Winter was in two minds whether or not to inform the inmates of No. 11 as to the contemplated raid on the Charlotte Street rendezvous.  Ultimately, he decided to say nothing definite that evening.  It was better that the threatened people and their guards should not relax their vigilance.  “The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft a-gley,” and if, perchance, the jute merchant’s plan, whatever it might be, miscarried, and some of the desperadoes escaped, they would be stirred to instant reprisals.

But there was no semblance of doubt or hesitation about the measures taken by the police.  That night, from eleven o’clock onward, not even a prowling cat entered Charlotte Street without being seen by sharp eyes.  Nearly opposite No. 412 was a large warehouse, with a back entrance a long way in the rear, and approached from another street.

At midnight three Chinamen appeared, turned into Charlotte Street from the south and shuffled on noiseless feet straight to No. 414.  They knocked, and after some delay were admitted.  A minute later three others came from the north, knocked on the door of No. 410 and disappeared, the delay, seemingly caused by a parley with some one within, being longer in this instance.

Afterward squads of Chinamen, exactly 25, all told, came from north and south in practically equal numbers and entered those two houses, but never a man entered, or passed, or came out of No. 412.  These more numerous arrivals met with no hesitation on the part of the two doorkeepers.  They entered without let or hindrance.

After that there was what is known in theatrical circles as a “stage wait.”  Charlotte Street, save for its loafers and an occasional belated resident of some dwelling other than those under observation, lapsed into its normal and utterly dismal gloom.

From 12:30 onwards, Winter, stationed on the south side, looked at his watch many times.  A little man, mingling with the disreputable rascals on the north side, was similarly fidgety.

A tall, slim man, wearing a dark overcoat, who lurked in a doorway near Winter’s post, blew the tip of the cigar he was smoking into a red glow so that he might look at his watch.  Another tall man, rather more powerfully built, awaited developments with apparent unconcern.  Mr. Handyside, in fact, was in the august company of the Commissioner of Police, and the latter, though eminently agreeable, nevertheless observed an Olympian attitude.  Thus might Jove watch a gathering in the Pompic Way!

At 12:45 there was a stir.  Out of 410 and 414 came 25 Chinamen.  They gathered on the pavement, and did not attempt to walk away, though a sudden and concentrated advance was made by the two sets of loafers, while the doors of the warehouse opposite belched forth a startling array of constables in uniform.

Winter and Furneaux respectively headed the contingents from north and south.  An inspector was in charge of the central body, and even a Chinaman who had not been a day in London must have realized that the intent of these swift-moving detachments was to cut off his escape if he meant flight.  But not a Chinaman budged, save one, who seemed to recognize the chief inspector, because he stepped forward and said in suave tones: