Electric signs glowed with Chinese characters. These were accompanied by English words. It was upon one such sign that Henry Arnaud’s eyes were focused. This sign bore the large words:
MUKDEN THEATER.
The sign itself was a bizarre Oriental creation. Rows of colored lights crawled dragonlike from the lower corners until they reached a glittering ball of resplendent incandescents near the top of the sign.
Above these was a small circle of yellow lights that did not move. From the center of the circle shone two lights of green, placed side by side. They seemed a challenge to the man who watched them from the window of the hotel.
An imaginative person — had Henry Arnaud been such — might have sworn that those lights were staring back at him.
Click! The lamp came on in the room. Henry Arnaud arose from his chair and walked about. He doffed his coat and vest. He removed his collar and necktie. He went to the telephone and ordered ice water.
When the bell boy arrived, Arnaud opened the door and stepped into the hall to receive the pitcher. He yawned as he tipped the servitor.
“Leave a call at the desk for me,” he said. “Tell them seven thirty — and to keep on ringing until I wake up. I’m dead tired. I’ll be sleeping soundly ten minutes from now, and it takes lots of noise to arouse me.”
“Yes, sir,” responded the bell boy.
The door closed. The lock clicked. The bell boy returned to the elevator and stood waiting in the deep silence of the hall.