Chapter V: Part 5

"Him say--him say--I look-em book and see what him say." And with his bland smile still rendering his face innocent of meaning, he retired to his office. He reappeared a moment later.

"Him say you dlaw two hund' fitty dollah," was his announcement.

The comedy of the lottery ticket was being played out to the end. I was convinced that the paper was a direct order from Big Sam to pay me the money, but as I looked into the brown mask of Kwan Luey's face I recognized the folly of attempting to draw from him any word that he was unwilling to speak. But as he counted twelve twenty-dollar gold pieces and a ten into my hand I could not forbear saying:

"And what does Big Sam expect me to do with the money?"

I thought I detected a slight movement of Kwan Luey's eyes--a momentary contraction of the lids, as though a beam of light had flashed across them and was gone. It was the only sign of surprise I could detect.

"You sabby Big Sam?" he asked blandly.

"Yes, I sabby Big Sam."

"And you no sabby what to do with you' money? You no sabby dlink--all same Clistian? You no sabby hoss-lace? You no sabby pokah?" And at this enumeration of the white man's facilities for disposing of superfluous wealth he laughed with the ironic laugh of China.

I suggested that Big Sam might have intended another destination for the money.

"Oh," said Kwan Luey innocently, "you likee Big Sam tell you what do? I likee send letteh to Big Sam. You takee letteh, him tell you what do."

The letter was already in his hand, and he passed it to me as gravely as though the coincidence was but one of the common events of life.

"I see that you were prepared for me," I said, with a tinge of sarcasm in my voice, and wondered how Kwan Luey would have brought the errand about if I had not served his purpose by introducing Big Sam's name.

The Chinaman smiled placidly.

"I no sabby," he said. "Good-by. Some day you wan' some nice thing, you come Kwan Luey's stoah."

I drew the conclusion that Big Sam wished to see me, and had arranged that Kwan Luey was to find a pretext for sending me to his office. Why he should not himself have sent word of his wish, I could not guess, unless it was a part of his policy to avoid direct paths where indirection could be made to serve.

A few minutes later I walked into the store beneath Big Sam's residence and put foot on the dingy stair that led to his office. A short, stout Chinaman tried to halt me with a "What you wan'?" but I pushed him aside and passed up the steps. I knew my way through the semi-darkness of the passage, and stumbled upward without wish for guidance or thought of danger. I had not mounted half the ascent before I heard something of a commotion above me--the shutting of a door, a scurry of feet, and a rumbling sound as though a heavy table had been moved across the floor. I amused myself with the thought that I had caught Big Sam's household unprepared for visitors and imagined the flight of the feminine portion of his family at the sound of my approaching footfall.

I reached the landing. The hall was deserted, and, turning toward the building's front, I knocked at the one door that led from the passage. There was no answer, and I knocked again. As a third knock brought no response I turned the knob and opened the door for myself. To my surprise Big Sam's room of state had disappeared. In place of the large and handsome office, with its profusion of ornamentation and its oriental furniture, I found myself looking into a narrow passageway between blank walls. I looked about the hall with the thought that I must have mistaken the door. But there was no other entrance to be seen, and I looked again in perplexity at the passage, unwilling to believe the evidence of my eyes. As I turned to make sure of the transformation I heard a click as of a spring lock snapped, a smart push at my back sent me staggering forward, and the door banged behind me.

It took but a moment to recover myself and face about. But I was too late. The door had been securely locked. A few blows on the panels sufficed to assure me that it was of too solid construction to yield to anything less powerful than an ax; and though the frame rattled at my efforts, I saw that I was a prisoner, unless I could find some other way of egress. I spared the door the kicks and blows that were called for by my first impulse. If I had been fool enough to get into this trap, I had at least sense enough to recognize that I should not better myself by knocking the skin off my knuckles in the effort to attract attention. The persons whose ears I could reach did not need to be informed of my presence. They had attended to the little detail of putting me there, and might be assumed to be aware of the honor I was doing them without further demonstration of the fact.

I turned to look once more at my prison. It was hardly five feet wide, and might have been thirty feet long, and appeared to turn a sharp corner and lead toward the rear of the building. Evidently I was at the entrance of one of the labyrinths of Chinatown, famous in police reports.

Up to this moment I had felt no fear at my situation. It seemed indeed to be something of a practical joke at which I could afford to laugh. I had evidently wandered into the wrong building, been mistaken for a detective, or a tax collector, or some equally unpleasant person, and had been turned in here out of the way of doing mischief. I had but to reveal the object of my visit--provided I could find anybody to reveal it to--and I should be sent on my way with apologies. But some remembrance of the gruesome tales of the deeds that had been done in these labyrinths suggested that the sooner I found speech with some one, the better chance of safety I should have. I was about to venture down the passage in search of a guide when I was startled to hear a voice speaking in my ear in perfect English:

"If Mr. Hampden will have the patience to wait a moment, he will be welcome."

It was the voice of Big Sam, and I looked about me with the thought that I should find him at my side. But I was still the only tenant of the passage, and in perplexity I scanned the walls and ceiling. At a second glance my eye lighted upon a small bull's-eye of glass set in the wall. It doubtless served as an observatory from which suspicious characters might be examined, and some arrangement of speaking tubes gave communication by voice.

"Thank you," I said, as I made these observations. "I am in no hurry."

I had scarce spoken when a part of the wall swung back, and Big Sam stood in the opening.

*CHAPTER XIII*

*THE WISDOM OF HIS ANCESTORS*

Big Sam was dressed in a long dark robe figured with fantastic markings in gold thread, and, as he stood in the opening in the wall, had the appearance of an astrologer who took himself seriously. His face wore a grave smile, and he bowed, as though he were receiving me under the most conventional circumstances.

"Step this way, if you please, Mr. Hampden," he said with quiet dignity.

I hastened to quit the bare and narrow prison, and was astonished to find myself amid the oriental splendor of Big Sam's room of state.

"I ask your pardon for the somewhat unceremonious welcome you have had," said Big Sam, motioning me to a chair, and taking his seat behind the great carved desk.

"Don't mention it," I said. "I suppose it's your customary way of paying honor to distinguished guests."

Big Sam gave my pleasantry a dignified smile.

"We have to be prepared for more than one kind of visitor," he said. "Perhaps it is unnecessary to call your attention to the circumstance that you made no saving of time when you declined to give your name and business to the man who met you at the foot of the stairs. It is a mere detail, but on your next visit you will find a shorter way to this room by sending up your name."

"I shall take advantage of the permission, but I didn't suppose it necessary."

"These are troublous times," said Big Sam, "and I have more than one very good reason to take precautions."

"I might suppose so from the change you have made in the entrance to your rooms," I returned.

Big Sam gave me a quick glance.

"The change is more apparent than real," he said. Then, as if the subject were dismissed, he turned the conversation abruptly. "I believe you wished to see me."

The attempt to put me in the position of seeking him, instead of being the one sought, irritated me more than the rude reception I had met on my arrival.

"I came," I said sharply, "because I had reason to suppose that you had something to say to me."

"I?" said Big Sam in polite surprise.

"Yes. I have just received two hundred and fifty dollars on the order you gave me the other day, and, for one thing, I'd like to know what to do with it."

"On an order from me?" inquired Big Sam suavely.

There was only the blank "no-sabby" mask of China on his face.

"Yes," I replied shortly. "It you've forgotten our interview in Peter Bolton's office, maybe this will remind you." And I laid before him the sheet of paper I had received from Kwan Luey.

Big Sam glanced at it, and I thought I saw behind the veil of his eyes the shadow of a frown. But if it was there, it was gone in an instant, and he replied blandly:

"Ah, you have proved fortunate in the lottery, then."

"I was paid two hundred and fifty dollars," was my non-committal answer.

"I congratulate you on your good luck."

"Thank you," I said sarcastically. "And now I am awaiting my instructions."

"Why," said Big Sam slowly, "if you have any scruples about keeping it for yourself, you might apply it to the expenses of the girl you have taken in charge."

"That was what I was waiting for," I said. I did not share Big Sam's pleasure in reaching results by indirect roads, and spoke impatiently. "Is that all you had to say?"

"I believe," said Big Sam with ironic courtesy, "that I have some speech still due me. Unless I am much mistaken I have received no report of a certain girl since I delivered her into your hands. Possibly I am wrong in supposing that the circumstances give me any rights."

"I dare say I owe you an apology," I said, with swift repentance of my show of temper. "But I understood from what you said in Mr. Bolton's office that you were in no pressing haste to hear from her."

"Pardon me, if I have no recollection of a meeting in Mr. Bolton's office," said Big Sam dryly. "We shall get on faster if you will kindly assume that it did not take place."

The "no-sabby" mask covered his face, as impenetrable as the blank walls of the passageway itself.

"As you like," I said. "Then, here is my belated report." And I gave a brief account of the events that had followed the rescue of Moon Ying. At the mention of her wound, Big Sam looked grave, and when I had done he said:

"I had received information that something of the kind had happened, but your silence gave me chance to hope that my informant was mistaken."

"No doubt I ought to have reported to you at once. I can only offer apologies for my neglect."

Big Sam gravely bowed in pardon of my remissness.

"It is a very awkward affair," he said. "And it will prove much more awkward if she dies."

"She is now out of danger."

"I trust so. Her death would send the tongs at each other's throats."

"And at yours?"

"I should find it necessary to be absent from the city for some months," he said quietly.

"You might look on it in the light of a vacation," I suggested.

"Unfortunately it is of the last importance that I should be here through the coming months."

"I presume that I am not expected to understand why."

"If you have kept your eyes open, you may have some idea of the reason." He spoke with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

"Oh, a man can not always be sure of his eyes," I replied, with a reflection of his manner. "It is true, I know that violence is threatened against your people, and that Chinatown is likely to be burned down before the troubles are over. I know that, for reasons that seem good to himself, Peter Bolton is furnishing money to aid in the campaign of disorder. But what I do not know is the reason why Big Sam is engaged in secret dealings with Peter Bolton. On its face it looks to me like the case of a man joining in a plot to burn his own home."

Big Sam drew down the veils of inscrutability over his eyes as he looked steadily at me, and asked:

"What result do you expect from the agitation?"

"For the first thing, destruction of property and the killing of some of your countrymen."

"Oh," said Big Sam carelessly, "as for the property, it belongs mostly to your countrymen. We prefer to keep our belongings in movable form. And as for my countrymen, if any of them get killed, there are plenty more where they came from."

A shiver ran down my back at this cold-blooded way of looking at the matter, and with some element of repulsion in my thought, I replied sharply:

"But those countrymen may not be able to reach here. The final result of the troubles, in my judgment, will be the shutting of our gates to the Chinese immigrant."

"Even that might not be altogether a misfortune," said Big Sam calmly.

"Not to us, I believe," I said.

"And not to us," said Big Sam.

"I'm glad you take so kindly to the idea," I said.

"Oh, it's very simple," he explained, "a mere calculation of dollars and cents. Shut off the supply, you increase the value of those now here. If no more of my countrymen come, you will find none working for ten and fifteen dollars a month. In a few years the ten-dollar man will be getting twenty; the fifteen-dollar man will be getting thirty; the men who are working in the fields and on the railroads for seventy-five cents and a dollar a day will be getting a dollar and a half and two dollars."

"That's a new view of the matter--to me, at least," I confessed. "But even that calculation will be much amiss if the agitators get the upper hand. They call for expulsion--not merely exclusion. They say 'The Chinese Must Go,' and some of them mean it."

"I have no fear," said Big Sam calmly. "Their violence will overreach itself. I may say that I rely upon them more than on the justice of our cause to prevent hostile action against my people. The more violent their outbreak, the stronger the reaction, and the less the likelihood of harsh measures to restrict our right to come and go as we please. Come, Mr. Hampden, I will wager you a good cigar that we have a rising in San Francisco that will call out the United States troops, and that there will be no legislation against my people."

I looked into the bland and impassive face before me, and wondered if the considerations at which he had thus hinted could explain his alliance with Bolton. It was in keeping with the principles of oriental diplomacy that he should be planning to prevent exclusion by encouraging the agitators to violence, and be prepared to profit by either success or failure. Yet as I looked into the fathomless brown depths of his eyes, I refused to believe that he had revealed the full measure of his policy or the reasons for it.

"I will certainly risk a cigar on that," I returned gaily.

"Then you consider the exclusion of my people inevitable?"

"I do. It is necessary to the control of this coast by the white race, and I feel certain that it must come."

"I do not recognize the necessity of the white race controlling this coast," said Big Sam dryly.

"Probably not."

"Besides, you forget that there is a class of your own people who will be much injured by an exclusion policy," he said. "The steamship and railroad companies will lose much money. The man who employs a hundred laborers will find his expenses increased by fifty dollars or one hundred dollars a day. Do you think they are going to submit quietly? The exclusion policy will find its enemies among your own people."

"Then you will take no part in the struggle?" I inquired.

Big Sam gave his head a diplomatic shake.

"I am a guest in your country, and I understand the obligations that such a position implies." He spoke the words exactly as he would have said, "I shall protect my own interests," and, by an intangible suggestion, it was this meaning that they conveyed to me. Then he turned the current of conversation abruptly:

"I think," he said, "it is well to bring the girl back here where she can have the care of a doctor of her own race." He spoke with outward calmness, but there was a trace of inward perturbation in his manner.

I stared at him in astonishment.

"Surely," I cried, "you do not believe that your doctors are better than ours! You don't mean to say that an intelligent and educated man like you thinks that there is merit in powdered toads, and snake liver-pills! You don't believe for an instant that incantations to drive away devils can be of the slightest benefit to a girl with a bullet through her lungs!"

Big Sam looked away from me with something of shame and discomposure in his face. The yellow mask dropped away for a moment, and I could read in his countenance the struggle that was going on in his mind between the veneer of western education and the inborn basic faith in the system evolved by his fathers.

"If you had asked me a week ago, and purely as a matter of theory," he said slowly, "I should have replied that your doctors were far superior to ours--that the medical practice of our people was merely superstition reduced to an absurdity."

"Your good sense would have spoken," I said.

"But now," he continued, "it is not a matter of theory that I have to consider. It is a life and death problem. Immense interests--my future--perhaps the future of the Chinese in this country--are all at stake. And who am I, to throw aside the wisdom of my ancestors and call it folly? There are powers in the earth and in the air that you and I do not understand. There are forces that you and I do not know how to use. I have seen things that science--even your science--can not explain. May not the race know what the common man does not know? Does not the experience of three thousand years count for more than our ideas of what is reasonable? Our ideas! What are they but bubbles blown in air, now seen, now gone into nothingness? Here is a scrap of paper. I crumple it thus, and throw it out of the window. It is blown here and there--up the street, down the street, around the corner--and it comes at last to the rubbish pile and is burned. And because it has found nothing but pavements and buildings in its course it scoffs at the stories of green fields, mountains, forests, the powers of nature and the works of man that it has not seen. Is that not the attitude of civilized man, Mr. Hampden?"

"We must believe our experience, our observation and our intelligence; they are the only guides we have," I replied.

"The savage is much more reasonable," said Big Sam, with the air of one who argues with himself. "He makes allowance for the universe outside his little round of experience." He rose from his seat with a troubled face, as though to relieve his stress of thought by walking. Then, as if ashamed at the loss of his customary calm, he sat down once more.

I brought the conversation back to the concrete case of Moon Ying.

"I can assure you," I said, "that the girl is getting the best medical attention in the city, and is being nursed with the most tender care. You surely have no thought of depriving her of these advantages."

"These advantages? Yes, they may be advantages to your people. But are they so for mine?"

"Certainly; flesh and blood are flesh and blood the world over."

"Each race to its own," said Big Sam. "I can not take the risk of leaving her to die under the white doctor's treatment."

"She is much the more likely to die if you bring her to Chinatown," I argued.

Big Sam's face recovered its firm determination, and I saw that the superstition and ancestor-worshiping elements imbibed with his mother's milk had overwhelmed education and reason in the crisis at which he felt he had arrived.

"I must look to my own welfare," he said with decision. "A war among the tongs would be fatal to the interests of the Chinese. And if the girl dies--especially if she dies under the white doctor's care--it would be quite beyond my power to prevent an outbreak."

"I have no doubt your interests are important," I began, when he interrupted me.

"Important! they are everything. I must ask you to see that the girl is returned here this morning. I will send for two of our best Chinese doctors to care for her."

"I protest against your decision," I said.

"It is not your place to protest or assent," said. Big Sam, with an air of command.

"Nor to act against my judgment," I added.

"Oh, if you refuse to act, I must find another messenger," said Big Sam calmly. "Permit me to thank you for what you have done, and to say that when I can be of service I am yours to command." The dignity and courtesy with which he spoke were almost regal.

"Oh, I refuse nothing," I replied. "But you will have to reckon with another person than me. I shall take your request to Miss Kendrick; but, whatever I may think about it, the final decision will be in her hands."

Big Sam looked thoughtfully at me for more than a minute before he spoke.

"That was a phase of the problem I had not considered," he said slowly. "I had forgotten that yours is not the ruling sex in the white race." Big Sam's voice was innocent of sarcasm, and he appeared to be considering an impersonal problem.

"If you want to get your girl, I advise you to see Miss Kendrick yourself," I said.

Big Sam looked at me gravely.

"I should not venture to be so rude to Mr. Kendrick as to look upon the women of his household," he said with a trace of rebuke in his tone; yet I felt that this oriental excuse was but a pretense. "I am sure," he added, with a significant glance, "that I could not have a better advocate than the one I send."

Something in the tone rather than in the words sent the blood to my face, and in some confusion I rose.

"An advocate who speaks against his judgment is not likely to be of much value," I said.

"And you a lawyer!" he exclaimed. He rose and accompanied me to the door, then halted and stamped three times on the floor. "I had almost forgotten," he said with an enigmatic smile.

As he spoke there was again the rumbling as of a heavy table moved across the floor.

"Forgotten what?" was my natural inquiry.

He made no reply, and as the noise stopped he opened the door and ushered me into the hall. I had ceased to think of the peculiar mode in which I had entered the room, but now the remembrance flashed upon me, and I looked about in astonishment. I had passed directly from the office into the outer hall, and the door leading from the hall to the passage in which I had been imprisoned had disappeared.

For a moment I was at a loss to explain the transformation. Disappearing doors were something new in my experience. Then I struck my hand against the wall where the door had been, and my knuckles told me that behind the counterfeit appearance of plaster was a heavy sheet of painted iron. In a flash the explanation came to me. The whole wall could be moved like a sliding door, and with a minute's warning a raid on Big Sam's office would find no entrance.

I carried Big Sam's message to the Kendrick house without delay, and put Big Sam's case with an impartiality that surprised myself. But I was not disappointed in the result.

"Send her back!" cried Miss Kendrick in a great state of indignation. "What can the man be thinking about?"

"Indeed, it is impossible," said Miss Fillmore. "The girl is in no state to be moved, even if it were a question of moving her to a better place."

"And to move her to that dreadful, dirty Chinatown!" cried Miss Kendrick. "I'm astonished that you should think of such a thing."

"I didn't think of it," I urged. "I didn't even want to hear of it. But Big Sam has reverted to primeval barbarism, and when he said he would find somebody else if I wouldn't come, I consented to bring his message."

"Well," said Miss Kendrick, "I never heard of such a preposterous thing in all my life."

"Unfortunately, Big Sam doesn't see it in that light," I said.

Miss Kendrick sat down looking very determined and very indignant. Then she gave a decided nod and said:

"You can tell Big Sam, with my compliments, that if he thinks I am going to be an accomplice before the fact to a murder, he's very much mistaken in the person."

There was more talk to the same effect, when my judicial mind caught the idea of a compromise.

"I have it," I said. "Why not let Big Sam's Chinese doctor come up here and take an occasional look at Moon Ying, and allay the excitement in Chinatown by assuring them that she's all right?"

"Well, I admire your intelligence," said Miss Kendrick. "I suppose you'd have Doctor Roberts consulting with him, and alternate our medicines with shark's-liver pills and snake-skin powders. Would you set aside certain hours for him to sing Chinese incantations over her? Or how would you fix it?"

The judicial scheme of compromise lost some of its attractiveness, and I said so with the proper degree of humility.

"Well, you are forgiven," said Miss Kendrick. "Now I'll tell you that there's just one compromise we will make. Big Sam may come here once a week to see Moon Ying. He's the only Chinaman who can get past that door."

"I suggested something of the sort, and he took it as though I had proposed an impropriety. I believe that a Chinese gentleman isn't supposed to observe that another gentleman has a feminine side to his establishment."

"Then he can stay out," said Miss Kendrick with decision. "You can go right back and set his mind at rest. He can have Moon Ying when she gets well and he finds a man who is fit to be her husband. It's my private opinion that there isn't such a one in Chinatown. And he can't have her a minute sooner."

I delivered this ultimatum to Big Sam. He had recovered his composure, and showed neither surprise nor disappointment when I reported the result of his mission.

"Am I to understand that this message is from Mr. Kendrick or Miss Kendrick?" he inquired blandly.

"From Miss Kendrick."

"Ah! I presumed that such a matter would be decided by the head of the household." His tone was even, and I looked to his face for the flavor of sarcasm that seemed the proper dressing for the words. But the bland, inscrutable mask of China gave back only the expression of polite attention.

"Her decision would be final in such a matter," I replied with something of resentment.

"Then," said Big Sam in his suave tone, "I trust that she understands the responsibility she is taking."

"I explained the importance you set upon it."

"Oh, I did not refer to my interests," said Big Sam, waving them aside as though they were of no moment.

"Then I am afraid I don't understand you," I said in perturbation.

"It is very simple. If the girl dies I can no longer answer for the conduct of the tongs. And if she dies in Mr. Kendrick's house--"

Big Sam left the sentence unfinished, and I asked:

"Do you mean that as a threat of an attack on Mr. Kendrick or his niece?"

"Oh, I do not threaten. I merely suggest. There are very bad men in these tongs, and they will be very angry. You can not be surprised if they put something of the blame for the girl's death on those who have her in charge. And angry men will go far for revenge."

"This is a serious threat," I said, with more alarm than I cared to show.

"I do not intend it as such," said Big Sam calmly. "I merely state circumstances."

"I am obliged to you for the warning," I said, "but I can only say that the considerations you mention would not move Miss Kendrick. She is convinced that to send the girl here is to sacrifice her life. Miss Kendrick has a woman's courage--the courage that defends the helpless--and I know it would be useless to appeal to her fears."

"Then," said Big Sam, with the air of one dismissing the subject, "there is nothing more to be said. What will happen will happen."

And with royal courtesy he bowed me out.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*BARGAINING*

"I thought you would come," said the hard, dry voice of Peter Bolton, as he leaned back in his chair and surveyed me with a sardonic smile.

"Why, yes," I replied cheerfully. "Jim Morgan told me that you wanted to see me, and I took chances on his telling the truth." As Jim Morgan was the prize-fighter who was at the head of Bolton's bureau of private information and defense, I had reason to assume that he spoke by authority.

Peter Bolton looked at me suspiciously, and then gave grudging acknowledgment of Morgan's agency.

"I never write," he grumbled. "You never know whose hands a letter will fall into."

"A very prudent rule," I returned.

He shook his head slowly, drew down the corners of his mouth, and rubbed his hands.

"Well, I suppose by this time you are about ready to take up with my offer," he said with a look of shrewd cunning.

"Your offer? I really didn't know that you had made one," I answered.

His cold blue eyes looked searchingly into my face for a minute. Then he said:

"You'll find it best to take up with my terms. I don't know what salary you're getting from Kendrick, but you're going to lose it."

"I didn't expect to keep it for ever. Did Mr. Kendrick tell you he was going to discharge me?"

"Tell me?" began Peter Bolton with a sarcastic leer. "He didn't have to. I've got better information than he can give. Your man Kendrick is going broke within the next thirty days, and he won't have any use for that fine herd of clerks he has been keeping."

As Peter Bolton evidently expected me to comment on this prophecy, I murmured that I was sorry to hear it.

"You needn't be," said he with an attempt to be amiable. "I'll take care of you."

"You are very kind," I said. "But how do you know that Wharton Kendrick is going under?"

"How do I know?" he returned with something of passion under his drawling tone. "Why, I know your man Kendrick like a book. I've known him for forty years. I've watched his business. I've watched him. Oh, he can fool you fellows with his smirking face, and his open-handed way of throwing money about. But I know that it's borrowed money, and the man who makes a show on borrowed money comes to the end of it some day, doesn't he?" Bolton ended querulously, as though he was making complaint against Wharton Kendrick for not having gone into bankruptcy long before.

"Oh, I think you are mistaken," I said. "Mr. Kendrick is known to be very rich."

"Reported to be very rich, you mean," he said in his most sarcastic drawl.

"Oh, there's no doubt about it," I returned warmly. I hoped to provoke him into saying more than he intended.

Peter Bolton took up the challenge.

"Why, young man," he cried, his voice rising into a cracked treble, "he owes money he can't pay. There's five hundred thousand dollars of his notes in that safe there," and he pointed to the solid front of the burglar-defying case. "They fall due pretty soon--some of 'em are due now--and he can't meet 'em."

"Do you mean to say that he has borrowed money of you?" I asked in amazement.

"I didn't say that," he replied cautiously. "But there are the notes. They're signed by Wharton Kendrick, and they call for five hundred thousand. When they're presented he can't pay 'em, and I suppose I'll lose my money. I have bad luck about losing money." He shook his head ruefully, and drew down the corners of his mouth as sourly as though he saw the almshouse at the end of his road.

"Oh," I said hopefully, "you'll get it, I'm sure. Mr. Kendrick has a lot of property, and if he hasn't the money, he can borrow it."

This assurance was less pleasing than the prospect of loss that had soured his face but a minute before.

"I know what property he has, young man, a good, deal better than you do," he said sharply. "And there's more paper of his in the banks--I guess it's all of two hundred and fifty thousand, maybe more. Money's getting pretty tight now, pretty tight, and Kendrick's about at the end of his rope. When he goes down, you'll want a place to fall on." He looked at me ingratiatingly, and as I said nothing, he continued:

"Now, I want to see that you're taken care of. You shan't lose anything when the smash comes, if you just follow my instructions."

"It's very kind of you to take so much interest in me," I began with an echo of his own sarcasm, when he interrupted.

"Oh, I ain't such a hard man as some people say. I want to do you a good turn, and maybe you'll help me out. I'm a liberal employer to men who give me the right sort of service. Now you're trying to be a lawyer--"

I confessed that I hoped to do something in that line.

"And I've got a little legal business to attend to," he continued, "and I want to know what you'd consider a fair fee."

"Why," I said, "it depends, for one thing, on the work to be done, and for another on the amount of money we think the fellow has."

Peter Bolton looked at me in alarm.

"Oh, I have very little money, very little money," he said quickly.

"Except for such little items as five hundred thousand in Kendrick's notes, that you were just mentioning."

"Oh, them. Well, I'm expecting to lose that money, and a man who loses five hundred thousand feels pretty tight pinched."

"Now, as for the work to be done, if it were overlooking the Council of Nine and the anti-coolie agitation--"

"Anti-coolie agitation!" he exclaimed angrily. "I don't know anything about an anti-coolie agitation."

"Oh," said I apologetically, "I supposed you knew what Waldorf and Parks and Kearney were doing with the money you gave them. Didn't they tell you about it when they were here last night?"

"I don't know what you are talking about!" he cried angrily, but I read in his eyes anxiety and surprise at the accuracy of my information.

"Now if it were looking after them, I should want a larger fee than for looking after your plans with Big Sam."

A shade of gray passed over his face, and he held up one hand and gave me a malevolent look.

"Young Men talk a Good Deal of Nonsense," he said. "Now if you're through with your joke, we'll go back to talking Business." His sardonic voice showed that he was again thoroughly in command of himself, but I felt convinced that he was more eager than ever to secure my services. "Now what's your figure?"

"You haven't told me yet what you expect me to do."

He looked about cautiously, and then studied my face for a little before he replied.

"I'll tell you what it is," he said slowly. "You are in charge of Kendrick's campaign. I want you to stay in charge of it, but to run it according to My orders instead of according to His orders."

"How long do you think I could keep the job on those terms?" I asked. "You've known Mr. Kendrick forty or fifty years. You must have got the impression in that time that he isn't altogether a fool. How long do you think he would stand it? About long enough to kick me out of his office, wouldn't he?"

"He'll stand it long enough to suit My purpose," replied Peter Bolton, his sardonic smile tightening the corners of his mouth. "My orders will be His orders until the day comes that I am ready to put my hand on him." He reached out his long, bony fingers cautiously, and then brought his palm down on his desk with a thump as though he were catching a luckless fly. "When the time comes, an hour will be enough," he continued. "All I want you to do is to bring His orders to Me, before you carry them out. Then do as I tell you." His jaws closed with a snap, as though they were a trap, and Wharton Kendrick were between them.

"That sort of legal advice is worth a good deal of money," I said. "You can afford to pay well for it, for you'll make a big clean-up. I'll have to be paid well for it, for if it were to be found out, I could never do any more business in this town."

Peter Bolton gave me a shrewd look, as though he thought he was sure of me.

"I offered you Ten Thousand Dollars," he said, trying to make the sum sound very large, "but I won't stick at a thousand or two more. I'm not a close man with those I like--"

"It's worth a good deal more," I interrupted. He looked disappointed. Then he studied the desk, and appeared to be making up his mind to some great sacrifice.

"Well," he said slowly and grudgingly, "name your figure."

"I should think fifty thousand dollars was about right."

Peter Bolton gave a shudder, and pondered for a little. Then the shrewd look came again into his eyes, and he said:

"I'll be liberal, and give you more than it's worth. I'll pay you One Thousand Dollars a week for the next four weeks, and on the day that Wharton Kendrick makes his assignment, I'll give you Twenty-Five Thousand Dollars. I wouldn't do it for any one else, but I want to see that you don't lose anything."

I understood from this outburst of verbal generosity how much he overestimated my share in Wharton Kendrick's affairs.

"Well, I'll think it over and let you know," I said, rising to escape. The pressure of my indignation had reached the danger point, and I felt that if I sat there another minute my honest opinion would burst forth in words that would put an end to further hopes of getting any revelations out of him.

"You'd better take it now," he urged, with a shadow of disappointment on his face. "It's a good offer, and I might find some one else to take it up by to-morrow."

"Oh, I'll take the risk," I returned. "I have a monopoly on this business, and you know it, and I can take what time I please."

"Just as you like, young man, just as you like," he said in his sarcastic drawl. "But look out for your own interests. If you don't, I can tell you that Wharton Kendrick won't."

Before he could deliver another homily on the folly of honesty and the importance of pursuing the interests of Number One, I hastened out of the office, with the thought that I had penetrated far into the evil designs of Peter Bolton at the cost of a good deal of self-respect.

I soothed my indignant spirit with a walk that gave me time to assure myself that no spy was following me, and then bent my steps to Wharton Kendrick's offices to lay the case before my client. The accumulation of five hundred thousand dollars' worth of his notes in Peter Bolton's hands seemed to be a matter that might call for very serious consideration.

I found Wharton Kendrick in his private room in converse with General Wilson, and the discussion appeared to have become heated. General Wilson's face gleamed like a great carbuncle, and Wharton Kendrick's ruddy cheeks were ruddier than ever with signs of temper.

"You can't do it, Kendrick," General Wilson was saying, with a wave of the hand. "I've been over every foot of that land that isn't too soft to stand on, and I'll tell you that you can't put in any such works."

"I've had two first-class engineers go over it," replied Wharton Kendrick with equal positiveness, "and they say it can be done."

"Engineers--engineers! What are they worth?" snorted General Wilson scornfully. "I've got two eyes, and they are good enough engineers for me."

"You'll find 'em mighty expensive ones if you try to do business on their estimates," said Wharton Kendrick grimly. "Experts come high, but they are cheaper than your own guesswork. You can count it liberal of me to give you that information for nothing, for it cost me over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"It's no use talking, Kendrick," said General Wilson positively. "When I'm right I know it, and all creation can't move me. That land of yours is no good to us unless we can get Bolton's piece with it. The two have got to be improved together or not at all. I'll tell you right now that the company won't pay any such price for your piece unless it can get the other, and Bolton won't sell just because he knows we've got to have it to make it a success."

"What's that?" exclaimed Kendrick, looking grave. "Bolton won't sell?"

General Wilson repeated his statement with characteristic vehemence.

"Did Bolton tell you that?"

"He couldn't have made it plainer if he had said it right out in so many words. He raised his price at the rate of a hundred thousand dollars a minute as soon as he heard that we wanted your land."

"Ah, yes. I remember now that Hampden was telling me something of the sort." Wharton Kendrick shook his head over the information, and then turned to me. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Well," I said, hesitating in some embarrassment at General Wilson's presence, "I had an interview with a friend of yours this afternoon."

The intonation in my voice was enough to give a hint of the identity of the friend, and he nodded his head in comprehension.

"Well, come up to the house to-night, and give me the whole story. It'll keep till then, won't it? By the way, what was that hullaballoo around the place last night? It waked me up, but I was too lazy to turn out and take a hand in it."

"Perhaps you heard my men when they caught three fellows climbing over the back fence, along in the early hours this morning. I don't think of anything else that happened."

"Well, upon my soul," gasped General Wilson, "isn't that enough? Good heavens, young man, you speak as though it was something a gentleman might expect as a common attention from his neighbors!"

"It's a first experience," said Wharton Kendrick with a jovial laugh. "But why didn't you tell me about it? If I'm an attraction to burglars, I think I'm entitled to know it."

"I didn't intend to make a secret of it; but you weren't in when I called this morning. Besides, I haven't run the thing down to its source and origin."

General Wilson's red face flamed with wonder and he stared at me from under his bushy brows.

"Are you trying to tell us that they weren't burglars?" He fired the question at me very much as if it were a revolver, with the professional air of a lawyer who has caught a witness trying to deceive.

"To be truthful, I was trying not to tell you," I replied. "But if you put it to me direct, I should say they were not."

"Fire away," said Kendrick, as I paused. "There's nothing about it that Wilson shouldn't hear."

"Well," I continued, "two of them got away, but the boys held on to the third, and hauled me out of bed at three o'clock this morning to find out what was to be done with him. He protested that he was an innocent citizen on his way home from an over-convivial evening. But as he couldn't explain what he was doing in your back yard at that time of night, we took him down to the police station. Instead of finding him in the jailbird class, he turned out to be a small politician out of a job. Just now he figures as sergeant-at-arms of the Twelfth Ward Anti-Coolie Club."

"The Anti-Coolie Club?" said Wharton Kendrick, wrinkling his brows. "I don't see what an anti-coolie club could want to do to me. I'm pretty well qualified for membership myself."

General Wilson's face flamed redder than before, in the frame of his aggressive side-whiskers, and he smote the desk with his fist.

"Good Lord, Kendrick! You don't mean to tell me that you take any stock in such riotous nonsense as these anti-coolie fellows here are getting off! Why, I was listening to one of them last night, and he roared like a bull-calf about the Chinese taking the bread out of the hands of the workmen, and split his lungs telling that the heathen must be driven into the sea. Why, sir, he made my blood boil, and if I was made provost-marshal of this town for one day, I'd bundle him and his crew down to the docks, and have them sailing over sea before night came."

Wharton Kendrick gave a good-humored laugh.

"My dear Wilson, I don't take much stock in the loud-mouthed orators, but I say, with them, that if we are to have the choice of a white or a yellow civilization in California, my vote goes to the white."

"Stuff and nonsense!" cried General Wilson, thumping the desk once more. "Why, my dear sir, you challenge the fundamental principles of this government when you say we must shut out these men merely because their skins are yellow. Why, sir, it is to our advantage, not to our detriment, that they work for small wages. The lower their wages, the less money they take out of the country, and when they go home they leave behind them the great works they have accomplished. God has given you illimitable resources, and you are crying out for hands to develop them, and here you are, ready to shut out the most plentiful and cheapest supply of labor that exists on the face of the green earth. It's against business principles and it's against the principles of humanity, and you can never do it, sir--never."

"Oh, fudge, Wilson, you don't know anything about the problem, and yet you come here telling us old Californians what we ought to think about it. I'll admit anything you say in favor of the coolies. They're industrious and faithful and cheap; but they're more than that. The Chinese can drive us out of any line they want to take up. I've seen that done too many times to doubt it any longer."

"Well, if they can do it, why shouldn't they?" cried General Wilson. "Survival of the fittest--isn't that the law of nature? If the white race can't stand the competition, let it perish. But it won't perish. It'll manufacture things to sell to the Chinese, and trade will go on whether the white or the yellow man settles this coast."

"That may be all right for you fellows in the East; but even there you'll be hit. Just ask yourself which would be more profitable as customers, a million Chinese who spend ten cents a day on their supplies, or a million whites who spend a dollar?"

"Sophistry, sophistry, Kendrick!" puffed the general, apparently impressed by the illustration. "But why go after the Chinese alone? I was in Castle Garden a month ago, and the fellows they let through there are every whit as un-American as the Chinese. Why don't you holler about them?"

"Why," said Kendrick, "we're hollering about the pigs in our corn. You're the fellows to look out for the other side of the continent."

"Why don't we try to keep them out?" cried General Wilson. "Why, it's because we've got to have cheap labor for our mines and mills and railroads. We need it just as we need machinery, and we've got to take the disadvantages with the benefits, and no loud-mouthed agitator can deprive us of the right to get our workmen in the cheapest market. It's the law of trade, the fundamental principle at the bottom of political economy--the science on which the development of civilization must depend--"

General Wilson's oration was suddenly cut short by an outburst of sound from the street below, and with common instinct we hastened to the window to view the cause of the hubbub. On the pavement was a crowd of five or six hundred men, moving slowly up California Street, circling with cries of anger or derision about some indistinguishable center of attraction. The outer fringe of the crowd was constantly breaking into sprays of individuals who ran forward to secure a position in front, while those behind tried to leap on the shoulders of those before them, and the center was an effervescent mass of arms, heads and clubs.

The nucleus of disturbance, I was at last able to make out, was composed of two policemen dragging a hatless man between them.

"Oh," said Wharton Kendrick, "it's nothing worse than an attempt to lynch some fellow who's been caught at his crime. I suppose he's killed a woman, or something of the sort. But the police will get him to prison easily enough. There's never nerve enough in one of these crowds to take such a fellow and hang him."

"They ought to string 'em up on the spot," snapped General Wilson. Then repenting suddenly of this unprofessional exclamation, he added: "But the majesty of the law must be upheld. It is the shield of the innocent and the sword of the righteous."

"Um-m, yes, I suppose so," said Kendrick doubtingly. "But all this doesn't settle that matter of the tule tract. I'll see you to-night, Hampden. The general and I must talk business now."

*CHAPTER XV*

*A RIPPLE OF TROUBLE*

The brawling of many voices filled the air as I ran down the stairs, spurred by curiosity and by a vague, subconscious misgiving that the event was of more than impersonal interest. When I reached the entrance the circling crowd was halted in a mass of struggling men, and the hoarse roar that issued from it vibrated with the indefinable yet definite thrill of savage anger. Police whistles were blowing, men were running from all directions to get sight of the struggle, blows given and taken could be heard amid sounds of curses and exclamations of pain, and the centers of disturbance became pyramids of squirming, struggling mankind.