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tule-fog still blotted out the city of my dreams.
At one corner we grazed the side of some passing vehicle, and loud curses filled the air. I found the switch and flooded the interior of the car with light. It fell on the gray upholstery, on the silver handles of the doors. I was reminded of something—something unpleasant. Ah, yes—a coffin. I switched off the light again.
After a ride of some twenty minutes we drew up beside the curb, and Hung stood waiting for me at the door. Back of him was vaguely outlined a monster of a house, with yellow lights fighting their way through the tule-fog from many windows.
“The end of our journey,” said Hung. “If you will deign to come, please.”
I followed him up many steps. Henry Drew must have heard us, for he was waiting in the doorway.
“Fine! Fine!” cried the old man.
