The dawn of Christmas Day was rosy when Wau Shun reached Quong Lung’s store. The bells throughout the city of San Francisco were once more frantically announcing the birth of the Babe of Bethlehem, as Wau Shun gave the signal of “The Brethren” on Quong Lung’s electric bell. It was answered by a deep voice that came through a speaking-tube, the end of which was so cleverly hidden that none but the initiated could find it: “Peace attend thy feet! What brother needs succor?”
“Thy servant, Wau Shun.”
“Enter, Wau Shun,” and the door was opened by some mechanical contrivance, and closed, as soon as Wau Shun had crossed the threshold, with a snap suggestive of a steel trap. Pressing a concealed button, Wau Shun lit an incandescent lamp that showed him how to avoid the thread, the breaking of which would have precipitated a hundred-weight of iron on the head of an intruder. At the end of the passage thus illuminated was a door, to which he applied his pass-key and entered an apartment that was a reflex of its occupant, in whom East and West were met. The room was decorated and furnished in accordance with the tastes of a Chinese gentleman of high culture; but the illumination was supplied by electricity, and a long-distance telephone, of the latest pattern, stood at the elbow of the stout, spectacled Chinese merchant, who sat on a great ebony chair, gravely smoking a cigar.
This was Quong Lung, the famous head of the high-binders of the See Yups—the most powerful “tong” in San Francisco—and who owed his bad preëminence to the fact that he was absolutely unscrupulous, using even his devoted friends as stepping-stones to his ambitions. Then, too, he was a “Native Son of the Golden West,” and used the idioms and swore with the ease of a born Californian. He had friends—old school-fellows and college chums—among the executive of San Francisco, and, by means of his more intimate knowledge of what was happening, he was enabled to humiliate his rivals and punish his enemies.
“Thou hast done well, Wau Shun,” he began, “and deservest well—but dry tongues can not speak.”
Pouring out some whisky for himself, he pushed the bottle across to Wau Shun, who had now seated himself on the other side of the table.
“Thy servant is enriched by thy approbation, Most Powerful,” replied Wau Shun, draining his glass after Quong Lung had drunk.
“The passing of Lee Toy by way of fire was excellently done, Wau Shun—most excellently done. And where is Sam Lee?”
“He is aweary and sleepeth, Great Master,” answered Wau Shun, whose squinting was suddenly accentuated.
“May his sleep refresh him! But the end of Lee Toy, as I have already said, was surpassingly excellent, Wau Shun. I learnt by this”—and Quong Lung pointed with his cigar to the telephone—“I learnt by this of the firing of the house of the white devil, whose babe Lee Toy guarded, and how Lee Toy died to save the devilkin.”