“I think I must be dreaming,” she said, trying bravely to lessen the gravity of the statement by smiling at its inherent absurdity.  “Am I in London, or have I been whisked by magic to one of those outposts of civilization where men and women of European race are often compelled to band together for protection against savages?  One reads of such things comfortably while dawdling over breakfast, and one wonders idly why people go to such places.  But that something of the sort could happen in London—­ why, it is simply fantastic!”

“It is unpleasantly real, for all that, Mrs. Paxton,” said Forbes, leading the way up the stairs.  “What else can we do?  If the authorities surrounded the house with a cordon of soldiers London would be in an uproar.  We want to avoid that, at all costs.  I have been in communication with the Home Office, and am advised that, if we decide to put up with the inconvenience, it is better, and actually less risky, to hold out here than seek safety by flight.  I understand that Scotland Yard is not losing an unnecessary minute, but there are obvious difficulties in the way of decisive action.  It is considered worse than useless to effect isolated arrests, as these tend only to put the other members of the gang on their guard.  The chief inspector tells me that he had some hope of being able to make a big haul tonight.  The principal drawback is the language bar.  Chinese interpreters are few and far between in London, and those who do exist—­ in the East End, for instance—­ have long since lost any useful acquaintance with events in their own country.  This is a political matter, you understand, and must be fought out on political lines.  Strange as it may sound in your ears, the cause of Chinese freedom is at issue in this very house.  If Wong Li Fu could secure a list of names now locked in a bureau in my library the Constitutional party in China would perish forthwith for want of leaders.  But he won’t get it.  Thanks to your brother, Mrs. Paxton, his deadliest attack failed yesterday.  For today’s accident we have ourselves to blame.  We did not even suspect that his malignity would take the form of shooting the first person who chanced to look out of a window.”

He had halted at the top of the broad staircase while making that stirring declaration of war.

“Pardon my outspokenness,” he said, sinking his voice to a lower tone.  “I don’t want to frighten my wife on my own account.  She believes now that the police are hunting these scoundrels in every hole and corner of London.  In a sense, that is true, but we never know the moment some extraordinary action may be taken, so we remain constantly on the qui vive.”

He heard the telephone ring beneath, and turned quickly.

“I may be wanted,” he said.  “I’ll join you presently.  There is my wife’s boudoir,” and he pointed to a door.  “Take Mrs. Paxton in, Theydon.  Mrs. Forbes and Evelyn will be glad of your company.”