“Do you know Ling Soo?” inquired Branch.
“Yes,” said Darley. “I do. More than that; I know him well. He is a man with a complex brain. A Chinese idealist; and being such, he is difficult for us to understand.”
“What of the Wu-Fan?” asked Branch.
“Before I answer that question,” replied Darley, with a thoughtful smile, “I should like to know what impression you have already formed of the Wu-Fan. I ask that, because you are probably acquainted with its activities outside of San Francisco.
“In other words, you may have seen something of the effects; while I believe myself to be acquainted with the cause. Shall we work back from effect to cause? Or from cause to effect?”
“I can tell you what I know,” said Branch. “That is not difficult. When we first encountered the organization, we supposed it to be an offshoot of some Chinese tong. But we soon discovered that it was a different proposition.
“Our agents began to report that in virtually every city where Chinese lived, there were men of that race who appeared to be identified with the order. They are chiefly Chinese of the more enterprising class — restaurant owners rather than laundrymen.
“All wear an emblem like this” — from his pocket, Branch drew a white button that bore a golden dragon head — “and these are of different colors. We have seen many variations; and we have learned that there are certain rovers in the outfit — Chinese who move from one city to another.
“We have observed, also, that payments have been made by stationary members to the travelers. Questioning of members has produced only vague answers. There’s no one in the world who can tell you less than a Chinaman when he doesn’t feel like being questioned.
“But we have learned, from isolated cases, that some of these Chinamen have a pretty big idea of their importance. But more than that” — Branch extended his forefinger as he spoke — “it appears that there are a few Americans tied up with the outfit. They might speak — if we could locate them. But, though we hear of them, we never see them.”