“No. The tongs would not permit. I must not oppose the tongs. I learn much through them.”
“I understand,” said Cleve. “Well, Moy Chen, I’m not satisfied with this report. I want to see the Wu-Fan at first hand, you understand? It’s spreading all over the country, and I’m here to take a good look at its headquarters. How would you suggest I go about it?”
Moy Chen considered the question thoughtfully. His blinking eyes and round face showed perplexity. Cleve offered a suggestion.
“A man named Stephen Laird was killed,” he said. “He was an American. He was also a member of the Wu-Fan. Can you explain that?”
“Yes,” said Moy Chen simply. “As you have said, Ling Soo has men who travel far. They go many places for him. They see many people who are Chinese, and who are with the Wu-Fan. Americans may travel with more ease than may Chinese. That is why Ling Soo can use Americans.”
“What are the qualifications?”
“I do not know; but I can make a suppose” — Moy Chen was slipping into a trace of pidgin English. “If an American man should seek to be with the Wu-Fan, he could do so. I think I could tell him how.”
“Give me your idea, Moy Chen.”
“There are certain Chinese who are easy friends for an American man to make. If that American man should be full of interest in what they say, he would hear from them in the Wu-Fan. If he should listen well, and speak high of it, they would want him to be with the Wu-Fan, too.”
“Great!” exclaimed Cleve. “That’s my ticket, Moy Chen. If I join the Wu-Fan, I’ll have the real slant on the whole crew. But I won’t be Branch when I meet that outfit.”