instructions to keep out of Chinatown itself. They did not know why, but they assumed it was because their presence among the Chinese might attract police attention.
That was, in part, the reason. There was, however, another factor that the hordes of gang land did not recognize. That was the secret which the natives of Chinatown held among themselves. They, like the lurking gangsters, knew that a mysterious stranger had come into their midst. The word had passed about like magic.
Two blinking Celestials were talking in a corner of an Oriental lunch room. While they plied their chop-sticks, these American-garbed Chinese talked in their own language, whispering their words.
'The tongs are united,' declared one.
'True,' returned the other.
'It is because Yat Soon has spoken,' remarked the first.
'When Yat Soon speaks'—the second Chinaman blinked soberly—'all must do his bidding.'
'Yat Soon is above the tongs.'
'The leaders of the tongs obey him.'
That was all. Even the whispered conversation was guarded in its language. But in another spot of Chinatown—the back room of a little Oriental shop—two Mongols were discussing more freely the one subject that held the attention of all the Chinese in New York.
'The one who is here must be taken,' declared the solemn-faced owner of the shop. 'Yat Soon has commanded.'
'Yes.' The Chinese visitor nodded and blinked his almond-shaped eyes. 'The one who is sought must be taken to Yat Soon.'
'They say he lurks in darkness—this one whom Yat Soon seeks.'
'Yes. He is like a shadow that lives.'
'One cannot capture a living shadow.'
'So Yat Soon has said. But one may kill anything that lives—even a shadow.'
The listener nodded.
'That is why some one will slay,' he declared. 'It would be better to kill this strange devil in black than to try to catch him living.'
'He must be brought to Yat Soon.'
'Dead.'
'Dead if he cannot be brought alive.'
CHINESE who lurked on street corners were eyeing the faces of all who passed. They were watching patches of darkness. They studied the faces of all Americans who paced the streets of Chinatown.
Moreover, these bland Celestials were watching those of their own ilk.
They knew about The Shadow. They understood that he was more than a phantom garbed in black.
They had been told that he was a master of disguise; that he might appear as either an American or an Oriental.
Here in his last refuge, The Shadow stood in greater danger than when he had lived in the underworld.
All Chinatown was placidly united in a common quest. Yat Soon, a mysterious power who held weight with all the tongs, had ordered that The Shadow be brought to him!
A man who came along a dim side street was eyed by watching Chinese. Although a stranger in Chinatown, this stoop-shouldered, rat-faced individual was allowed to pass. He grinned as he followed a carefully set course. This visitor to the Oriental district was gang land's emissary—Snakes Blakey.
Shrewdly, the sneaky mobster went his way. He knew that he would not be challenged. He knew that he possessed a passport that might not have been granted another man from mobland. He also knew that his security here rested upon more than his connection with the underworld. Snakes Blakey was free because he served Gray Fist!
Turning into an alleyway, Snakes stopped before the door of a little shop. He rapped. The door opened.
Snakes stepped into a room where a placid Chinaman received him. Snakes was led to the wall. A panel opened. The mobster stepped into a darkened corridor. His conductor followed behind him.
Steps led downward. The two followed a twisting passage beneath the street. They turned into a side corridor. A grunt from the Mongol warned Snakes of new steps. Through a door which opened as they approached; into a lighted anteroom beneath the surface of the ground. There the Chinaman pressed a knob on a huge brass door. The barrier opened.
Snakes advanced up a flight of dimly-lighted steps. As he waited at the top, where corridors divided, a huge Chinaman appeared from darkness, and pointed him to the right.
Snakes reached another dividing point. A second Chinaman approached and conducted the visitor to a large brass door. The Celestial struck the door with a stick. A melodious clank resounded through the gloomy passages. The door slid upward. Snakes Blakey entered a square room, where paneled walls showed dimly in a mellow light.
A SOLEMN Chinaman was standing in this room. Snakes had a feeling of uneasiness when the brass door slid down and he found himself alone with the strange occupant who stood here. The Chinaman was clad in robes of deep maroon. Frosted dragons of dull gold adorned his garments. The black eyes that stared at Snakes were firm and cold.
Snakes Blakey stood in the presence of Yat Soon. He was in the private room of the great arbiter whose name was law among the mysterious secret societies known as the tongs, the fighting fraternities that ruled Chinatown.
'What brings you here?'
The question came in perfect, even English. Yat Soon's lips scarcely seemed to move.
'I come from Gray Fist,' answered Snakes, in an awed tone. 'I have a message.'
The gangster's hand was scarcely steady as it drew forth a gray envelope. Yat Soon broke the seal and extracted a gray sheet of paper. He unfolded this and held it toward the wall. His fingers pressed a hidden switch. A tiny light showed on the wall. Writing appeared between the portions of the gray paper.
When he had read the message, Yat Soon turned off the light. He looked at Snakes Blakey, and the gangster read disapproval in Yat Soon's black eyes.
'Return to Gray Fist.' The Chinaman's voice was a command. 'Tell him that this second message was not needed. The one you brought last night was sufficient.
'Tell Gray Fist that since he seeks The Shadow, he shall have The Shadow. No one can escape the searchers of Yat Soon. My abode is hidden. It is more secret than any other in Chinatown. The secrets of all other hiding places are known to Yat Soon.
'If The Shadow is in Chinatown, he cannot leave. He will be brought to Yat Soon. I, Yat Soon, shall keep him living if he lives when he comes here. I, Yat Soon, shall keep him dead if he is brought here dead.'
'All right,' nodded Snakes. 'But if you get The Shadow—how will Gray Fist know?'
'You may come to Chinatown,' replied Yat Soon solemnly, 'but not beyond the entrance of my abode.
The outer guardian will tell you when The Shadow has been captured.'
'But how -'
'He will say to you these words,' resumed Yat Soon, not heeding the gangster's interruption, 'these words which you can easily remember: 'Yat Soon rules.' By those words, you may know that The Shadow is in the power of Yat Soon.'
Solemnly, the Chinese leader ceased his speech. He waved his hand toward the wall where Snakes had entered. Turning, the gangster saw a solid panel. He had the uneasy feeling that this room was filled with such panels; that many entrances converged in Yat Soon's reception room.
The panel slid up of its own accord. Snakes Blakey shambled through the opening, which closed behind him. Glancing warily over his shoulder, Snakes again saw the brass door which formed the outer surface of the portal.
Guards moved Snakes along the way that he had come. For the second time, the emissary of Gray Fist was departing from Yat Soon's. He had come here, at Gray Fist's order, on the night before. He was glad that he would not have to come again—until The Shadow had been taken prisoner.
