"Parks?" said the desk sergeant, running his finger down his list. "He isn't booked under that name. Look at Cell Three, and see if you find him there." He pointed across the passage where a crowd of prisoners was herded behind bars, like wild animals in the cages at a menagerie. In the cage to which he pointed, a score of rough men had been thrust, and were glaring out fiercely or sullenly according to their nature. Parks was not among them, and I was turning away with a sigh of relief, when I heard my name called with unmistakable Chinese intonation.
"Misseh Hampden!" called the voice once more, and I turned to an adjoining cage to see a mixed crowd of Chinese and whites seated on a bench in sullen dejection. Then the Chinaman nearest me rose and came to the bars, and I recognized the smiling Kwan Luey.
"Why, Kwan Luey!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, p'liceman say catch-em play fan-tan my place--bling-em jail--all same fool--bling Kwan Luey."
I recalled that keeping a gambling game was supposed to be a part of Kwan Luey's multifarious activities, and expressed my hope that this would be a warning to him.
"Nev' mind," said Kwan Luey cheerfully. "Plitty soon my cousin him come bling bail--one hund' dollah fo' me--ten dollah piecee fo' them." And Kwan Luey smiled with pride at the distinction recognized in the disparity of the price of freedom. "You catch-em letteh all same I lite-em?"
"I think I kept the letter," I said, remembering the tangled verbiage that had called me to his store to receive Big Sam's money under the disguise of a prize in the lottery, and wondering what he could want with it.
"No--no," he protested, catching the idea in my mind. "I lite-em new letteh. You no get-em?"
"No."
Kwan Luey looked disappointed.