mg.greeneyes-第3节

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　　Henry　Arnaud　had　not　stirred　from　his　chair。　But　now；　his　eyes　were　turned　toward　the　window。
　　Blocks　away；　they　saw　the　glow　of　an　illuminated　district。　Henry　Arnaud　was　looking　toward　the　strangest　and　most　fascinating　district　of　America…San　Francisco's　Chinatown。
　　The　lights　from　that　cluster　of　steep…pitched　streets　betokened　a　merging　of　Occidental　invention　with　the　glamour　of　the　Orient。　There；　within　sight　of　this　hotel；　dwelt　the　largest　settlement　of　Chinese　outside　of　China　itself。
　　Electric　signs　glowed　with　Chinese　characters。　These　were　acpanied　by　English　words。　It　was　upon　one　such　sign　that　Henry　Arnaud's　eyes　were　focused。
　　This　sign　bore　the　large　words：
　　
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　MUKDEN　THEATER。
　　
　　The　sign　itself　was　a　bizarre　Oriental　creation。　Rows　of　colored　lights　crawled　dragonlike　from　the　lower　corners　until　they　reached　a　glittering　ball　of　resplendent　incandescents　near　the　top　of　the　sign。
　　Above　these　was　a　small　circle　of　yellow　lights　that　did　not　move。　From　the　center　of　the　circle　shone　two　lights　of　green；　placed　side　by　side。　They　seemed　a　challenge　to　the　man　who　watched　them　from　the　window　of　the　hotel。
　　An　imaginative　person…had　Henry　Arnaud　been　such…might　have　sworn　that　those　lights　were　staring　back　at　him。
　　Click！　The　lamp　came　on　in　the　room。　Henry　Arnaud　arose　from　his　chair　and　walked　about。　He　doffed　his　coat　and　vest。　He　removed　his　collar　and　necktie。　He　went　to　the　telephone　and　ordered　ice　water。
　　When　the　bell　boy　arrived；　Arnaud　opened　the　door　and　stepped　into　the　hall　to　receive　the　pitcher。　He　yawned　as　he　tipped　the　servitor。
　　〃Leave　a　call　at　the　desk　for　me；〃　he　said。　〃Tell　them　seven　thirty…and　to　keep　on　ringing　until　I　wake　up。　I'm　dead　tired。　I'll　be　sleeping　soundly　ten　minutes　from　now；　and　it　takes　lots　of　noise　to　arouse　me。〃
　　〃Yes；　sir；〃　responded　the　bell　boy。
　　The　door　closed。　The　lock　clicked。　The　bell　boy　returned　to　the　elevator　and　stood　waiting　in　the　deep　silence　of　the　hall。
　　The　Aldebaran　was　a　gloomy　hotel。　When　the　bell　boy　had　gone　down　in　the　elevator；　the　place　was　as　still　and　as　morbid　as　a　morgue。
　　
　　
　　ACROSS　the　hall　from　Arnaud's　room；　a　door　was　ajar。　Eyes　were　peering　through　the　crack　of　that　door…eyes　that　stared　with　a　sinister　purpose。　They　were　glued　upon　the　single　exit　from　Arnaud's　room。　They　were　waiting　and　watching；　making　sure　that　the　guest　in　806　did　not　leave。
　　Now　a　figure　appeared　from　the　door。　It　was　a　grotesque；　crouching　figure　that　crept　slowly　forward；　making　no　noise　as　it　advanced。　The　clothes　that　it　wore　were　dark；　but　the　face　above　them　bore　a　yellow　tinge。
　　In　action；　although　not　in　guise；　this　creature　bore　the　semblance　of　a　Chinaman。　His　hands　were　close　against　his　breast。
　　He　listened　outside　the　door　of　806；　his　face　now　hidden　from　the　light。
　　This　was　a　secluded　portion　of　the　hall。　Yet　the　crouched　man　seemed　ready　to　slide　back　to　the　other　room　at　the　first　sign　of　an　approaching　person。
　　Within　the　room；　Henry　Arnaud　again　stood　in　darkness。　The　only　indications　of　his　presence　that　reached　the　man　outside　were　the　sounds　that　he　made。
　　The　clasps　of　the　bag　clicked　as　Arnaud　undid　them。　He　coughed　slightly　as　he　removed　articles　of　apparel　from　the　bag。　The　door　of　the　wardrobe　banged　dully　as　he　pushed　it　shut。　Then　the　bed　creaked　as　Arnaud　flung　himself　upon　it。
　　The　noise　of　his　breathing　was　interrupted　occasionally　by　a　slight　cough。
　　Then　those　sounds　decreased；　and　there　were　steady　minutes　of　prolonged　silence。
　　The　man　outside　the　door　was　listening　intently。　With　the　subsidence　of　all　sound；　he　moved；　surely；　but　cautiously。
　　One　hand　came　from　his　body。　Deftly；　he　inserted　a　pass　key　in　the　lock　of　the　door。　The　key　turned。　The　other　hand　was　upon　the　knob。
　　Softly；　steadily；　the　door　of　Henry　Arnaud's　room　opened　until　it　was　ajar　like　that　of　the　room　across　the　way。
　　In　this　end　of　the　hall；　the　light　was　dim　and　obscure。　Even　so；　the　filtering　rays　might　have　attracted　the　attention　of　a　man　awake　upon　the　bed。
　　But　there　was　no　sign　to　show　that　Henry　Arnaud　had　stirred。
　　The　sinister　approacher　took　this　as　a　good　sign。　He　stepped　softly　into　the　room；　and　closed　the　door　behind　him。
　　He　crept　around　the　foot　of　the　bed；　and　passed　slowly　by　the　half…opened　window。　He　was　close　to　the　floor；　the　dim；　reflected　glow　from　Chinatown　was　not　sufficient　to　betray　the　presence　of　the　sneaking　native　who　had　e　from　that　section　of　the　city；　to　be　here　tonight。
　　But　those　vague　rays　of　light　did　tell　something　of　the　man's　purpose。
　　Something　gleamed　in　one　of　the　creeper's　hands。　It　was　the　blade　of　a　long；　vicious　knife…the　silent　weapon　of　a　noiseless　assassin。
　　The　crawling　Chinaman　stopped　at　the　table　by　the　head　of　the　bed。　He　listened　there；　then　loomed　upward。　His　body　extended　over　the　bed。　His　knife　was　in　his　right　hand；　ready　to　deliver　a　well…aimed　thrust。　His　left　hand　gripped　the　cord　of　the　table　lamp。
　　The　hovering　creature　was　one　who　planned　his　purpose　well。　He　was　ready　to　perform　two　operations　simultaneously。　That　hand　toying　with　the　cord　was　prepared　for　its　duty。
　　When　the　light　came　on；　the　knife　blade　would　descend　swiftly　toward　a　vital　spot　before　the　sleeping　victim　could　bee　cognizant　of　danger。
　　Click！　The　light　was　on。　Its　sudden　glare　revealed　the　face　from　the　dark…the　yellow；　leering　face　whose　peering　eyes　were　seeking　the　helpless　form　of　the　man　in　the　bed。
　　The　knife　blade　gleamed　beside　that　sinister　countenance。　But　it　remained　suspended…motionless。
　　The　bed　was　empty！　Not　only　empty；　but　the　covers　were　unturned。
　　Henry　Arnaud　was　not　there！
　　
　　
　　THE　lean；　leering　face　of　the　Chinaman　became　a　hideous；　glaring　monstrosity。　The　stooping　man　wheeled　quickly；　looking　for　his　prey。
　　With　the　lamp　still　lighted；　he　dropped　beside　the　bed；　and　his　peering　eyes　glared　beneath。　Arnaud　was　not　hiding　there。
　　Writhing　serpentlike　along　the　floor；　the　man　approached　the　wardrobe　…
　　the　only　spot　in　the　lighted　room　that　afforded　a　hiding　place。
　　The　big　door　of　the　upright　chest　was　latched…a　sign　that　no　one　could　be　within。　But　the　Chinaman　intended　to　make　sure。　He　was　willing　to　rely　upon　his　blade；　even　though　his　intended　victim　might　be　on　the　alert。
　　His　clawlike　hand　clutched　the　little　knob　of　the　wardrobe。　It　drew　the　door　open；　and　the　Chinaman　leaped　into　the　space　behind　it；　his　knife　blade　launching　for　a　thrust。
　　That　deadly　arm　stopped　midway。　The　wardrobe；　like　the　bed；　was　empty！
　　Revolting　though　the　yellow　face　had　bee；　the　look　of　perplexity　now　upon　it　was　ludicrous。　The　man　stood　momentarily　thwarted；　but　his　bewilderment　did　not　last。　He　sprang　back　across　the　room　and　extinguished　the　table　lamp。
　　The　sinister　face　from　the　dark　had　returned　to　the　dark。　But　those　insidious　eyes　were　still　searching。　They　peered　from　the　front　window　of　the　room。
　　The　head　extended　through　the　opening；　and　turned　downward　toward　the　street　below；　a　drop　of　sixty　feet。　It　appeared　again　at　the　side　window。　Here；　too；　it　inspected　a　sheer　drop　of　more　than　sixty　feet。
　　The　wicked　face　turned　its　gaze　toward　the　distant　glow　of　Chinatown。
　　There；　the　sign　of　the　Mukden　Theater　still　displayed　its　roving　change　of　lights。　But　the　luminous　circle　at　the　top　now　presented　a　blank　center。　The　two　glaring　spots　of　green　had　disappeared。
　　The　Chinaman　turned　his　eyes　back　into　the　room。　His　hands　were　buried　against　his　body。　The　knife　was　there；　waiting。
　　Ten　minutes　went　by；　then　the　crouching　figure　went　back　across　the　room　and　tiptoed　to　the　other　side　of　the　hall。　The　door　of　806　was　closed　and　locked。　But　the　tricked　assassin　waited；　wondering。
　　Within　the　room；　the　dim　glare　of　the　distant　lights　was　totally　obscured　by　a　black　shadow　in　the　window。　Henry　Arnaud　had　returned。　He　went　noiselessly　to　his　suitcase　and　took　it　with　him　to　the　window。　He　affixed　the　handle　of　the　bag　to　a　thin；　suspended　rope。
　　His　body…virtually　invisible…swung　from　the　window。　Long　arms；　reaching　upward　gripped　a　protruding　row　of　bricks　below　the　roof。　With　amazing　agility；　the　man　ascended　and　drew　himself　to　safety。　His　bag　came；　up　as　he　pulled　the　slender　rope。
　　Across　the　roof　he　strode；　toward　the　rear　of　the　hotel。　He　slid　down　a　wall　to　a　lower　building。　His　form　seemed　to　dwindle　away　and　disappear。　His　further　descent　was　an　action　unseen。
　　Henry　Arnaud　had　gone。　He　did　not　reappear。　But　in　his　stead；　a　tall；　black…clad　man　arrived　at　the　end　of　a　narrow　street；　a　block　from　the　Aldebaran　Hotel。
　　Stooping　in　the　gloom；　he　pressed　his　suitcase　into　a　small；　pact　bundle　that　disappeared　beneath　the　flowing　cloak　that　he　wore。　From　beneath　his　slouch　hat；　this　man　peered　forward　with　shrewd；　gleaming　eyes。
　　There；　in　the　silence；　hidden　lips　laughed；　and　their　low；　throbbing　mockery　made　an　eerie　sound　on　the　night　air。
　　In　the　guise　of　Henry　Arnaud；　The　Shadow　had　e　to　San　Francisco！　The　Shadow…dread　avenger；　who　menaced　evildoers　of　the　East…had　e　to　the　Pacific　coast！
　　What　was　his　purpose