There was a sudden outbreak of Chinese voices in argument and protest, and then silence followed for so long that I was about to rap again, when the same voice called through the door:
"How many you come?"
"One man."
There were sounds of a barricade removed, and the door opened cautiously for a few inches while its guardian reconnoitered. Reassured by my solitary figure, he stood aside for me to pass.
At the last moment my lagging judgment suggested the folly of putting myself as a hostage in the hands of the yellow men in such a time of storm. But it was too late to retreat with honor, and I slipped through the opening with all the boldness and self-possession I could assume, and saw the door bolted and barricaded against other intrusion. I looked narrowly about me.
Within the store that formed the entrance to Big Sam's establishment were twenty or thirty Chinese, and in the smoky light of the lamps I could distinguish the expression of suspicion and hatred that had escaped from behind the "no-sabby" mask of the coolie. The passions of the meeting on the hill had stirred an answering passion in the breasts of the yellow man, and I saw that in this place, at least, he was armed and ready for battle. The band pretended to take no notice of me, but the running fire of conversation that followed my entrance told me by its unmistakable accents that my coming had roused the instincts of combat, as the sight of the prey rouses the hunting instincts of the tiger.
Without a word a Chinaman beckoned me to follow him, and with some trepidation I stumbled up the stair in his footsteps. He stood aside at the entrance to Big Sam's room of state, motioned me to enter, and as I stepped in, he closed the door behind me.
For a moment I was disturbed to find that I was the only person in the room, and looked about with curiosity to know whether I was spied upon from some hidden post of observation. After my experience on the previous visit, I could not doubt that more than one hidden entrance led to the room, and I suspected that more than one pair of eyes watched me from hidden peep-holes. The dark carved wood of the furniture and walls, and the figures in the intricately embroidered hangings glowered at me with something of the repressed hostility of the guards down-stairs. The life and turmoil of the city from which I had just come seemed already at a vast distance from that oriental hall, and I could not but reflect how easy it would be to make certain that I never returned to the modern San Francisco that seemed now to lie so far away.
With a discretion that would recommend me in the eyes of any watcher, I took a chair far enough from the desk to avoid the suspicion of a wish to pry into Big Sam's papers, and surveyed the apartment as I impatiently awaited the coming of its owner.
Suddenly the voice of Big Sam sounded behind me.