The fog of deceit had barely lifted from the streets of Asbest when the iron hand of justice closed upon one Chen Bin, a subject of the Great Empire of China. This foreign adventurer, who fancied himself a clever shadow in the criminal underworld, found that his 'luck' had finally run dry.

Imagine the scene: a dusty carriage—or rather, a motor-car of the modern sort—stopped by the vigilant gaze of the constabulary. A search was conducted, not with the gentleness of a tea party, but with the rigor of a bloodhound. There, hidden in the very pocket of the door, lay a sinister parcel of narcotic filth. The man trembled, but the game was afoot. The detectives, acting with the tenacity of Scotland Yard, scoured the district and unearthed a series of hidden caches—veritable nests of vice—where more of the powdered poison lay waiting for some wretched soul.

In total, four and a fraction grams of the drug were seized—a quantity that the magistrates deem 'large' and most perilous. The wretch was not acting alone; he was but a courier, a mere cog in a sophisticated criminal syndicate, a 'malina' of international proportions, if you will.

The Asbest City Court, hearing the grim evidence, has decreed that the prisoner shall remain behind bars, stripped of his liberties until the twenty-eighth of August. The prisoner now sits in the damp silence of the cell, perhaps pondering the folly of his venture while the solicitors argue over the legality of his detention. One might say he sought a fortune in the shadows, but found only the cold comfort of a prison cot.