hicle followed, second place, a rickshaw that carried a Chinese.

The distance seemed interminable. Fortunately, at that hour few of his
acquaintances were abroad, but in the anxiety which possessed him, he
scarcely realised it. He was conscious of passing through crowded
streets, the quarter of the Mohammedans, where incense pots were
alight, scenting the warm air. Then the vile-smelling bazaar, crowded
with buyers, bargaining and shouting under the swaying torches. Then
they passed the European section of the town, where the streets were
wide, clean and deserted. They must be going back of the quais now,
for the air was heavy with the acrid scent of rubber. Then they turned
into a narrow, wildly tumultuous street full of Chinese, scattered all
over the road and sidewalk, shouting, calling, beating drums, yelling
wares for sale, the babel of the Chinese quarter, only such as the
Bishop had never seen it. The rickshaws turned many times, up narrow
lanes and alleys, across wider thoroughfares, and finally halted
before a dingy house of many storeys, a foreign-style house, converted
to native uses. They stopped before a red painted door, a double door,
in two halves, like a saloon door. Over the entrance hung a sign,
black and white, in large, sprawling Chinese characters.
Subconsciously, he was aware that he had passed such signs, in such
characters, many times before. A curious and large crowd gathered
before the house parted at their approach, and the filthy Chinese led
the way, followed by the Bishop in his immaculate garb. As they passed
in and the swing doors closed behind them, a throng of yellow faces
peered down and looked under the door, which was hung high. And all
the while, the low, insistent shuffling noises of the crowd outside
penetrated into the dark, dimly lit room in which the Bishop and his
companion found themselves.

Around three sides of this room, which was narrow, ran a wide bench
covered with dirty matting. Lying at intervals in pairs all along the
bench, were two coolies in a little pen, with a lamp between them,
separated by a narrow ridge from the pen adjoining, which held two
more ragged smokers. The Bishop beheld rows of them, haggard, pallid
rows. A horn lantern was suspended from the ceiling, and the air was
unstirred by punkah, the heavy, foul air reeking with the sickening,
pungent fumes of opium. As he passed, the smokers raised themselves on
their elbows and gazed at him with glazed,