Frank complied. At the description of the man who had scrutinized Frank on the train and whom Frank believed he had seen again at breakfast, Inspector Burton uttered an exclamation.
“Do you know him?” asked Frank, eagerly.
“Indeed I do,” said Inspector Burton. “I believe I saw him in the lobby downstairs, although he did not see me as far as I could tell. He was lurking behind a pillar.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a man of many aliases. Folwell will do as well as any other. ‘Black George’ is his name in the underworld, because of his swarthy complexion and raven black hair. He’s the leader of a powerful gang of underworld characters, a gang with ramifications in many cities not only here but on the China Coast, too. He’s been responsible for many deviltries on the Pacific Coast for years, but we have never been able to lay anything definite at his door. It’ll be a feather in the cap of any man who can get the goods on ‘Black George’.”
Frank was excited, and showed it. His chums were, too. Mr. Temple could not restrain an exclamation.
“Then what this young man overheard will be of some value to you?” he demanded.
“Value?” repeated Inspector Burton. “It will, indeed. Lately the smuggling of Chinese coolies into the country has enormously increased. We know they are coming in but we cannot stop them. We suspected, of course, that there was a leak somewhere in our forces. We have managed to stop the smuggling across the border on land pretty well. But all our efforts to put a stop to bringing in of Chinese by water have been unavailing. We have a fleet of fast revenue cutters and sub chasers operating off the coast of Southern California, but somehow the coolie smugglers coming up from Mexico manage to elude us in the night and land their human cargo in some unlocated cove whence, undoubtedly, they are whisked inland by waiting motor cars and hidden.”
“I should think you could patrol the whole coast, if necessary, and locate the rendezvous,” said Jack.
Inspector Burton shook his head with a wry smile.