Finding himself unmolested, and noting, in the privacy of his own
apartment, how handsomely his tips were accumulating, Soames was rapidly
becoming reconciled to his underground existence, more especially as
it spelt safety to a man wanted by the police. His duties thus far had
never taken him beyond the corridor known as Block A; what might lie on
the other side of the cave of the golden dragon he knew not. He never
saw any of the habitues arrive, or actually leave; he did not know
whether the staff of the place consisted of himself, Said, Ho-Pin, the
Eurasian girl--and... the other, or if there were more servants of this
unseen master. But never a day passed by that the clearance of at least
one apartment did not fall to his lot, and never an occupant quitted
those cells without placing a golden gratuity in the valet's palm.
His appetite returned, and he slept soundly enough in his clean white
bedroom, content to lose the upper world, temporarily, and to become a
dweller in the catacombs--where tips were large and plentiful. His
was the mind of a domestic animal, neither learning from the past nor
questioning the future; but dwelling only in the well-fed present.
No other type of European, however lowly, could have supported existence
in such a place.
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