"The street door will open," explained the old Chinaman.

The old Chinaman clutched a cord that hung above the platform.

With a scream of anger, the old Chinaman wheeled and his other arm shot toward the rope.

The old Chinaman opened the front panel of the room, and made a friendly gesture toward the portal.

The shadow of the old Chinaman seemed to lengthen, across the floor and up the wall.

The old Chinaman looked up from the desk.

Just the other day, a skinny old Chinaman dragged up a bloody young man.

Every time she went to the attic, she tried to see more but the old Chinaman always managed to block her path.

The poor old Chinaman came second, and he was shaking, too.

The man he murdered was a fine, honest old Chinaman.