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."
The policeman still leading the way, three of them went down a rickety
stair, not much better than a ladder, and found themselves in a sort of
storehouse.
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