The policeman took it and looked it over.

“I think those are all right, sir,” he said, “I know most of ’em by name.  But that’s one of those underground places and we don’t any of us go down there any more than we have to.  Of course when we have to go—­why, that’s another matter.  I think, sir, you can take it those names are about all right.”

“I don’t feel that I could make a report like that,” Hamilton answered.  “I was sent to check it up personally, and don’t you think I’d better do it?  There’s a chap there,” he added, pointing to a young fellow standing a few yards up the street, “he doesn’t look Chinese.”

“He’s a reporter, sir,” the policeman said, “an’ he’s like us,—­it’s part of his business to take chances.”

“Mine, too,” said Hamilton; “only he represents a newspaper and I’m here for the government.”

The policeman scratched his chin in perplexity.

“Do you wait here,” he said, “and I’ll call up the station.”

He came back in a minute or two.

“The lieutenant says it’ll be all right,” he said.  “I told him that I hadn’t seen any sign of trouble—­not that that means anything,” he added, “but if you wait a minute the other man will be up this way; he’s patrollin’ the streets and you can go along with him.”

“How many of you are there here?” asked the boy.

“Generally half a dozen in these two or three streets,” the policeman answered, “but I guess right now there’s twice that number.”

Just as he had expected, another policeman appeared shortly, and Hamilton was passed on to him.  His conductor was taciturn, and the boy was glad when the reporter joined them.  In reply to a question, Hamilton told his purpose, and the reporter, scenting a story, volunteered to accompany them.  The boy was willing enough, especially as he found the reporter had the Chinese district as his regular assignment and was well known in Chinatown.

The address given, as the first policeman had said, was merely that painted over a stairway.

“I guess we go down here,” Hamilton said.

The policeman answered not a word, he simply pushed past the boy and went down first; Hamilton followed, and the reporter came next.  At the bottom of the stair the policeman rapped on a door with his nightstick, a good loud rap.  It was opened, and he strode in, followed by the two boys.  A few questions from Hamilton verified one or two items of information, but details about the rest of the house were not forthcoming.  In answer to questions the Chinaman simply pointed to the ground.

“Next floor down, I reckon,” the reporter said.

“But we’re in the cellar now,” objected Hamilton

The reporter laughed.

“We build above ground, the Chinese below,” he said.  “Lots of these houses have five stories underground, and nearly all have either two or three.  A Chinaman doesn’t care about fresh air at all, and he won’t waste money in fuel when he can keep warm in an underground burrow.  Come on, I guess we’ll go down some more.”