He made me walk on. After reaching daylight from that passage between the warehouses we had turned to the left, walked on a hundred yards or so by the front of the warehouses, then to the left again. This, running parallel to the passage, was a row of quite respectable-looking houses all stuck together, as quite respectable-looking houses should do in these times. There are streets and streets of them down there, and I’m told white women sometimes marry Chinamen just for the pleasure of living in them. But, as someone has said, white women will do anything. We had come to the end of a block when Tarlyon set up that howl and then shut me up. “What the deuce!” I said again. George said, walking on: “Jewboy has made one mistake. Naughty Jewboy. Now have a look at that house we passed. Don’t stare as though you were an American tailor looking at the Prince of Wales. Casually. The corner one.” I turned and looked, casually. It was a house like another, and I said so. George asked me how far I thought it was from the passage in which I had nearly fielded Raphael’s knife with my ear. I said it must be a good way. Two hundred yards at least. There was a whole block of warehouses and a row of houses in between. “Quite,” said George. We walked on. “Then how did Mr. Raphael get there so quick? Not by the road. I just saw a piece of his delightful face round the curtain of one of the windows. His one mistake, to have let me see him. There must be an underground passage about two hundred yards long between his warehouse address and his residence. You’ll bet the police have never spotted it yet, and I only spotted it because he was so eager to see us well away. I don’t think he likes us, Charles. But I’d be pleased to know who is supposed to be living in that house. And I’d take a bet that there’s a nice counterfeiting _matinée_ going on this very moment somewhere between that house and that warehouse passage. Now you say something.” “The point is, George, do you think he saw you spot him?” Tarlyon smiled. “There’s always a catch. Trust the God of the Jews to lay a snag for poor Gentiles. But I don’t know. He mayn’t have seen I got him. But we will have to act as if he had. Get him quick, else he’ll be in the air. What’s the time now? Nearly eight. We’ll get back to civilisation, try and catch H---- at his home address, come down here to-night and surround the place. Fun. Hurray!” I said: “Look here, George----” He looked at me sharply. “I know what you are going to say, Charles. Don’t say it. You’re old enough to know better.” But I stuck to my point. We must let H---- know at once, yes. Post men at the warehouse entrance and the house entrance, certainly. Catch Julian Raphael and his friends, decidedly. But we must give Manana Cohen another chance. She was only a child--twenty-one or two at most.