Apparently it was quite sufficient. As the gang separated one by one, each was picked up by an officer in plain clothes. The little man in the suede gloves went cautiously on till he came to a working-man's flat off Gray's Inn Road, and here for the first time he became conscious that he was being followed.
"And what do you want with me?" he asked. "So, you are the young man who got into trouble over a mistake as to your employer's goods."
"I want to speak to you for a moment," said Prout.
The little man pointed gaily up the stairs. Prout followed him into a room and shut the door. The next instant the small Frenchman was on his back and the handcuffs encircled his wrists.
"No use making a noise here," said Prout coolly. "It was a good idea of yours to hide yourself amongst respectable working men."
The little man struggled silently, furiously.
"Now, what's the good of that?" said Prout in his most soothing voice. "With these bracelets on you can't possibly get at the revolver in your hip pocket. I am a police officer, and by this time the whole of your lot are in custody. I've got the key of the door in my pocket, and I'm going to search the room."
The little man's language burst out furiously. Nothing less than war between France and England should wipe out this insult to the tricolour. Prout had burst open a desk and was examining the papers there as tranquilly as if he were stone deaf. He came across something presently that caused his eyes to gleam and his heart to beat with a feeling of triumph.
"Now you can come along with me," he said. "If you like to walk you can, and if you like to pay for a cab I am agreeable. What do you say?"
The little man elected to have a cab. When Bow Street was reached Prout had the satisfaction of finding that all his birds had been netted. He received the warm congratulations of his inspector modestly.