The operator’s voice sounded. Moy Chen was about to speak. But the number never left his lips.
A yellow-faced man had sprung across the room. His bands were at Moy Chen’s throat. Another man was with him. This Mongol caught the telephone as it fell from Moy Chen’s grasp.
While one was choking Moy Chen, the other was calmly placing the receiver on the hook and putting the telephone back into the desk drawer.
The hands on Moy Chen’s neck were merciless. They were hands that worked for Ling Soo.
A quick report, flashed to the leader of the Wu-Fan, had told that Cleve Branch — the man who bore the mark of death — had entered through a secret door at the Hoang-Ho Cafe.
The minions of Ling Soo were killers all — when the occasion demanded it.
Whoever lived in that secret room must be watched. That was the word from Ling Soo. The choking fingers that gripped Moy Chen maintained their relentless hold.
The Chinese merchant struggled, but in vain. His throat was rattling. His eyes were staring. His vain resistance became weaker. His struggles ceased. Then, only, did the fingers loose their hold.
Padded footsteps sounded softly as two men traced their way toward the passage that led back to the Hoang-Ho. An inert form remained in the windowless room.
Cleve Branch, unknowing, was on his own tonight. There would be no sleuths on hand to witness the meeting between Hugo Barnes and Ling Soo’s agent in the Mukden Theater!