"I have but one object in life," I returned in a confidential tone, "and that is to put your particular friend and client inside four stone walls where he can’t do any more harm. And you can tell Mr. Bolton so with my compliments, too." From his muttered response, I gathered that my reminder of his connection with Peter Bolton did not give him unalloyed pleasure, and pleased with the consciousness that I had given more than I had received in the way of irritation, I went my way to Chinatown. There were abundant signs of unrest in both the white and the yellow city. Bands of hoodlums still ranged the streets, and fought runaway actions with the police. Householders seemed in fear, and windows that were customarily cheerful with lights now looked with darkened shades upon the streets. Chinatown was as forbidding as on the night of my last visit, and such lights as were to be seen shone through closed shutters and barred doors. But despite the atmosphere of sullen hostility that lay like a fog upon the district, I made my way without interference to Waverly Place and rapped on Big Sam’s door. My name secured prompt admittance. The door was unbarred for a moment for my entrance, and promptly barred once more, and I was led through a crowd of sullen, hostile-faced hatchet-men to Big Sam’s reception-hall. The King of Chinatown sat by his desk in his flowing robes of state, but rose and offered me his hand as I entered. "I thank you for your prompt attention, Mr. Hampden," he said, motioning me courteously to a high-backed chair at his side. I thought I could detect a trace of worry in his eyes, but his face was as impassive as ever. "I am flattered to receive your invitation." "It is not an idle one." "I should be slow to believe so--especially after the prompt fulfilment of your last prophecy." "You have the eye of the reader of thoughts," said Big Sam with a faint smile. "You speak of the very point I wish to ask about. I note by the papers that you were attacked--or Mr. Kendrick, to be accurate." "Oh, I was fortunate enough to share in it," I said nonchalantly. "Hardly a matter for congratulation, Mr. Hampden. Kindly let me know what happened. Was it by my people, or--" He paused, and I replied: "We were attacked in front by the anti-Chinese mob, three hundred or more strong, and in the rear by a score or so of ruffians that I have reason to suppose were hired by your people." "I should be obliged for your reasons." "They are at your service." And I gave the accumulated facts from Little John’s attempt to drag away the Chinese girl, to Danny Regan’s identification by Moon Ying.