For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper. Ho-hum! CHAPTER IX The Hong-Kong packet lay alongside the warehouse frontage. Let's get to Hong-Kong, James, and hit the high spots while there is time.
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