Tales of Chinatown | Page 5

this alleyway. At the farther end it was crossed T-fashion, by
another alley, the only object of interest being an iron post at the
crossing, and the scenery being made up entirely of hideous brick
walls.
About halfway along on the left, set in one of these walls, were strong
wooden gates, apparently those of a warehouse. Beside them was a
door approached by two very dirty steps. There was a bell-push near
the door, but upon neither of these entrances was there any plate to
indicate the name of the proprietor of the establishment.
From his pocket-book the visitor extracted a card, consulted something
written upon it, and then pressed the bell.
It was very quiet in this dingy little court. No sound of the busy
thoroughfares penetrated here; and although the passage forming the
top of the "T" practically marked the river bank, only dimly could one
discern the sounds which belong to a seaport.
Presently the door was opened by a Chinese boy who wore the ordinary
native working dress, and who regarded the man upon the step with
oblique, tired-looking eyes.
"Mr. Huang Chow?" asked the caller.
The boy nodded.
"You wantchee him see?"
"If he is at home."
The boy glanced at the card, which the visitor still held between finger

and thumb, and extended his hand silently. The card was surrendered. It
was that of an antique dealer of Dover Street, Piccadilly, and written
upon the back was the following: "Mr. Hampden would like to do
business with you." The signature of the dealer followed.
The boy turned and passed along a dim and perfectly unfurnished
passage which the opening of the door had revealed, while Mr.
Hampden stood upon the step and lighted a cigarette.
In less than a minute the boy returned and beckoned to him to come in.
As he did so, and the door was closed, he almost stumbled, so dark was
the passage.
Presently, guided by the boy, he found himself in a very business-like
little office, where a girl sat at an American desk, looking up at him
inquiringly.
She was of a dark and arresting type. Without being pretty in the
European sense, there was something appealing in her fine, dark eyes,
and she possessed the inviting smile which is the heritage of Eastern
women. Her dress was not unlike that of any other business girl, except
that the neck of her blouse was cut very low, a fashion affected by
many Eurasians, and she wore a gaily coloured sash, and large and very
costly pearl ear-rings. As Mr. Hampden paused in the doorway:
"Good morning," said the girl, glancing down at the card which lay
upon the desk before her. "You come from Mr. Isaacs, eh?"
She looked at him with a caressing glance from beneath half- lowered
lashes, but missed no detail of his appearance. She did not quite like his
moustache, and thought that he would have looked better cleanshaven.
Nevertheless, he was a well-set-up fellow, and her manner evidenced
approval.
"Yes," he replied, smiling genially. "I have a small commission to
execute, and I am told that you can help me."
The girl paused for a moment, and then:

"Yes, very likely," she said, speaking good English but with an odd
intonation. "It is not jade? We have very little jade."
"No, no. I wanted an enamelled casket."
"What kind?"
"Cloisonne."
"Cloisonne? Yes, we have several."
She pressed a bell, and, glancing up at the boy who had stood
throughout the interview at the visitor's elbow, addressed him rapidly in
Chinese. He nodded his head and led the way through a second
doorway. Closing this, he opened a third and ushered Mr. Hampden
into a room which nearly caused the latter to gasp with astonishment.
One who had blundered from Whitechapel into the Khan Khalil, who
had been transported upon a magic carpet from a tube station to the Taj
Mahal, of dropped suddenly upon Lebanon hills to find himself looking
down upon the pearly domes and jewelled gardens of Damascus, could
not well have been more surprised. This great treasure-house of old
Huang Chow was one of Chinatown's secrets-- a secret shared only by
those whose commercial interests were identical with the interests of
Huang Chow.
The place was artificially lighted by lamps which themselves were
beautiful objects of art, and which swung from the massive beams of
the ceiling. The floor of the warehouse, which was partly of stone, was
covered with thick matting, and spread upon it were rugs and carpets of
Karadagh, Kermanshah, Sultan-abad, and Khorassan, with
lesser-known loomings of almost equal beauty. Skins of rare beasts
overlay the divans. Furniture of ivory, of ebony and lemonwood,
preciously inlaid, gave to the place an air of cunning confusion. There
were tall