talleyrand Place.

A radio-patrol car was whining from two blocks away. That siren meant the advent of more police. The Shadow gave an order; Moe pressed the starter; the cab shot away from the curb. Agents were departing at The Shadow’s bidding. A guarded laugh sounded as a cloaked form melted into darkness.

Too late to take up the pursuit of Dave Callard and Leng Doy, The Shadow had found a new goal. He was on his way to that uptown house that Dave Callard had first intended to visit after his arrival in Manhattan.