He paused and looked about him defiantly.

"I dunno 'ow long I slept," he continued, "but some time in the night I
kind of 'alf woke up."

At that he twisted violently in his chair and glared across at Harley:

"You been a pal to me," he said; "but tell me I was dreamin' again and
I'll smash yer bloody face!"

He glared for a while, then addressing his narrative more particularly
to me, he resumed:

"It was a scream wot woke me--a woman's scream. I didn't sit up; I
couldn't. I never felt like it before. It was the same as bein' buried
alive, I should think. I could see an' I could 'ear, but I couldn't move
one muscle in my body. Foller me? An' wot did I see, mates, an' wot did
I 'ear? I'm goin' to tell yer. I see old Kwen Lung's daughter------"

"I didn't know 'e 'ad one," murmured Harley.

"Then you don't know much!" shouted the fireman. "I knew years ago, but
'e kept 'er stowed away somewhere up above, an' last night was the first
time I ever see 'er. It was 'er shriek wot 'ad reached me, reached me
through the smoke. I don't take much stock in Chink gals in general, but
this one's mother was no Chink, I'll swear. She was just as pretty as a
bloomin' ivory doll, an' as little an' as white, and that old swine Kwen
Lung 'ad tore the dress off of 'er shoulders with a bloody great whip!"

Harley was leaning forward in his seat now, intent upon the man's
story, and although I could not get rid of the idea that our friend
was relating the events of a particularly unpleasant opium dream,
nevertheless I was fascinated by the strange story and by the strange
manner of its telling.

"I saw the blood drip from 'er bare shoulders, mates," the man continued
huskily, and with his big dirty hands he strove to illustrate his words.
"An' that old yellow devil lashed an' lashed until the poor gal was past
screamin'. She just sunk down on the floor all of a 'cap, moanin' and
moanin'--Gawd! I can 'ear 'er moanin' now!"

"Meanwhile, 'ere's me with murder in me 'eart lyin' there watchin',
an' I can't speak, no! I can't even curse the yellow rat, an' I can't
move--not a 'and, not a foot! Just as she fell there right up against
the joss an' 'er blood trickled down on 'is gilded feet, old Ma Lorenzo
comes staggerin' in. I remember all this as clear as print, mates,
remember it plain, but wot 'appened next ain't so good an' clear.
Somethink seemed to bust in me 'ead. Only just before I went off, the
winder--there's only one in the