I could not find any sixpenny entrance and, fearing that the would be closed, I passed in quickly through a turnstile, handing a to a weary-looking man. I found myself in a big girded at half its height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed and the greater part of the hall was in . I recognized a silence like that which pervades a church after a service. I walked into the of the bazaar timidly. A few people were gathered about the stalls which were still open. Before a curtain, over which the words Café Chantant were written in coloured lamps, two men were counting money on a salver. I listened to the fall of the coins.