I agreed that it looked very suspicious, and presently: 

“When I went in with Cohen,” continued Poland, “I knew one thing he didn’t know—­a short cut into the warehouse.  He’s been playing pretty-like with Lala, old Huang’s daughter, and it’s my belief that he knew where the store was hidden; but he never told me.  We knew there were special men on duty, and we’d arranged that I was to give a signal when the patrol had passed.  Cohen all the time had planned to double on me.  While I was watching down on the Causeway end he climbed up and got in through the skylight I’d shown him.  When I got there he was missing, but the skylight was open.  I started off after him.”

Then Poland clutched me, and his fright was very real.

“I heard a shriek like nothing I ever heard in my life.  I saw a light shine through the trap, and then I heard a sort of moaning.  Last, I heard a bang, and the light went out.  I staggered down the passage half silly, started to run, and ran straight into the arms of two coppers.”

This evidence I thought was conclusive, and in accordance with your instructions I proceeded to Mr. Isaacs in Dover Street.  He didn’t seem too pleased at my suggestion, but when I pointed out to him that one good turn deserved another, he agreed to give me an introduction to Huang Chow.

I adopted a very simple disguise, just altering my complexion and sticking on a moustache with spirit gum, hair by hair, and trimming it down military fashion.  Everything ran smoothly, and I seemed to make a fairly favourable impression upon Lala Huang, the Chinaman’s daughter, who evidently interviews prospective customers before they are admitted to the warehouse.

She is a Eurasian and extremely good looking.  But when I found myself in the room where old Huang keeps his treasures, I really thought I was dreaming.  It’s a collection that must be worth thousands.  He showed me snuff-bottles, cut out of gems, and with a little opening no bigger than the hole in a pipe-stem, but with wonderful paintings done inside the bottles.  He’d got a model of a pagoda made out of human teeth, and a big golden rug woven from the hair of Circassian slave girls.  Excuse this, Chief Inspector; I know it is what you call the romantic stuff; but I think it would have impressed you if you had seen it.

Anyway, I bought a little enamelled box, in accordance with Mr. Isaacs’s instructions, although whether I succeeded in convincing Huang Chow that I knew anything about the matter is more than doubtful.  He got up from a sort of throne he sits on, and led the way up a broad staircase to a private room above.

“Of course, you have brought the cash, Mr. Hampden?” he said.

He speaks quite faultless English.  He walked up three steps to a sort of raised writing-table in this upstairs room, and I counted out the money to him.  When he sat at the table he faced toward the room, and I couldn’t help thinking that, in his horn-rimmed spectacles, he looked like some old magistrate.  He explained that he would pack the purchase for me, but that I must personally take it away.  And: