The entrance to Big Sam’e house was closed and barred, like the other doors of Waverly Place, but lights shone through the chinks in the shutters, and there were sounds of men stirring behind; so without hesitation I gave a resounding rap on the panel. The noises within ceased suddenly, but there was no response to my summons. I rapped again, and then a third time, before a singsong voice cried through the door: "Wha’ fo’? What you wan’?" "I want to see Big Sam," I explained. "No catch-em Big Sam," returned the voice harshly. "You tell Big Sam Mr. Hampden here to see him," I cried. "He send tell me come. You sabby tell him now--right away." There was a sudden outbreak of Chinese voices in argument and protest, and then silence followed for so long that I was about to rap again, when the same voice called through the door: "How many you come?" "One man." There were sounds of a barricade removed, and the door opened cautiously for a few inches while its guardian reconnoitered. Reassured by my solitary figure, he stood aside for me to pass. At the last moment my lagging judgment suggested the folly of putting myself as a hostage in the hands of the yellow men in such a time of storm. But it was too late to retreat with honor, and I slipped through the opening with all the boldness and self-possession I could assume, and saw the door bolted and barricaded against other intrusion. I looked narrowly about me. Within the store that formed the entrance to Big Sam’s establishment were twenty or thirty Chinese, and in the smoky light of the lamps I could distinguish the expression of suspicion and hatred that had escaped from behind the "no-sabby" mask of the coolie. The passions of the meeting on the hill had stirred an answering passion in the breasts of the yellow man, and I saw that in this place, at least, he was armed and ready for battle. The band pretended to take no notice of me, but the running fire of conversation that followed my entrance told me by its unmistakable accents that my coming had roused the instincts of combat, as the sight of the prey rouses the hunting instincts of the tiger. Without a word a Chinaman beckoned me to follow him, and with some trepidation I stumbled up the stair in his footsteps. He stood aside at the entrance to Big Sam’s room of state, motioned me to enter, and as I stepped in, he closed the door behind me.