and to guess that he had taken refuge in a gambling and opium den.
Indeed, this latter fact was soon verified by a telephone appeal to the
detective-inspector in charge of the district, who declared that he was
only waiting for sufficient proof of the character of the house before
making a raid. Foyle had promptly ordered the place to be discreetly
surrounded, but that no steps were to be taken until his arrival. He had
conceived an admiration for Ivan's cunning in the matter, for there was
no place where a fugitive could be more certain of having the intrusion
of strangers more carefully guarded against than a gambling-house.

He was willing to forego a conviction against the keepers of the place
rather than miss an opportunity of securing Ivan. For cautious steps are
always necessary in proceeding against such places. It is so easy to
transform a game of baccarat, faro, or fantan into an innocent game of
bridge or whist with a few innocent spectators, and to hide all gambling
instruments between the time the police knock and the time they effect
an entry. Then, however positive the officers may be, they have no legal
proof, unless one of their number has been previously introduced as a
"punter," and to do that would require time.

Smike Street at one time had been a street of some pretensions. Even
now, in comparison with the neighbourhood in which it was set, it
maintained an air of genteel respectability, and its gloomy
three-storeyed houses had in many cases no more than one family to a
floor. It was, however, one of those back streets of the East End which
are never deserted, for its adult inhabitants plied trades which took
them abroad at all hours--market porters, street hawkers, factory
workers, dock labourers, seamen, all trades jostled here. One or two of
the houses bore a sign, "Hotel for Men Only."

It was at the corner that Foyle and Green were joined by the divisional
detective-inspector, and the three swung into the deserted saloon bar of
a shabby public-house which afforded a better opportunity for
unobtrusive conversation than the street. Leaving the glass of ale he
ordered untouched upon the counter, the superintendent rapidly learned
all steps that had been taken.

"It's a corner house on this side," said the local man, "kept by an old
scoundrel of a Chinaman calling himself Li Foo, and a man who was a bit
of a bruiser in San Francisco at one time--a chap called Keller. He
looks after the faro gam