Chinatown may present a peaceful appearance in the daytime, but at night, with the weird effects caused by the many-colored lanterns, the inky recesses of the doorways, the depths of underground burrows trod by velvet-footed shadows, it is transformed into a region to strike terror to the bravest. Perhaps a thought of these dangers induced Ben to choose broad daylight for his quest. He found the address easily enough--a house of several stories that in some earlier period of the city had been an imposing residence, but was now used by the Chinese for a fruit-canning factory. The casing of the door was plastered with gaudy bills covered with Chinese characters, and through the broken window-panes could be seen countless piles of cans. A short flight of steps led downward from the sidewalk to a basement entrance, and as Ben approached he saw a Chinese leaning against the iron balustrade. He recognized Ng Quong, with a feeling of relief that he should not be obliged to enter the house. [Illustration: Photo by Arnold Genthe. “_As Ben approached he saw Ng Quong leaning against the iron balustrade._”] In this he was mistaken, for the man would not talk upon the public street, where the very gutters might have ears. He conducted Ben through several corridors and stairways to an upper room where a number of Chinese were seated at a repast of rice and tea. Ben did not like to broach the object of his visit before such an audience, and waited until the meal was finished and the others had departed. “You wish to rent part of your house?” his host blandly inquired. “I haven’t any house to rent at present,” Ben replied. “I want to find out what you mean when you say Mr. Fish make me plenty trouble--you sabe?” The language used by the man was a rebuke. “Ah, that man make you trouble already?” “Yes, trouble enough. Come, tell me what you know about him?” “For what object should I tell you? Perhaps, it might make me trouble.” “You say when I have trouble come and see you. I have trouble,--I come. You tell me what you know,--I give you ten dollars.” The Chinese regarded him with a sphinx-like stare. “O, ten dollars is not much money to me,” he remarked, indifferently. “I like to rent from you; that’s all. On that day I speak to you I go with the crowd to see what you do. I hear Mr. Fish talk to old man.” “Old man with a big gray hat and a cane?” Ben eagerly inquired. “Yes. I suppose those men think I not understand much English, for they not pay much attention to me. Mr. Fish say to old man that it too bad to lose so much money. They mean your gold--they watch it. Then they talk about a lease; and old man say it not good any more. Mr. Fish say he will fix book at City Hall, then stop you and work for gold himself. He say he will give the old man some.” “I can’t understand,” said Ben, “why, if the lease has expired, he should need to fix the record? Did he say anything else?” “No; that’s all I hear.”