"Forgotten what?" was my natural inquiry. He made no reply, and as the noise stopped he opened the door and ushered me into the hall. I had ceased to think of the peculiar mode in which I had entered the room, but now the remembrance flashed upon me, and I looked about in astonishment. I had passed directly from the office into the outer hall, and the door leading from the hall to the passage in which I had been imprisoned had disappeared. For a moment I was at a loss to explain the transformation. Disappearing doors were something new in my experience. Then I struck my hand against the wall where the door had been, and my knuckles told me that behind the counterfeit appearance of plaster was a heavy sheet of painted iron. In a flash the explanation came to me. The whole wall could be moved like a sliding door, and with a minute’s warning a raid on Big Sam’s office would find no entrance. I carried Big Sam’s message to the Kendrick house without delay, and put Big Sam’s case with an impartiality that surprised myself. But I was not disappointed in the result. "Send her back!" cried Miss Kendrick in a great state of indignation. "What can the man be thinking about?" "Indeed, it is impossible," said Miss Fillmore. "The girl is in no state to be moved, even if it were a question of moving her to a better place." "And to move her to that dreadful, dirty Chinatown!" cried Miss Kendrick. "I’m astonished that you should think of such a thing." "I didn’t think of it," I urged. "I didn’t even want to hear of it. But Big Sam has reverted to primeval barbarism, and when he said he would find somebody else if I wouldn’t come, I consented to bring his message." "Well," said Miss Kendrick, "I never heard of such a preposterous thing in all my life." "Unfortunately, Big Sam doesn’t see it in that light," I said. Miss Kendrick sat down looking very determined and very indignant. Then she gave a decided nod and said: "You can tell Big Sam, with my compliments, that if he thinks I am going to be an accomplice before the fact to a murder, he’s very much mistaken in the person." There was more talk to the same effect, when my judicial mind caught the idea of a compromise. "I have it," I said. "Why not let Big Sam’s Chinese doctor come up here and take an occasional look at Moon Ying, and allay the excitement in Chinatown by assuring them that she’s all right?" "Well, I admire your intelligence," said Miss Kendrick. "I suppose you’d have Doctor Roberts consulting with him, and alternate our medicines with shark’s-liver pills and snake-skin powders. Would you set aside certain hours for him to sing Chinese incantations over her? Or how would you fix it?" The judicial scheme of compromise lost some of its attractiveness, and I said so with the proper degree of humility.