The inspector stroked his chin reflectively. "Didn't set the bag down, did you? ... when you pointed out the way, for instance?"
"Let me see.... Why, yes--I did. I hadn't thought of that...."
Captain of Detectives I.W. Lees was making a record for himself among the nation's crime-detectors. He was a swarthy little man, implacable as an Indian and as pertinacious on a trail. He never forgot a face and no amount of disguise could hide its identity from his penetrating glance. Without great vision or imagination, he knew criminals as did few other men; could reason from cause to effect within certain channels, unerringly. He was heartless, ruthless--some said venal. But he caught and convicted felons, solved the problems of his office by a dogged perseverance that ignored defeat. For, with a mind essentially tricky, he anticipated tricksters--unless their operations were beyond his scope.
It was 10 o'clock at night, but he was still at work upon a case which, up to now, had baffled him--a case of opium smuggling--when Robert and Benito entered. At first he listened to them inattentively. But at Robert's story of the woman, he became electrified.
"Rose Terranza! Dance hall girl back in the Eldorado days! Queen of the Night Life under half a dozen names! Smiling Rose, some called her. Good clothes and gold in her teeth! I've her picture--wait a minute." He pulled a cord; a bell jangled somewhere. An officer entered.
Chinatown at midnight. Dark and narrow streets; fat, round paper lanterns here and there above dim doorways; silent forms, soft-shuffling, warily alert.
"Wait one minee," said Po Lun. "I find 'em door."
Following the Chinaman were Captain Lees, with his half a dozen "plain clothes men," Benito, Robert and the mail inspector. Presently Po spoke again. "Jus' alound co'ne'" (corner), he whispered. "Me go ahead. Plitty soon you come. You hea' me makem noise ... allee same cat."