"Ah Li," said he, addressing Frank, "you will attend to the wants of our distinguished guest. Conduct Cheong-Chau and his friends to the more comfortable couches upstairs, smooth the pillows, place a spirit-lamp upon each table, and then hasten to the storeroom and procure the best quality opium. Cheong-Chau would smoke the Indian variety, that which comes from Calcutta, than which there is no finer opium in the world."
Frank turned, and departed up the staircase. Indeed, he was devoutly thankful to get away. At the top of the steps he paused, and stood for a moment trying to think, with his back turned to the room.
Nothing had happened--nothing at all. Cheong-Chau had not spoken. None of his men had said a word. The boy was still unrecognised. It was too good to be true. It was all like a dream.
Pulling himself together, Frank carried out his orders, thinking all the time that the remarkable chain of circumstances which had carried him against his will and inclination from one adventure to another was something altogether foreign to his former experiences. Life, instead of a pleasant and somewhat homely occupation, had become a kind of romantic nightmare. It was hard not to believe that presently he would awaken to find that Cheong-Chau, Ah Wu and Ling himself were phantasms, hallucinations, that would vanish at the moment of waking, their sinister and evil personalities fading away, in the boy's memory, like smoke upon the air.
He could scarce believe that a few minutes' calm reasoning would not instantly dissipate the reality of these strange and terrible people, the remarkable events dependent upon the thoughts and actions of a ruffian like Ling. Everything was all the more unreal to Frank because he appeared to exist, to continue to undergo such singular experiences, only by virtue of a series of miracles. The unexpected always happened.
It was also inconceivable to the boy that he himself, the nephew of one of the most distinguished government officials in Hong-Kong, a man of almost world-wide reputation as a lawyer, should find himself a coolie attendant in a Canton opium den, in which he conversed, in terms of intimate acquaintance, with Chinese thieves, brigands, swindlers and cut-throats. And yet he was not dreaming: he was conscious of a headache; both his knees and elbows had been badly bruised; and besides, Yung How, who had once been wont to take a small five-year-old boy for walks upon the level paths on the crest of the Peak, had known him, had fallen upon his knees before him, and had wept tears of repentance.
Whilst the boy was busy with these thoughts, he was carrying out his duties. He had arranged the couches, lighted the spirit-lamps, and seen that there was one of Ah Wu's best carved ivory opium pipes upon each lacquer table.
By that time Cheong-Chau and his three companions, attended by the officious Ah Wu, had ascended the stairs. Cheong-Chau's eyes glistened at the thought of the treat in store for him; while his men--rough Chinese of the very lowest class--stared about them in awed amazement at the carved wood, the rich draperies, the gilded lacquer that adorned Ah Wu's premises. Doubtless they had never before found themselves in such a high-class establishment. They had been wont to smoke their opium in the foul and verminous dens of the provincial town of Pinglo. Possibly they had never before beheld the miraculous city of Canton.
Frank observed all this, and knew that he could find here the reason why he had not been recognised. The men were too much impressed by their surroundings to take note of details. Place a beggar in a palace, and he will most likely fail to notice the pattern of the carpet upon which he stands, even though he stare in his embarrassment at nothing else.
Cheong-Chau stretched himself upon the couch immediately facing the stair-head. His three followers similarly disposed themselves upon his left, the one at the end reclining under the window through which Yung How had escaped.