"I have specialized in Chinese crime," he said; "much of my time is spent amongst our Asiatic visitors. I am fairly familiar with the Easterns who use the port of London, and I have a number of useful acquaintances among them."
Nayland Smith nodded. Beyond doubt Detective-sergeant Fletcher knew his business.
"To my lasting regret," Fletcher continued, "I never met the late Dr. Fu-Manchu. I understand, sir, that you believe him to have been a high official of this dangerous society? However, I think we may get in touch with some other notabilities; for instance, I'm told that one of the people you're looking for has been described as 'the man with the limp'?"
Smith, who had been about to relight his pipe, dropped the match on the carpet and set his foot upon it. His eyes shone like steel.
"'The man with the limp,'" he said, and slowly rose to his feet—"what do you know of the man with the limp?"
Fletcher's face flushed slightly; his words had proved more dramatic than he had anticipated.
"There's a place down Shadwell way," he replied, "of which, no doubt, you will have heard; it has no official title, but it is known to habitués as the Joy-Shop…."
Inspector Weymouth stood up, his burly figure towering over that of his slighter confrère.
"I don't think you know John Ki's, Mr. Smith," he said. "We keep all those places pretty well patrolled, and until this present business cropped up, John's establishment had never given us any trouble."
"What is this Joy-Shop?" I asked.