At the bottom of Limehouse Cut Melun turned sharp to the right, and in a little space set back from the road Westerham found himself surveying yet another of the queer little hieroglyphic-ridden shops. But there was a difference, for whereas the others were low built, this was some four storeys high. The door, too, instead of being glass-panelled, was of solid wood, and apparently of great strength. On this Melun knocked sharply with his knuckles nine times, the first three raps being slow, the second three raps being slow, and the last three raps being quick and decisive. Almost immediately the door swung noiselessly inwards, while from behind its corner appeared the searching, slumberous eyes of a great nigger. The nigger was about to let Melun pass when he saw Westerham, and with a mighty arm barred the way. “All right, all right,” said Melun, quickly. “You don't suppose that I am fool enough to bring a man here whom I cannot trust. Let him in at once.” The negro shuffled back and allowed Westerham to squeeze himself into the narrow passage. It was intensely dark, so the negro lifted the lantern, the slide of which had been placed hard against the wall, and held it on a level with Sir Paul's head, looking at him long and narrowly. Then he gave a little coughing groan and shambled down the passage. At the end of the passage the huge negro opened a second door, which swung back upon its hinges as easily and as swiftly as the first. Westerham passed into the room, and with a little thump of his heart realised, with a knowledge born of long experience of the Pacific coast, that he was in an opium den of quite unusual dimensions. The long room ran parallel with the front of the house, but must have been some thirty feet longer than the front of the house itself. On either side and at both ends there were tiers of bunks. From three or four of them came a little red glow where some besotted fool still sucked at his pipe. No pause, however, was made here. The negro crossed the room and opened a third door, which admitted them into a small passage. At the end of this a fourth door was opened, and Melun and Westerham stepped suddenly into a blaze of light. Looking quickly about him, Westerham judged himself to be in a working-man's club. Half a dozen men were playing pool at a dilapidated table, while round about were little groups of men playing dominoes or cards. Framed notices set forth various rules, while at one end of the room stretched a bar. The negro, still with the light in his hand, stood aside watching Melun uneasily. Westerham was quick to observe that he had his hand on his hip-pocket. And his smile was slightly amused and slightly anxious as one of the players looked up and gave a little cry, his cue falling from his hand and his hand going quickly to his hip also. But Melun was first, and the revolver which he had whipped out covered the man's breast.