There was no need to wonder where we were going. He was headed for a tearoom of his own choosing, a clandestine one, run by his closest friend, Ho. Once we’d reached the establishment, we walked down the dark stairs that led along the tunnel under the river. After an inspector had been shot in the darkened tunnel, lamps were placed and lit permanently at either end, though Ho complained about the price of naphtha. There was to be no more walking in complete darkness, which had once been the sign that one was a regular. However, in my opinion, the gloom and odd shadows cast by the flickering lamps were more eerie than mere darkness. Inside the restaurant, Barker skirted our usual table and made his way to a door on the other side of the room that led to a banquet hall. I followed him through it. Ho was already inside. He is a squat Chinaman with weighted ear-lobes, a braid of hair, and heavily tattooed arms. In his hands was a long length of rope with a metal spike on the end that he twirled about the room.
