Page:Ballinger Price--Fortune of the Indies.djvu/197

 golden carp once sailed, and where green slime now streaked the worn stone, rose the curved roofs of a deserted mansion. Silver bells had swung from its eaves long ago, and its carved portal had been enriched with precious jade and lacquer, long since vanished. Fallen tracery and crumbling stone now clogged its grass-grown gate, and some little beast squealed in the dark as Chun Lon set his foot across the threshold. Within, lofty rooms opened duskily to left and right; many had the sky for ceiling, some still kept a hint of gilded beams and black-wood rafters. In this dim, eerie hall the boat-coolies established themselves, kindling a small fire toward which they extended thin, dirty hands. The smoke of pipes began to curl upward into the gloom above.

Mark and Alan were hurried on into a small room where a stout wooden door still swung on bronze hinges. The door closed, there was a clash of bolts, and they were alone, face to face, in total darkness.

"Well," Alan said, "I hope you're satisfied. You wanted to wait until something definite happened. It has."