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Updated: May 13, 2025
For an hour he had dodged in and out through the dens of the underworld, as only one who was at home there and known to all could do and at last he had taken refuge in Chang Foo's like a fox burrowing deep into its hole.
During lulls, for years to come, Ling Foo's consciousness would strive to press behind the wall for a key to the riddle; for years to come he would be searching the International Bund, Nanking Road, Broadway and Bubbling Well roads for the young woman with the wonderful ruddy hair and the man who walked with the sluing lurch.
If the police had no other purpose than that in mind, Chang Foo would simply pay a fine; the next night the place would be in full blast again; and Chang Foo, higher than ever in the confidence of the underworld's aristocracy, would reap his reward and that would be all there was to it. But was that all? The raid had followed significantly close upon the heels of his entry into Chang Foo's.
He would not go near that door again this night. The man outside shook his fists threateningly, wheeled, and strode off. Three strides took him out of sight; but Ling Foo, with a damp little chill on his spine, remarked that the visitor limped. So! This would be the man who had carried the bloody head and shoulders of the unknown. Oriental curiosity blazed up and over Ling Foo's distaste.
And occasionally another sound: the soft SLAP-SLAP of loose-slippered feet, the faint rustle of equally loose-fitting garments. And everywhere the sweet, sickish smell of opium. It was Chang Foo's, simply a cellar or two deeper in Chang Foo's than that in which Dago Jim had quarrelled once and died!
I should want apple-green." "Ah!" said Ling Foo, shocked with delight. "Perhaps we can make a bargain. You have those glass beads I sold you this morning?" "Yes, I am wearing them." Jane took off her mink-fur collaret, which was sadly worn. Ling Foo's hand went into his box again. From a piece of cotton cloth he drew forth a necklace of apple-green jade, almost perfect. "Oh, the lovely thing!"
Miss Meiggs's "What!" was almost a shriek. Foo, the table-boy, brought her just then a plate of creamy rarebit. He had a jacket of luminous green silk, with the fraternity monogram in white, and he wore his cue hanging. But the fragrance of the rarebit and the splendor of Foo's toilet were alike lost upon the aroused Miss Meiggs. Such a statement, from this man of all others!
Dennison studied the glass beads. Perhaps his suspicions were not on any too solid ground. Yet a string of jade beads like that in exchange! Something was in the air. "Well," said he, smiling at the appeal in the girl's eyes, "I don't suppose there will be any harm in keeping them overnight. We'll have a chance to talk it over." Ling Foo's plan of attack matured suddenly.
Well in the shadow of the buildings, he moved swiftly along the side street until he came to the corner of the street on which, halfway down the block, fronted Chang Foo's tea-shop. A glance in that direction, and Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief.
And this, too, like everything else connected with Chang Foo's establishment, for more reasons than one for effect and for security. Nervous little twitters began to emanate from the women the guide's voice rose reassuringly: "Keep close together, ladies and gentlemen. We are going upstairs now to "
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