What could this message mean?
Darley, Cleve felt sure, had no extensive knowledge of the Chinese language. The only solution was that Ling Soo had given certain information to Darley, and had included this paper as evidence. But to Cleve, the paper was no more enlightening than a laundry ticket!
Cleve hesitated, wondering what to do. He could take the paper with him, but he felt that such a course would be an error. The only man whom he could trust to translate it was the undercover agent, Moy Chen.
That would mean a trip to Chinatown; time lost there; and a return journey, to get the paper back into the drawer. In the meantime, Darley might return.
If possible, Cleve did not want Darley to find the paper missing. That might lead to difficulties and complications. A safe course would be to copy the Chinese characters on another sheet of paper.
But they were numerous and intricate. Cleve knew well that any inaccuracies in the transcription might ruin the import of the message.
Seeking an answer to this dilemma, Cleve stood staring at the paper, forgetful of all about him. The light was dim, for the floor light which he had turned on was in a corner at the opposite side of the room.
Then came a sudden end to his reflections.
Cleve, fancying he heard a footfall, turned. His mind, working with lightning speed, flashed the thought that it must be Joseph Darley, and that explanations would be in order. At that instant, a man leaped upon him. Cleve had not seen the face of the attacker; nor could the man have seen his, for an arm swung fiercely as it wrapped itself about Cleve’s head.
Backward went Cleve, wrested by a powerful opponent. His hands clutched wildly in thin air. Twisted sidewise by the arm that lay across his face, Cleve’s eyes had just enough space to peer upward and catch the gleam of a shining, pointed knife!