“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.”

Lees descried him as he paused before a dimly lighted door.  Evidently he was challenged; gave a countersign.  For the door swung back.  Po Lun passed through.  Nothing happened for a time.  Then a piercing feline wail stabbed through the night.

“M-i-i-a-o-w-r-r-r!”

Lees sprang forward, pressed his weight against the partly-open portal; flashed his dark lantern on two figures struggling violently.  His hand fell on the collar of Po Lun’s antagonist; a policeman’s “billy” cracked upon his skull.  “Tie and gag him,” said the captain.  “Leave a man on guard....  The rest of you come on.”

Po Lun leading, they went, single file through utter blackness.  Now and then the white disc of Lees’ lantern, now in Po Lun’s hand, gleamed like a guiding will-o-wisp upon the tortuous path.