The Case for the Crown by Fred M. White — Read

Archenfield lingered in the comparative darkness of the mean street in which the Gaiety Music Hall stood much like a brilliant insect against a background of somberness and decay. He waited there with that sublime patience of his, as he always waited when he was on the track of anything vital. He meant to throw away no chance, even of the smallest scrap of information. And presently he was rewarded, for he saw Flint emerge with the two Chinamen following him like faint blue shadows. They walked down the road, still eagerly discussing a matter that seemed to greatly concern them, gesticulating violently, and ever and again Archenfield could catch a word or two that proved to him that they were in anything but accord on the matter in dispute. It was getting very late now, and the streets were practically deserted, so that it was a difficult matter for Archenfield to keep his quarry in sight and follow them discreetly thirty or forty yards behind. Then they turned at length into a side street and disappeared into one of the mean houses there, a house that Archenfield knew very well as an opium den, and into which, in the circumstances, it was impossible for him to follow.

He was turning away to retrace his footsteps when the door of a neighbouring house opened, and a man came hurriedly down the broken steps; so hurriedly, indeed, that it looked as if he had been impelled by force, then, muttering angrily to himself, he wheeled sharply round and came swiftly in Archenfield's direction. They met almost face to face under a lamp post and exchanged glances. Then the stranger stepped in the middle of the road, and vanished in the gloom, leaving Archenfield standing there surprised and shaken, and filled with a certain almost unreasonable fear.