IT was logical that Stephen Laird — also an American affiliated with the Wu-Fan — had been a victim of the Tiger Tong. If this were true, it meant that Cleve’s investigation of this case was ended.
The Chinese tongs were already under surveillance. The Bureau of Investigation was interested in the Wu-Fan only because it was a new organization. Laird’s death had appeared as a smirch upon its record. With the Wu-Fan exonerated, Cleve could make his final report and leave San Francisco.
He put one question to Joseph Darley, because he knew that the answer would have an important bearing on the situation.
“We must remember,” he said, “that Stephen Laird was not killed in San Francisco. He was murdered while traveling. Is that in accord, with tong practice?”
“Yes,” said Darley emphatically. “At least to the degree that it affects this case. Had Laird been killed far away from San Francisco — or in some small city — we could hardly blame the tong. This city and New York are the strongholds of the tongs. But Laird was less than a night’s journey on his trip eastward.
“Some member of the Tiger Tong may have been appointed to kill Laird. Failing, the assassin took the chance of following him on the train. It goes badly with tong members, you know, if they fail in a definitely appointed task.”
Cleve was thinking. He was recalling the dying words of Stephen Laird, as they had been emblazoned in the newspaper reports. “Tag A — see in the box.”
These statements and a vague reference to someone with green eyes were the only message that Laird had given. After all, they sounded trivial.
Perhaps, somewhere, Laird had left a report. A tag marked “A” might have been a bit of evidence that would lead to the man who had murdered him — a man with green eyes.
Green eyes! Cleve had noticed none as yet. Ling Soo’s eyes were usually dull. They flashed at times, but they were dark — not green. So were the eyes of his crouching servant, Foy. Dark eyes — all dark eyes.