back through the passage. The Shadow waited for a few seconds; then rising, started forward, his head buried in his arms. The steel barrier wavered as The Shadow threw his form against it. The barrier gave. The sinister figure in black plunged forward into a lighted room.
Rising upright, The Shadow stood erect, while his hands, coming from his cloak, swung two automatics into view.
The gleaming eyes of The Shadow then witnessed a strange scene. The room, through which a few smokish fumes were trickling, might have been a chamber in the Imperial Palace of Old Peking. It was furnished with beautiful oddities of Chinese furniture. The floor was carpeted with garish Chinese rugs. Dragon tapestries hung from the walls, glittering with threads of gold. Beyond, at a carved desk, sat the wise old Celestial, Choy Lown.
The man must have been one hundred years old. His face, dry as parchment, was filled with sharply creased marks. His scrawny hands were resting helplessly on the table. From the odd, drawn face, two keen eyes were peering at the invader in black.
Choy Lown was half-stunned by the terrific cataclysm that had preceded the advent of The Shadow. He had not yet recovered from the fearful shock of seeing his impassable barrier totter from its fastenings. All his snares lay without his sanctum. Here, where he had never believed a visitor could enter, he had no protection.
The Shadow laughed. The automatics disappeared beneath his cloak. He swept forward to the table, his flowing garments swishing as he approached. Choy Lown stared with transfixed eyes, fascinated by the crimson lining that swung in view as the cloak opened slightly.
“You know me?”
The question came in The Shadow’s sinister whisper. It was addressed to Choy Lown.
“Yes I know you” - the old Chinaman replied in perfect English - “although I had never expected to meet you. You are The Shadow.”
“I have destroyed your snare,” declared The Shadow, his voice a sibilant shudder.
Choy Lown bowed and spread his hands. The gesture was more elucidating than words could possibly have been. It was Choy Lown’s symbol of resignation. It indicated that had The Shadow failed, his death would have been justified. Now that the black-clad phantom had triumphed, Choy Lown could see no cause for quarrel.
“I have a question to ask you,” came The Shadow’s forceful voice.
“I shall answer it,” responded Choy Lown quietly. “You have gained entrance to my sanctum where none but myself has ever before entered.”
The Shadow’s black-garbed form bent across the table as his unseen lips voiced the purpose of his quest.
“Who is Koon Woon?” His question was direct.
CHOY LOWN looked up and blinked. His eyes were staring. The name was significant to him.
“Koon Woon is in Penang” he replied.
“Koon Woon is not in Penang,” returned The Shadow. “Koon Woon is here - in America.”
A flicker of horror passed momentarily across the old Chinaman’s face.
“Koon Woon - here” - his words were short syllables - “Koon Woon - and Lei Chang - where is he?”
“Here also. I have come to learn about them.”
Choy Lown paused thoughtfully. At length he spoke in a tone of wisdom.
“You are The Shadow,” he said in a voice that showed a tinge of awe. “You have found the way to Choy Lown - a way that would never have been opened had you asked. You have saved your own life. You have spared mine. You are a man of miracles. Choy Lown is your friend henceforth.”
Drawing pen and paper toward him Choy Lown began to inscribe Chinese characters. He was thinking in his own language, as he wrote the story of Koon Woon. It was his intention to translate his inscriptions later, but that was not necessary. The Shadow, moving around beside the table, was reading the Chinese writing with his hidden eyes.
The silence was broken only by the scratching of Choy Lown’s pen. When the old man had finished the upward inscription in true Chinese fashion, he laid the pen and ink aside.
“That is the story of Koon Woon,” he said. “Koon Woon of Penang - Koon Woon, The Master of Lei Chang. Few have heard of Koon Woon. I have seen him. I know the truth.”
The old Chinaman was staring fixedly as though his eyes were visualizing a terrible sight from the past. Then his thoughts returned to the present. A scrawny hand reached for a locket that hung from the old man’s neck. Opening it, Choy Lown brought forth a tiny disk which bore a silver character upon its jet-black surface. He held it toward The Shadow.
“This is the token of Choy Lown,” declared the old Chinaman solemnly. “It is Choy Lown’s gift to The Shadow as a sign of friendship. With it, you can always send word to Choy Lown through those who serve him. To you, The Shadow, the way will henceforth be open to Choy Lown’s sanctum.”
As the hand that wore the flaming fire opal received the black disk, Choy Lown stretched forth his other hand, and with a single pointed finger pressed three buttons that were on the side of the disk. The muffled throb of mechanism came from the passage through which The Shadow had entered.
“The way is open,” announced Choy Lown. “It shall ever be open for The Shadow, the man who knows no fear. He may always come and go, to and from the secret abode of Choy Lown.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE ATTACK
ANOTHER morning had dawned at Lower Beechview, and Mildred Chittenden had enjoyed a restful night. High noon had arrived when she appeared upon the lawn and began to stroll about the grounds. Jessup and his two men were at work on the side of the house away from the grove. Harvey, Mildred knew, was in the house, keeping to himself. Craig Ware was not in sight.
Jessup saw the girl approaching, and tipped his hat. Mildred noted that the two men were busy rolling a large barrel up an incline from the cellar. She spoke to Jessup.
“Where is Mr. Ware?” she questioned.
“He went away this morning,” replied Jessup. “Up to Connecticut. He won’t be back until sometime tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” said Mildred thoughtfully. “I remember that he was going away. I’m sorry that he will be away. The place looks beautiful this morning, Jessup. Perhaps that is because I enjoyed a good rest for a change.”
“Glad to hear that, ma’am,” responded Jessup. “I was up most of the night, watching the grounds. One of my men will be on duty tomorrow. I hope that will make you and Mr. Chittenden feel less worried.”
“I’m not worrying any more,” said Mildred, with a laugh. “It just seemed rather spooky out here, I suppose, after the city.”
Jessup turned to order the men who were moving the barrel. Mildred saw now that there were three or four of the large containers, and that they offered considerable trouble in handling. One was going on a wheelbarrow now.
“Those barrels are very heavy,” commented Mildred. “What is in them, Jessup?”
“Cement,” replied the head worker solemnly. “You see, ma’am, I tried an experiment that didn’t work out. We had clement left over from the garage drive, and I thought I could use it to line the cellar wall. It wasn’t going right, down in the cellar, and I was stuck with a whole load of mixed cement. Had to get rid of it - no good. So I poured it into those old barrels. Now it’s hardened.”
“Is the cement of any use now?”
“No, ma’am,” said Jessup ruefully. “It’s just a loss - for which I’m sorry. Had to figure a way to get rid of it, so we’re loading the barrels on our little boat off the float. Drop them overboard in the Sound is what we intend to do.”
“How are the rabbits getting on, Jessup?” queried Mildred, anxious to turn to a more interesting subject. “Did the new ones come in?”
“Yes, ma’am,” was the reply. “Shipped the old ones out the other day. The new ones aren’t just what I want; guess I’ll have to get rid of them the same way. You can look at them if you wish, while they’re here.”
Mildred strolled up to see the rabbits and immediately forgot all about Jessup and his workmen. She resumed to the front lawn, and spent the afternoon reading a book. Despite the beauty of the day, Mildred felt lonely.
