Teeth of the Dragon by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1937-11-18T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII. ALONG THE WATER FRONT

THE next afternoon, a telegram was delivered to Richard Vayne. Myra Reldon received it and took it into the inner office. At his desk, Vayne opened the message. The gray-haired man smiled as he read the telegram.

"From Cranston," he said to Myra. "He is on his way back East. He flew to Denver this morning, from Los Angeles."

"Which means," added Myra, "that he must have gone to Los Angeles last night."

Vayne nodded.

"I had hoped to hear from Cranston," he remarked. "I was worried about him, and thought that it would be unwise for me to be with him last night. I think you understand, Myra. The Chinese are -"

"I know," interposed Myra. "Some of them were watching my apartment house, last night. So I stayed at home."

Vayne strummed the desk. His worriment remained; but his concern was for Myra, now that Cranston was out of San Francisco.

"I have many friends," Vayne told the girl, "and servants, at my home in Oakland. I am safe, wherever I go. I can afford to ignore any Chinese spies. But you lack safety, Myra."

"I can depend upon the police," assured Myra. "Don't worry, Mr. Vayne. I'll look out for myself."

Vayne was doubtful; but Myra's determination made argument useless. Vayne gave her the telegram to file. As she walked from the inner office, her back was turned toward Vayne. The girl could safely smile in the fashion of Ming Dwan.

She said nothing to Vayne about her date with Cranston. As for the telegram, Myra kept silent on that matter, also. She knew that the Tao had been responsible for the telegram. When Cranston's disappearance became a nationwide mystery, police would believe that the millionaire had vanished elsewhere than in San Francisco.

EVENING brought brilliance to the bizarre streets of Chinatown. Thousands of peaceful Chinese were abroad; but among them were camouflaged members of the Jeho Fan. Ming Dwan was one.

There were streaks of darkness in the Chinese quarter: alleyways between the lighted streets. Into one of those alleys stepped a tall American, whose face, though hawkish, bore little resemblance to Cranston's. The American carried a package that looked like a purchase from one of the Chinese bazaars.

Paper crinkled in the alleyway; silence followed. The narrow street was empty.

In a near-by building was an office that contained a solitary Chinaman. He was garbed in American clothes. In the glow of a desk lamp, he was opening letters addressed to Doctor Roy Tam.

Blackness gathered beyond the lamp. There was a momentary swish. Tam looked up; he saw The Shadow, garbed in a new outfit of black.

"I expected you, Ying Ko," announced Tam, "despite the rumor that the Jeho Fan had slain you."

"Let them believe me dead," returned The Shadow, his whisper sinister. "I have learned much regarding the Jeho Fan. One fact will astonish you. The Tao does not have the letter from Cho Tsing."

Tam was puzzled. He was positive that the missing message must have reached the Tao Fan. He would not have believed the statement, had it come from any one other than The Shadow.

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