Page:Weird Tales Volume 7 Number 6 (1926-06).djvu/11

Chinatown behind them, reached Market Street, turned right, right again toward the hotel. From time to time June cast apprehensive glances over her shoulder. Suddenly she grasped her father's arm.

"Dad! We're being followed. There's a Chinese hoy watching us every minute!" She broke into a half-run, an instinctive flight from danger.

Mr. Hubbard whirled. A dozen feet behind him was a dapper Chinese youth, immaculately dressed in the latest style and swinging a little cane. He hesitated as Mr. Hubbard faced him, then strolled on, apparently unconcerned.

"Dad!" June called from on ahead. There was real fright now in her voice. "Dad! Where are you?" Her father hurried, passing the Chinese youth again. In a moment he had caught June's arm; in another they were in the brilliantly lighted hotel lobby, trying to laugh at their fears. But the mirth was half-hearted, for the Chinese had sauntered nonchalantly past them, stopped near the elevator, pulled a cigarette from a leather case and lighted it, then backed to the wall, from whence he could watch the entire lobby.

Mr. Hubbard was tempted to take June outside again, hoping to lose the lurking Oriental in the crowded streets. He started toward the door, June still on his arm, then seeing that the Chinese was sauntering toward them, turned straight to the elevator. "Ninth floor," he said loudly to the elevator man as he stepped into the cage.

The Chinese youth hesitated, then stepped aside; the door was clanged shut and the elevator started up. "Did I say ninth floor?" Mr. Hubbard asked good-naturedly. "I meant the seventh." He smiled meaningly at June, but the girl was too perturbed to appreciate her father's subterfuge.

In a minute father and daughter had entered their connecting front rooms which faced out over the brilliantly lighted city, with Nob Hill looming up in the middle distance. Inside his room Mr. Hubbard waited a moment, then suddenly peered out into the hall. No one was visible. He closed the door, locked it and threw open the door between the two rooms.

"June, I'm a little tired," he said. "I think it would be better to have dinner brought up to our rooms and stay inside tonight. Tomorrow we'll go down to Los Angeles."

"Yes," June replied, "it will be better to eat in our rooms, I'm sure." She threw aside her coat and furs, walked to the window and looked out. Down on the sidewalk below thousands of people were hurrying along, like so many ants after a rainstorm. Some of them, yes, surely many of them, were Chinese men with long yellow fingers, expressionless faces and hard eyes. She shuddered and backed away from the window.

"Dad," she called. "Won't you find out who have the adjoining rooms?"

Mr. Hubbard realized the worth of the idea and called the room clerk. "Mr. John Powell is in 708," he reported. "Sounds like a good American name. Room 714 is vacant yet." He hesitated. Then, "We're acting like a couple of babies," he declared. "Let's forget the whole thing."

"All right," June agreed. "We'll order dinner,—or let's make it supper. Then read and to bed. I'm anxious to get to Los Angeles. Suppose we'll see Douglas Fairbanks and Bill Hart?"

She tried to assume a light-heartedness she did not feel.

That night Room 714 was engaged by an aristocratic-looking man who might be white, or again might be Mongolian. His face was swarthily gray. He certainly was not pure