In response there appeared a young Chinaman with close-cropped hair and attired in evening dress.
"A pot of tea," ordered Howland; and under his breath he added, "Pretty deuced good for a wilderness town! I wonder--" He looked about him curiously.

Although it was only eleven o'clock the place appeared to be empty.

Yet Howland was reasonably assured that it was not empty.

He was conscious of sensing in a vague sort of way the presence of others somewhere near him.

He was sure that there was a faint, acrid odor lurking above that of burned incense, and he shrugged his shoulders with conviction when he paid a dollar for his pot of tea.
"Opium, as sure as your name is Jack Howland," he said, when the waiter was gone.