“That’s a joss-house, and that’s a tea-house, and that’s a silk merchant,” remarked my guide at intervals, indicating different buildings as we passed.  Some were frame houses with signs hanging out, painted in Chinese characters and with wonderful red door-posts; some had latticed windows with lights burning behind.  But for the most part, from this outer point of view, Chinatown was clean, orderly, and dark.

We stopped at last before an open doorway through which we stepped and crossed a yard, hemmed in by the crowded frame buildings round it, but open to the sky.  By the light of the stars we found a ladder at the farther side and ascended this as it leant against the crooked wall of a rickety and tumbledown-looking house.  The ladder went as far as the second story, where there was an open square of blackness, either window or door, through which we scrambled from the swaying rungs and then found ourselves in a passage.  It was very low, apparently, for I struck my head whenever I held it upright, and so narrow that our shoulders brushed the sides.  It was in fact a little tunnel, reminding one of the rounded runways a rabbit makes in thick undergrowth.  It was quite dark, and my guide put himself in front and took one of my hands, pulling me along after him down steps and round corners, along different twisted, corkscrew turnings, till at last a passage a little broader than the others opened before us, where a lamp was burning; he drew back against the wall, pushing me forwards, and whispering some directions in my ear.

I passed along, as I was bid, went down two small steps, and knocked at the door I found before me.  The door seemed a very stout one, securely fastened, and had a small aperture, at the height of one’s face from the ground.  It was only about five inches square and set with thick vertical iron bars.  Behind these was an iron flap now closed.

I knocked and waited.  Presently the iron flap behind the bars was cautiously opened and I saw a face peering through at me.  Before I could speak the iron flap was shut to with a clank.

“That’s because Nanine sees you’re a stranger,” whispered my guide.  “They’re a real bad lot here, and they’re precious afraid of any ’tecs getting in.  Just let me pass, sir.”

I drew back, and he went up and gave the most extraordinary squawk that I ever heard.  It was a pretty good password to have, for I should think no stranger could imitate it.  The flap flew open again, and then some conversation ensued through the bars.

“It’s all right now, sir,” said the guide after a minute; “you walk right in.”  The door was now ajar.  I went forwards and pushed it; it gave way easily.  I stepped inside, and it swung to behind me.  Inside the light was red—­scarlet.  A lamp was standing somewhere at the side of the room, behind thin, red curtains.  As I entered, another door at the end of the room swung to on a retreating form.  Some one had gone out.  The room seemed empty.  It was very small, and an enormous bed took up nearly the whole of it.  There seemed no window at all anywhere:  the low ceiling almost touched my head.  I stopped still.  A very slight movement somewhere near me seemed to speak of another’s presence.