“‘How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes ill deeds done!’
Eh Jim? Now show me your trick.”
“Should somebody you dislike sit on the chair you have just left, Quong Lung, pressure on this button”—pointing to an innocent-looking cherry painted on a panel that hung on the wall—“would connect the chair with the electric-light wires that pass over your house, and make your objectionable guest the recipient of—say, three thousand volts.”
“And then?”
“And then—slightly altering the words of your favorite poet, to describe the result—‘his heart would once heave, and forever stand still’; and nobody would know how your highbinder died.”
As Ray left the room, he was again attracted to the tuberose. After smelling it, he turned round and called to Quong Lung, saying: “But you will not leave this innocent in the room, Quong Lung; its odor would be ruined by the punks you will burn, and by other savors.”
Then gravely saluting Quong Lung, James Ray left the Chinaman’s house, and made his way to the office of the chief of police of San Francisco, for even a dope-fiend has a fragmentary conscience.
V.
The Greater Discipline.