The driver’s uniform fitted him well. He noted a picture that looked something like himself, and bore the name Harry Patman. That would be well to remember. The first name was his own.
Evidently the person whom he was to pick up would be a stranger who might suspect something wrong if the card were not in its place.
Harry picked up the note, which was lying on the seat, and observed that the writing had disappeared. This reminded him that it had borne the number “2”, so he took a blank diary from his suit and crossed out the first and second days of January. That seemed a good way to keep a record. Then he folded the suit and put it under the back seat.
It was his first experience at the wheel of a taxicab. He knew the streets of New York well, and did not worry about the traffic; but he felt strange in his disguise.
He saw a lunch room on Tenth Avenue. He parked his cab and had dinner.
There was plenty of time before he was due at the corner above Wang Foo’s. Harry did not particularly relish the thought of loitering too long in that section on the border of Chinatown. Neither did he care to drive about in the cab. He might have to argue with prospective passengers who would not be satisfied with his statement that the empty cab was engaged. So he lingered in the lunch room after he had finished eating.
Gauging his time for the trip to Chinatown, Harry set forth in the cab. He kept to the streets and avenues where traffic was not heavy and drove rather slowly. He passed several persons who shouted and whistled for his services, but paid no attention and kept on his way.
It was eight minutes of ten when he reached his destination. He rolled slowly down the street in front of Wang Foo’s and felt his nerves tingle as he passed the front of that grim, foreboding building where he had so narrowly escaped death.
He circled the block in accordance with the instructions of the message and rode by the tea shop a second time. Then he came back to the corner above the building and parked the cab in a convenient space.
There were not many persons on the street. The district was dismal and forlorn. But the few who passed - among them some Chinese - paid no attention to the man in the cab driver’s uniform.
The night was a trifle chilly. Harry walked up and down the street beside the cab, swinging his arms. His action was natural, and, as he reached the corner, he swung around in a casual way so that he could catch a view of Wang Foo’s tea shop.
He continued his patrol for half an hour. It became monotonous. He expected some sign of the mysterious Chinaman each time he reached the corner. But he was constantly disappointed.
Harry began to count the number of turns he made in his short walk. Ten - twenty - thirty - and still the same monotonous patrol. But he kept on, back and forth.
Eleven o’clock went by. Then half past eleven. It was approaching midnight, and the patient taxi driver still continued to pace the sidewalk.
CHAPTER XXI
WANG FOO RECEIVES A VISITOR
While Harry Vincent had been undergoing his experiences as an amateur hackman, other events had been slowly unfolding within the tea shop of Wang Foo.
Loo Choy, the regular counter man, had come in earlier than usual to relieve his lately rediscovered cousin, Ling Chow. In fact, he had arrived at five o’clock in the afternoon.
There was a purpose behind his action. Since the double shift had been instituted, Loo Choy had had his afternoons to himself. He had found the freedom that he had lacked for an entire year, and he wanted more. He had felt that if he arrived at five instead of six, he might be able to persuade his cousin, Ling Chow, to stay on duty that evening.
Ling Chow had listened silently to Loo Choy’s efforts at persuasion. But he had given no indication that he would consent to the plan. In fact, he intimated that the evenings were too much work after a hard afternoon. He understood that many customers came to the tea shop in the evening perhaps as many as five or six; and it would require great effort to attend to their wants.
Loo Choy had denied this. He had held up the fingers of his left hand, and had counted two of them. Only two persons had come in last night. In fact, only one had been a customer; for the other, a large white man, had gone upstairs to see Wang Foo.
Ling Chow had still been skeptical. No one ever went upstairs to see Wang Foo - that is, no American men. That one statement had been sufficient to prove that Loo Choy was not truthful.
This had brought a torrent of triumphal words from the lips of Loo Choy. He could prove to his doubting cousin that the American man had come the night before! But in order to see the proof, Ling Chow would have to stay in the shop during the evening.
The American, Loo Choy explained, had come unannounced. He had signaled at the door in the rear, and had been admitted. He had arrived just before ten o’clock, and had stayed about half an hour. Then, Wang Foo had summoned Loo Choy upstairs, and Loo Choy had heard the ancient Chinaman say, in English:
“Come, tomorrow night. Same time.”
Loo Choy’s knowledge of English was extremely limited, but he had understood all these words.
Then, Wang Foo had sent him downstairs and out into the street, to see that no one was in sight. Having reported that all was clear, Loo Choy had watched the big man depart, and had seen him from the doorway as he shouted to a passing taxicab at the end of the street.
Despite what Loo Choy related, Ling Chow still maintained his doubts. Finally, Loo Choy made a small wager that if Ling Chow would stay in the tea shop he would see the big American. This aroused Ling Chow’s sporting spirit. He took up the bet, but insisted upon a compromise.
It was to this effect: He, Ling Chow, would leave the tea shop at that moment, but would return by eight o’clock, and would remain there the rest of the evening. Thus he would have a few hours to himself, and yet be able to witness the arrival of the visitor.
Loo Choy agreed immediately. Ling Chow left at half past five.
At eight o’clock, Ling Chow came back to the tea shop, in accordance with his agreement.
Loo Choy left immediately. It was his first night off since his vacation. He wandered into the street, and looked across. The shadows did not appear so thick tonight. He had noticed the same on the night before, when he had gone to the door with Wang Foo’s visitor.
Within the shop, Ling Chow sat placidly behind the counter. He stared straight ahead, patient and quiet as an image of Buddha. Not a customer entered the tea shop.
Shortly before ten o’clock, there came the sound of heavy footsteps on the sidewalk outside. Some one climbed the rickety step and entered the door.
It was a white man, fairly tall and decidedly heavy. He strode toward the counter, and looked at Ling Chow.
This newcomer had a full, red face, a large, pudgy nose, and a square-set jaw that hung like that of a bulldog.
Ling Chow’s eyes were directly upon him. However, after a glance at the Chinaman, the stranger went on through the shop and disappeared behind the tea boxes in the rear. Ling Chow could hear him pound on the door four times.
Through the partition came the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs that led to Wang Foo’s private sanctum.
Ling Chow did not move from his counter for one hour and a half. Then he toddled toward the rear, where he inspected a stack of tea boxes which had been neglected until they appeared on the verge of falling.
From there he went to the door at the rear, where he listened for a moment. He looked at the door as though he meant to knock upon it. At that instant a bell rang. That would be Wang Foo’s signal.
Ling Chow tapped four times. The door opened.
At the top of the stairs, Ling Chow paused in the open doorway that was the entrance to Wang Foo’s den. The old Chinaman was seated behind his desk. The visitor was standing near by.
“It is time for you to go,” said Wang Foo to the stranger.
