This I felt was at last the home of the "dope
trust," as O'Connor had once called it, the secret realm of a real
opium king, the American end of the rich Shanghai syndicate.
A door opened and there stood a Chinaman, stoical, secretive,
indifferent, with all the Oriental cunning and cruelty hall-marked
on his face. Yet there was a fascination and air of Eastern
culture about him in spite of that strange and typical Oriental
depth of intrigue and cunning that shone through, great
characteristics of the East.
No one said a word as Kennedy continued to ransack the place. At
last under a rubbish heap he found a revolver wrapped up loosely
in an old sweater. Quickly, under the bright light, Craig drew
Clendenin's pistol, fitted a cartridge into it and fired at the
wall. Again into the second gun he fitted another and a second
shot rang out.
Out of his pocket came next the small magnifying glass and two
unmounted microphotographs. He bent down over the exploded shells.
"There it is," cried Craig scarcely able to restrain himself with
the keenness of his chase, "there it is--the mark like an 'L.
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