ep and lighted a cigarette.

In less than a minute the boy returned and beckoned to him to come in.
As he did so, and the door was closed, he almost stumbled, so dark was
the passage.

Presently, guided by the boy, he found himself in a very business-like
little office, where a girl sat at an American desk, looking up at him
inquiringly.

She was of a dark and arresting type. Without being pretty in the
European sense, there was something appealing in her fine, dark eyes,
and she possessed the inviting smile which is the heritage of Eastern
women. Her dress was not unlike that of any other business girl, except
that the neck of her blouse was cut very low, a fashion affected by many
Eurasians, and she wore a gaily coloured sash, and large and very costly
pearl ear-rings. As Mr. Hampden paused in the doorway:

"Good morning," said the girl, glancing down at the card which lay upon
the desk before her. "You come from Mr. Isaacs, eh?"

She looked at him with a caressing glance from beneath half-lowered
lashes, but missed no detail of his appearance. She did not quite like
his moustache, and thought that he would have looked better cleanshaven.
Nevertheless, he was a well-set-up fellow, and her manner evidenced
approval.

"Yes," he replied, smiling genially. "I have a small commission to
execute, and I am told that you can help me."

The girl paused for a moment, and then:

"Yes, very likely," she said, speaking good English but with an odd
intonation. "It is not jade? We have very little jade."

"No, no. I wanted an enamelled casket."

"What kind?"

"Cloisonne."

"Cloisonne? Yes, we have several."

She pressed a bell, and, glancing up at the boy who had stood throughout
the interview at the visitor's elbow, addressed him rapidly in Chinese.
He nodded his head and led the way through a second doorway. Closing
this, he opened a third and ushered Mr. Hampden into a room which nearly
caused the latter to gasp with astonishment.

One who had blundered from Whitechapel into the Khan Khalil, who had
been transported upon a magic carpet from a tube station to the Taj
Mahal, or dropped suddenly upon Lebanon hills to find himself looking
down upon the pearly domes and jewelled gardens of Damascus, could not
well have been more surprised. This great treasure-house of old Huang
Chow was one of Chinatown's secrets--a secret shared only by those whose
commercial interests were identical with the interests of Huang Chow