Hospital, in the heart of Tai-pingshan, the poorest part of the Chinese quarter—a malodorous hovel in which a native miscreant, whom Bradley had befriended more than once, and whom, rightly or wrongly, the clergyman thought he could trust, lived. Sung Fo would have come to the Englishman on receipt of a message, but Bradley had thought it best to manage otherwise. And he feared nothing in Hong Kong, and indeed had nothing to fear, not even here in its worst quarter of slime and dirt and worse, tucked away behind the cobblers' lanes.
He had found Sung Fo at home, and had made the bargain he had come to make. Sung Fo had promised to "look-see" and "try-find," and for the rest Bradley thought he could do nothing but wait and watch and pray.
Like Ah Wong, he knew nothing but suspected everything, but with much less accuracy than she.
Unlike Ah Wong, all John Bradley's sympathies were with Wu Li Chang.
He would do anything that a man might do to find Basil Gregory.
He would do anything that a man might to avoid injuring Wu Li Chang.
And to spare Wu he would have gone even a little farther than he was prepared to go for Basil's sake, had not Basil been Hilda's brother.
But if his sympathy was all Wu Li Chang's, his anxiety was not. He had a firm conviction that nothing he could do, by purpose or by accident, could harm or imperil Wu Li Chang.
When he had been walking away from Sung's—perhaps for ten minutes—picking his way over garbage heaps and broken side-paths, he paused to look curiously at a house of which he had heard a great deal but had
