doorways. The superficial inquirer comes away convinced that the
romance of the Asiatic district has no existence outside the
imaginations of writers of fiction. Yet here lies a secret
quarter, as secret and as strange, in its smaller way, as its
parent in China which is called the Purple Forbidden City.

On a morning when mist lay over the Thames reaches, softening the
harshness of the dock buildings and lending an air of mystery to
the vessels stealing out upon the tide, a man walked briskly
along Limehouse Causeway, looking about him inquiringly, as one
unfamiliar with the neighbourhood. Presently he seemed to
recognize a turning to the right, and he pursued this for a time,
now walking more slowly.

A European woman, holding a half-caste baby in her arms, stood in
an open doorway, watching him uninterestedly. Otherwise, except
for one neatly dressed young Chinaman, who passed him about
halfway along the street, there was nothing which could have told
the visitor that he had crossed the borderline dividing West from
East and was now in an Oriental town.

A very narrow alleyway between two dingy houses proved to be the
spot for which he was looking; and, having stared about him for a
while, he entered this alleyway. At the farther end it was
crossed T-fashion, by another alley, the only object of interest
being an iron post at the crossing, and the scenery being made up
entirely of hideous brick walls.

About halfway along on the left, set in one of these walls, were
strong wooden gates, apparently those of a warehouse. Beside