of Damascus, could not well have been more surprised. This great
treasure-house of old Huang Chow was one of Chinatown's secrets--
a secret shared only by those whose commercial interests were
identical with the interests of Huang Chow.

The place was artificially lighted by lamps which themselves were
beautiful objects of art, and which swung from the massive beams
of the ceiling. The floor of the warehouse, which was partly of
stone, was covered with thick matting, and spread upon it were
rugs and carpets of Karadagh, Kermanshah, Sultan-abad, and
Khorassan, with lesser-known loomings of almost equal beauty.
Skins of rare beasts overlay the divans. Furniture of ivory, of
ebony and lemonwood, preciously inlaid, gave to the place an air
of cunning confusion. There were tall cabinets, there were
caskets and chests of exquisite lacquer and enamel, loot of an
emperor's palace; robes heavy with gold; slippers studded with
jewels; strange carven ivories; glittering weapons; pots, jars,
and bowls, as delicate and as fragile as the petals of a lily.

Last, but not least, sitting cross-legged upon a low couch, was
old Huang Chow, smoking a great curved pipe, and peering half
blindly across the place through large horn-rimmed spectacles.
This couch was set immediately beside a wide ascending staircase,
richly carpeted, and on the other side of the staircase, in a
corresponding recess, upon a gilded trestle carved to represent
the four claws of a dragon, rested perhaps the strangest exhibit
of that strange collection--a Chinese coffin of exquisite
workmanship.

The boy retired, and Mr. Hampden found himself alone with Huang