"Opium," he whispered to Lauriston, who was close at his elbow. "Opium!
Smell it?"
But Lauriston was more eyes than nose just then. He, like the rest of his
companions, was staring at the scene on which they had entered. The room
was of a good size--evidently, from its sloping ceilings, part of the
attic story of the old house. The walls were hung with soft, clinging,
Oriental draperies and curtains; a few easy chairs of wickerwork, a few
small tables of like make, were disposed here and there: there was an
abundance of rugs and cushions: in one corner a gas-stove was alight, and
on it stood a kettle, singing merrily.
The young man who had opened the door had retreated towards this stove;
Purdie noticed that in one hand he held a small tea-pot. And in the left-
hand corner, bent over a little table, and absorbed in their game, sat two
other young men, correctly attired in English clothes, but obviously
Chinese from their eyebrows to their toes, playing chess.
The holder of the tea-pot cast a quick glance at the disturbance of this
peaceful scene, and set down his tea-pot; the chess-players looked up for
one second, showed not the faintest sign of perturbation--and looked down
again.
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