Perhaps a thought of these dangers induced Ben to choose broad daylight for his quest. He found the address easily enough—a house of several stories that in some earlier period of the city had been an imposing residence, but was now used by the Chinese for a fruit-canning factory. The casing of the door was plastered with gaudy bills covered with Chinese characters, and through the broken window-panes could be seen countless piles of cans.
A short flight of steps led downward from the sidewalk to a basement entrance, and as Ben approached he saw a Chinese leaning against the iron balustrade. He recognized Ng Quong, with a feeling of relief that he should not be obliged to enter the house.
“As Ben approached he saw Ng Quong
leaning against the iron balustrade.”
In this he was mistaken, for the man would not talk upon the public street, where the very gutters might have ears.
He conducted Ben through several corridors and stairways to an upper room where a number of Chinese were seated at a repast of rice and tea. Ben did not like to broach the object of his visit before such an audience, and waited until the meal was finished and the others had departed.
“You wish to rent part of your house?” his host blandly inquired.
“I haven’t any house to rent at present,” Ben replied. “I want to find out what you mean when you say Mr. Fish make me plenty trouble—you sabe?” The language used by the man was a rebuke.