amber of horrors, the more horrible
because intangible and indescribable. Ajax said afterwards that he was
similarly affected. The contagion of fear is a very remarkable thing,
and one little understood by the physiologists. I remember I put my
hand into my pocket, because it began to tremble, and I was ashamed of
it. And then, as I still stared at the fat Chinaman, his smooth mask
seemed to drop from his face, and treachery, cunning, greed, hatred of
the "white devil" were revealed to me.

I was now convinced we had come on a fool's errand that was like to
end evilly for us, but, being a fool, I held my peace and said nothing
to Ajax, who confessed later that if I had spoken he would have
seconded a motion to retreat. We advanced, sensible that we were being
trapped: a psychological fact not without interest.

Opposite the door through which we had just passed was another door as
stout as the first. The Chinaman unlocked this with a small key, and
allowed us to enter, the guide with the candle leading the way. And
then, in a jiffy, before we had time to glance round us, the candle
was extinguished; the door was closed; we heard the click of a patent
lock; and we knew that we were alone and in darkness.

The first thing that Ajax said, and his voice was not pleasant to
hear, was: "This serves us right. Of all the confounded fools who
meddle with what does not concern them, we are the greatest."

Then I heard him fumbling for his matchbox, and then, when he
discovered that it was empty, he made some more remarks not flattering
to himself or me. I was more frightened than angry; with him rage and
disgust were paramount.

We stood there in that squalid darkness for about a hundred years (it
was really ten minutes), and then the voice of our guide seemed to
float to us, as if from an immeasurable distance.

"Boys," he said. "How air ye makin' it?"

Ajax answered him quite coolly--

"What do you want? Our money of course. What else?"

The fellow did not reply at once. These opium fiends have no bowels of
compassion. He was doubtless chuckling to himself at his own guile.
When he did speak, the malice behind his words lent them point.

"Your money? The five you gave me'll keep me a week, and after that
I'll come for more."

With that the voice died away, and Ajax muttered: "It looks to me as
if this were a case of putting up the shutters."

We had forgotten all about The Babe, which is not surprising under the