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Page 17
He crossed the room and began softly to mount the stair. It
creaked only slightly, and the door at the top proved to be ajar.
He peeped in, to find the place empty. It was a typical Chinese
apartment, containing very little furniture, the raised desk
being the most noticeable item, except for a small shrine which
faced it on the other side of the room.
He mounted the steps to the desk and inspected a number of loose
papers which lay upon it. Without exception they were written in
Chinese. A sort of large, dull white blotting-pad lay upon the
table, but its surface was smooth and glossy.
Over it was suspended what looked like a lampshade, but on
inspection it proved to contain no lamp, but to communicate, by a
sort of funnel, with the ceiling above.
At this contrivance Durham stared long and curiously, but without
coming to any conclusion respecting its purpose. He might have
investigated further, but he became aware of a dull and regular
sound in the room behind him.
He turned in a flash, staring in the direction of two curtains
draped before what he supposed to be a door.
On tiptoe he crossed and gently drew the curtains aside.
He looked into a small, cell-like room, lighted by one window,
where upon a low bed Huang Chow lay sleeping peacefully!
Durham almost held his breath; then, withdrawing as quietly as he
had approached, he descended the stair. At the foot his
attention was again arrested by the faint scuffling sound. It
ceased as suddenly as it had begun, leaving him wondering and
conscious anew of a chill of apprehension.
He had already made his plans for departure, but knew that they
must leave evidence, when discovered, of his visit.
A large and solid table stood near the divan, and he moved this
immediately under the trap. Upon it he laid a leopard-skin to
deaden any noise he might make, and then upon the leopard-skin he
set a massive chair: he replaced his torch in his pocket and drew
himself up on to the roof again. Reclosing the trap by means of
the awl which he had screwed into it, he removed the awl and
placed it in his pocket.
Then, sliding gently down the sloping roof, he dropped back into
the deserted court.
VIII
A CAGE OF BIRDS
"No," said Lala, "we have never had robbers in the house." She
looked up at Durham naively. "You are not a thief, are you?" she
asked.
"No, I assure you I am not," he answered, and felt himself
flushing to the roots of his hair.
They were seated in a teashop patronized by the workers of the
district; and as Durham, his elbows resting on the marble-topped
table, looked into the dark eyes of his companion, he told
himself again that whatever might be the secrets of old Huang
Chow, his daughter did not share them.
The Chinaman had made no report to the authorities, although the
piled up furniture beneath the skylight must have afforded
conclusive evidence that a burglarious entry had been made into
the premises.
"I should feel very nervous," Durham declared, "with all those
valuables in the house."
"I feel nervous about my father," the girl answered in a low
voice. "His room opens out of the warehouse, but mine is shut
away in another part of the building. And Ah Fu sleeps behind
the office."
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