Kerry stood listening for some moments, then, directing a furious kick upon the bowler which lay at his feet, he snapped off the light of the torch and pursued his way.  The lesser mystery was solved, but the greater was before him.

He had made a careful study of the geography of the neighborhood, and although the fog was still dense enough to be confusing, he found his way without much difficulty to the street for which he was bound.  Some fifteen paces along the narrow thoroughfare he came upon someone standing by a closed door set in a high brick wall.  The street contained no dwelling houses, and except for the solitary figure by the door was deserted and silent.  Kerry took out his torch and shone a white ring upon the smiling countenance of Detective-Sergeant Coombes.

“If that smile gets any worse,” he said irritably, “they’ll have to move your ears back.  Anything to report?”

“Sin Sin Wa went to bed an hour ago.”

“Any visitors?”

“No.”

“Has he been out?”

“No.”

“Got the ladder?”

“Yes.”

“All quiet in the neighborhood?”

“All quiet.”

“Good.”

The street in which this conversation took place was one running roughly parallel with that in which the house of Sin Sin Wa was situated.  A detailed search of the Chinaman’s premises had failed to bring to light any scrap of evidence to show that opium had ever been smoked there.  Of the door described by Mollie Gretna, and said to communicate with the adjoining establishment, not a trace could be found.  But the fact that such a door had existed did not rest solely upon Mollie’s testimony.  From one of the “beat-ups” interviewed that day, Kerry had succeeded in extracting confirmatory evidence.

Inquiries conducted in the neighborhood of Poplar had brought to light the fact that four of the houses in this particular street, including that occupied by Sin Sin Wa and that adjoining it, belonged to a certain Mr. Jacobs, said to reside abroad.  Mr. Jacob’s rents were collected by an estate agent, and sent to an address in San Francisco.  For some reason not evident to this man of business, Mr. Jacobs demanded a rental for the house next to Sin Sin Wa’s, which was out of all proportion to the value of the property.  Hence it had remained vacant for a number of years.  The windows were broken and boarded up, as was the door.

Kerry realized that the circumstance of the landlord of “The House of a Hundred Raptures” being named Jacobs, and the lessee of the Cubanis Cigarette Company’s premises in old Bond Street being named Isaacs, might be no more than a coincidence.  Nevertheless it was odd.  He had determined to explore the place without unduly advertising his intentions.

Two modes of entrance presented themselves.  There was a trap on the roof, but in order to reach it access would have to be obtained to one of the other houses in the row, which also possessed a roof-trap; or there were four windows overlooking a little back yard, two upstairs and two down.