In leisurely fashion, Cleve consumed the Chinese dish. He looked about the restaurant as he ate. There were only Chinese here, and none of them appeared to pay any attention to the American.
Cleve’s eyes were not only on the patrons. At times, his gaze roamed along the floors and up the walls. For Cleve had hopes that here, as before, he might observe a shadow.
His wily search was in vain. The waiter came with a check. Cleve drew some coins from his pocket, and dropped them with a clink. The waiter made change; then walked toward the doorway at the right.
Cleve waited until the man was out of sight. Then he strolled from his table, and followed the same path that the waiter had taken.
He reached a little entry at the head of a flight of stairs. A quick glance showed him an open doorway at the left. Cleve stepped through the opening, and the door slid shut behind him.
Simultaneously, a light appeared in the darkness. It disclosed a short passageway, with a closed door at the end. Cleve stopped before the door, and tapped softly. The door slid open, and he stepped into a room that was furnished like an office.
The room had no windows. A Chinaman attired in American clothes was seated by a desk.
Approaching this individual, Cleve Branch drew back his coat and showed the glimmer of his badge. The Chinaman pointed to a chair on the other side of the desk. In another moment, Cleve was seated there.
He had never before seen this Chinaman, but Cleve knew who he was. Moy Chen, Chinese merchant, was the secret undercover man to whom all Bureau of Investigation agents could look for assistance when in San Francisco.
“Branch,” said Cleve quietly, by way of introduction. “Investigating the Wu-Fan and its head, Ling Soo.”