Ling Soo’s voice retained its placidity, but it carried a hidden challenge. The mogul of the Wu-Fan was lost in his dream of future glory. Here, in his own environment, he sat in the state of an emperor. Was his dream purely a mad one? Reason said yes.
Reflecting, Cleve realized that he was viewing the genius who might some day bring the much discussed yellow peril into reality. At the same time, he knew that it would be difficult, now, to bring the action of the government against Ling Soo and the Wu-Fan.
Unless this man and his organization had already embarked upon overt crime, there could be no charge.
JOSEPH DARLEY was rising to leave. Cleve Branch did the same. It was then that the stooped servant entered and approached the throne at the command of Ling Soo.
The crouching man spoke in Chinese to his master. Ling Soo, in return, gave an order. Cleve was watching, and he observed a marked change.
Ling Soo’s suavity was gone when he dealt with his countryman. He was stern-visaged, and his quiet eyes took on a startling glare. The servant responded in a plaintive voice, and Ling Soo, forgetful of the presence of his guests, spat harsh, fierce words.
The servant started toward the door. Ling Soo’s eyes still flashed — until they met Cleve’s stare. Then their anger dwindled. They became placid and retiring; a gentle smile replaced the angry frown on Ling Soo’s countenance.
“My servant, Wu Foy,” he said. “He is faithful, but very stupid; or, as you Americans might say — dumb.” Ling Soo cackled as he used the slang expression. “I must tell him many times when I speak to him. Many times is many times too often. One time is sufficient.”
Darley bowed and touched his finger to his forehead. Cleve did the same. The visitors turned and left through the brass doors, which lay open before them.
As they neared the door to the anteroom, Cleve managed to glance behind him. The doors were still open. Ling Soo, enthroned, was staring straight ahead.