“’Twere easy to slay thee now, Sam Lee; and ’twere profitable, too--if only Quong Lung were out of the way.” “Ay, if Quong Lung were only out of the way; but Quong Lung lives and waxes fat, and Wau Shun is his slave!” No more was said. They turned into a narrow alley near the top of Jackson Street, Wau Shun walking in the rear. As soon as they had entered the shadow produced by the narrowness of the lane and by its angle to the lighted main street, there was a sharp report, and Sam Lee fell on his face, and coughed like one who is stricken through the lungs. The swarms that inhabit Chinatown began to buzz. In a few minutes the alley was crowded with curious coolies jabbering excitedly, and in the fifth or sixth row of those who stood round Sam Lee was Wau Shun, watching the blood that welled from the mouth of the dying man and prevented speech. After Wau Shun had seen the corpse of his brother-highbinder laid out on a slab at the morgue, he treated himself to a couple of jorums of “hot-Scotch,” and sought his den in Cum Cook Alley. Lighting a dim candle, he proceeded to barricade himself, and to conceal his light, by means of a coverlet that was held in its place, on his side of the door, by iron bars that crossed and recrossed each other. When all was snug, he drew from an inner pocket the roll of papers given to him by Lee Toy, which set forth the names of the several highbinders who belonged to his “tong,” the various loppings accomplished by their “hatchets,” and, in a special supplement, the instigations to certain notorious crimes by their master-mind, Quong Lung. Lighting a brazier, he tore out his own record from the writing, and committed it to the flames. But that which related to Quong Lung he placed in a receptacle cunningly concealed in the threshold of the door. Then, extinguishing his light, he sallied forth with the rest of Lee Toy’s confessions in his pocket, to speak with Quong Lung, who had awaited him these many hours with patience--and wrath. II. The Lesser Discipline. 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.”