“For God’s sake, where are we?” the white man demanded through chattering teeth. “This looks like the shaft of a mine!”
“This is part of the underground system which made Chinatown famous, before the disaster of 1906,” replied the Oriental. “Few white men have ever been down here—particularly of late years!”
He paused. They had reached a narrow landing, from which passages branched in half a dozen directions. Another descending stairway yawned ahead.
“If I were to leave you here,” smiled Ah Wing, “you would never find your way out! You could not go back the way you have come, for there are acute-angled branches which would confuse you. Most of them end in masses of rubbish, easily dislodged by the unwary! But with me you are safe!”
His voice had an ominous softness. Knight followed down along the second flight of stairs. His heart was pounding. Suppose these crumbling walls should collapse! Suppose this unearthly being, in whose hands his safety lay, decided to rob him!
Ah Wing spoke abruptly:
“We have been following down the face of a hill. Now we reach the level, and here we leave these catacombs!”
He turned sharply to the left and led the way along a short passage which terminated in a second diminutive door. Ah Wing shot back the bolts and motioned for his companion to proceed him into the room beyond.
Knight obeyed. Daylight was there—white, blazing daylight! He blinked as he crept through the opening.
Next moment he tried to cry out. An arm had passed in front of his body, pinioning him. In the same instant a sinewy hand came close to his face, and there was a little tinkle of broken glass—a diminutive globule had been broken under his nose.