“Never before have I discovered a neurotic streak in you, Frank,” she said, after she had obtained a couple of letters for Miss Beale, and they were en route again.  “Come now, confess.  If Evelyn Forbes—­ or, let me see, is it Phyllis or Doris?  No, Evelyn.  If Evelyn Forbes, then, did not happen to be a remarkably pretty girl, would you really attach such terrific importance to the mad goings-on of a set of Chinese fanatics?  I doubt it.”

The cab was threading its way through the traffic of St. James Street and Piccadilly on a busy afternoon in the season, and Theydon had much to tell her before they arrived at Fortescue Square, but he sat by her side in silence for a little while.

“Frank,” said his sister, at last, “it is not like you to seek refuge in silence.  I’m sorry if my chaff annoyed you.  Don’t forget that you know everything about this mysterious business, and I know very little.”

Her sympathetic voice roused him from the stupor which had benumbed his senses.

“I allowed imagination to run away with me, Sis,” he said gently.  “It was thoughtless on my part.  Please forgive me.  I suppose those two Chinamen are unofficially connected with the Embassy.  At any rate, the man with them, the little man in a blue serge suit and straw hat, is Furneaux of Scotland Yard, a pocket marvel among detectives, the sort of criminal-hunter you read about in Gaboriau, but can scarcely accept as existing in real life.”

From that instant he bent his wits to the task of acquainting Mrs. Paxton with the history of the preceding three days.  He was aware of the irrepressible trembling which shook her slender frame when he spoke of the ivory skull found in Edith Lester’s underbodice, and the replica of the same grewsome token sent to Forbes, so suppressed all mention of his own experiences on returning to Innesmore Mansions overnight.

Furneaux had asked him for the bit of ivory that morning, and, incidentally, had produced the others from his pocket.  The detective gave no reason for his eagerness to possess these trophies, but seemed to invest them with great importance.  While keeping up a constant flow of talk with his sister, Theydon tried to puzzle out the detective’s motive for carrying such sinister messengers of death around London.

Try as he might, he could arrive at no plausible explanation, but he did not make the error of attributing Furneaux’s action to mere impulse.  Those men of the Yard had a solid foundation for every step they took.  Even the visit to Smith’s Hotel, and subsequent departure in the gray car, meant a definite stride onward in the fight against Wong Li Fu.  Of that he was assured.

At 11 Fortescue Square there were no outward signs of recent disturbance beyond the presence of a sharp-eyed policeman at each corner of the row of houses of which Mr. Forbes’s residence formed one of the center pair.  Theydon expected to see a shattered window in the drawing-room on the first floor, where, presumably, Mrs. Forbes was standing when the shot was fired, but each pane in three large windows was intact, and the windows were closed.