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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