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In the darkness outside, a cringing creature accosted us. Something in the whining Italian in which he spoke 长沙桑拿全套在哪里 led me to look more closely at him. It was the Neapolitan half-caste; more ragged and woe-begone than ever, and smudged with the dust of the coal bunkers

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in which he had stowed away in Kobe harbor.

I told his story to the Chilian as we struck off together towards 484the park which I fancied must be our resting-place for the night. The South American, however, had not been three months “on the beach” without learning some of the secrets of Yokohama. He marched self-confidently down the main thoroughfare, past the German and American consulates, turned a corner at the European post-office, and, brushing along a well-kept hedge, stopped in the deep shadow of a short driveway. Before us was a high wooden gate flanked by two taller pillars, beyond which the thin moonlight disclosed the outlines of a large, two-story dwelling.

“Look here, friend,” I interposed, “if you’re going to 长沙桑拿休闲中心 try burglary—”

“Cállete la boca, hombre!” muttered the Chilian. “The patrol will hear you. Come on,” and, placing both hands on the top of the gate, he vaulted it as easily as if it had been only half its six feet in height. I followed, and the half-breed tumbled over after me, his heels beating a noisy tattoo on the barrier. Once inside, however, the Chilian seemed to lose all fear of the patrol and crunched along the graveled walk, talking freely.

“Lucky thing for the beachcombers, this war,” he said; “If there were peace we’d be sleeping in the park. Suppose the Czar knew he was giving us posada?” he chuckled, marching around to the back of the building. There was no sign of life within. Mounting to the back veranda, our guide snatched open one shutter of a low window. The half-breed was trembling piteously, though whether from hunger, fatigue, or fear, I could not know. One 长沙桑拿酒店会所 needed only to look hard at him to set his teeth rattling.

But I myself had no longing to be taken for a burglar.

“Here! What’s the game?” I demanded, nudging the Chilian.

“Why, man,” he replied, “this is our hotel, the Russian consulate,” and he stepped in through the open window.

My misgivings fled. Japan and Russia were at war; the consulate, therefore, must be unoccupied, and more than that, it was Russian territory, on which the police of Japan had no more authority than in Moscow. I swung a leg over the window sill.

“Ascolta!” gasped the half-caste, snatching

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at my jacket; “Ci sono gente!”

I paused to listen. From somewhere close at hand came a muffled snort.

“Come on,” laughed the Chilian. “It’s one of the boys, snoring. Several of them make posada here.”

485When we had climbed in and closed the shutter, he struck a match. The room was entirely unfurnished, but carpeted with grass mats so soft that a bed 长沙桑拿好玩的地方 would have been superfluous. The Chilian pulled open the door of a closet and brought forth a candle, pipe, blanket, and a paper novel in Spanish.

“Of course it’s only the servants’ quarters,” he apologized, spreading out the blanket and lighting candle and pipe; “the main part of the house is tight locked. But there’s 长沙桑拿会所爽记 plenty of room for such of the boys as I have passed the word to,—sober fellows that won’t burn the place up.”

He picked up the novel and was still reading

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when I fell asleep. Sunlight streaming into my face and the sound of an unfamiliar voice awakened me in what seemed a short hour afterward. The window by which we had entered stood wide open, and a Japanese in European garb was peering in upon us.

“What you make here?” he demanded, as I sprang to my feet. “Come out quick or I call the police.”

The Chilian stirred and thrust aside the jacket that covered his face.

“Go on way!” he growled, in the first English I had heard from his lips. “Go on way an’ leave us to sleep.”

“I call the police,” repeated the native.