nock about the city
for a night and never cross the same line. Recollect Calcutta isn't one
of your poky up-country cities of a lakh and a half of people." "How
long does it take to know it then?" "About a lifetime, and even then
some of the streets puzzle you." "How much has the head of a ward to
know?" "Every house in his ward if he can, who owns it, what sort of
character the inhabitants are, who are their friends, who go out and in,
who loaf about the place at night, and so on and so on." "And he knows
all this by night as well as by day?" "Of course. Why shouldn't he?" "No
reason in the world. Only it's pitchy black just now, and I'd like to
see where this alley is going to end." "Round the corner beyond that
dead wall. There's a lamp there. Then you'll be able to see." A shadow
flits out of a gulley and disappears. "Who's that?" "Sergeant of Police
just to see where we're going in case of accidents." Another shadow
staggers into the darkness. "Who's _that_?" "Soldier from the Fort or a
sailor from the ships. I couldn't quite see." The Police open a shut
door in a high wall, and stumble unceremoniously among a gang of women
cooking their food. The floor is of beaten earth, the steps that lead
into the upper stories are unspeakably grimy, and the heat is the heat
of April. The women rise hastily, and the light of the bull's eye--for
the Police have now lighted a lantern in regular London fashion--shows
six bleared faces--one a half-native half-Chinese one, and the others
Bengali. "There are no men here!" they cry. "The house is empty." Then
they grin and jabber and chew _pan_ and spit, and hurry up the steps
into the darkness. A range of three big rooms has been knocked into one
here, and there is some sort of arrangement of mats. But an average
country-bred is more sumptuously accommodated in an Englishman's stable.
A horse would snort at the accommodation.

"Nice sort of place, isn't it?" say the Police, genially. "This is where
the sailors get robbed and drunk." "They must be blind drunk before they
come." "Na--na! Na sailor men ee--yah!" chorus the women, catching at
the one word they understand. "Arl gone!" The Police take no notice, but
tramp down the big room with the mat loose-boxes. A woman is shivering
in one of these. "What's the matter?" "Fever. Seek. Vary, _vary_ seek."
She huddles herself into a heap on the _charpoy_ and groans.

A tiny, pitch-black closet opens out of the long room, and into this the