And most of all, his blood had been stirred by the beautiful face that had looked at him from out of the night.
The tuneless thrumming of a piano sounded behind him.

As he passed through the low door of the restaurant a man and woman lurched past him and in their irresolute faces and leering stare he read the verification of his suspicions of the place.

Through a second door he entered a large room filled with tables and chairs, and pregnant with strange odors.

At one of the farther tables sat a long-queued Chinaman with his head bowed in his arms.

Behind a counter stood a second, as motionless as an obelisk in the half gloom of the dimly illuminated room, his evil face challenging Howland as he entered.