“Very good,” agreed Darley. “Incidentally, I understand that Ling Soo is calling a special meeting of those high in the Wu-Fan. He, too, may have more information tomorrow. Call at my office about noon. Will that be suitable?”
“Very,” declared Cleve.
Darley’s mention of a special Wu-Fan meeting tonight was illuminating. This must be the very meeting that Cleve was to attend. With the existence of the meeting known to Darley, Cleve felt fully assured that all would be well when he joined Ling Soo tonight.
“If you’re going downtown,” suggested Darley, “why don’t you come along with me? My car is waiting outside.”
Cleve accepted the invitation. He sat in a chair by the window and waited, while Darley went to get his coat and hat.
This window, Cleve reflected, had played a very important part in his career. It was from this very spot that The Shadow had fired at Foy.
All was a hazy recollection to Cleve. He remembered Foy and the knife, rolling away. Probably the bullet had only grazed the man. That seemed the logical explanation of Foy’s quick escape.
Cleve had seen men fall, virtually unhurt, under similar circumstances. He had often seen wounded men rise and run. Foy must have escaped almost unscathed, for the crouching, sneaky Chinaman was back at Ling Soo’s as capable as ever.
Cleve’s eyes looked over the city. There he saw a flashing light that shone above a dull glow. He recognized it by its crawling lines — the sign over the Mukden Theater. That was where Cleve would be tonight — in the lobby of that very theater.
Darley was back. He was speaking as he stood beside Cleve, also gazing toward the lights of distant Chinatown.