The inspector smiled.
“Oh, well, don't criminals always overlook something? Which reminds me—this came an hour ago.”
He handed a piece of paper to Steadman.
The latter regarded it doubtfully. It had evidently been torn out of a notebook, and looked as though it had passed through several hands, for it was dirty and thumbmarked and frayed at the edges as though it had been carried about in some one's pocket. Across one corner of it were scrawled some letters in pencil. He put up his pince-nez and looked at it more closely. The few words scrawled across it were very irregularly and illegibly written in printed characters. After scrutinizing it for some time through his glasses Steadman made them out to be: “Wednesday night, 21 Burlase Street, Limehouse. Chink-a-pin.”
“What is to take place at 21 Burlase Street on Wednesday night?” he questioned as he laid it down.
“A meeting of the Yellow Gang, and I hope the capture of the Yellow Dog,” the inspector answered pithily and optimistically.
“And this comes from——?” Steadman went on, tapping the paper with his eyeglasses.
“One of the Gang. It is pretty safe to assume that sooner or later there will be an informer.”
“You will be there?”
The inspector nodded. “But we are taking no risks. The informer may be false to both sides. The house will be surrounded. Whole squads of men are being drafted to the neighbourhood, a few at a time, to-day. I fancy we shall corner the Yellow Dog at last. With this password I shall certainly get into the house and arrest the Yellow Dog. Then at the sound of the whistle the house will be rushed.”