A deep divan,
evidently used sometimes as a bed, occupied one side of the room,
and just to the left of the steps reposed the only typically
Oriental object in the place.
It was a strange thing to see in so sordid a setting; a great
gilded joss, more than life-size, squatting, hideous, upon a
massive pedestal; a figure fit for some native temple but
strangely out of place in that dirty little Limehouse abode.
I had never before visited Kwen Lung's, but the fame of his
golden joss had reached me, and I know that he had received many
offers for it, all of which he had rejected. It was whispered
that Kwen Lung was rich, that he was a great man among the
Chinese, and even that some kind of religious ceremony
periodically took place in his house. Now, as I stood staring at
the famous idol, I saw something which made me stare harder than
ever.
The place was lighted by a hanging lamp from which depended bits
of coloured paper and several gilded silk tassels; but dim as the
light was it could not conceal those tell-tale stains.
There was blood on the feet of the golden idol!
All this I detected at a glance, but ere I had time to speak:
"You can't tell me that tale, Ma!" cried Harley. "I believe 'e
was smokin' in 'ere when we knocked.
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