“No one hurt, and no one arrested?”

“Not a soul.”

“James,” said the little man solemnly, “Wong Li Fu is making us a laughing-stock.  Are you aware that the newspapers will get on our track now?  Can’t you see the headlines?—­ ‘Another Sidney Street.’  ‘Chinese Pirates Busy in London.’  ‘Scotland Yard Outwitted.’  By this time tomorrow the Commissioner will be suggesting that you and I ought to think about retiring on pensions.”

Winter jumped up, overturning a chair in his haste.

“Come!” he said.  “If that Chinaman in Bow Street won’t speak, I’ll torture him.  What of the other fellow who was caught near Innesmore Mansions?”

“He’s a Jap.  He knows nothing.  He was hired for the job—­ to put any interfering bobby to sleep.”

The chief inspector angrily bundled some papers into a drawer, and threw away his cigar, which he had allowed to go out.  Furneaux produced an ivory skull again, and scowled at it, whereupon his superior, snorting with annoyance, strode to the window, and affected an interest he was far from feeling in the panorama of the Thames.

And thus they passed a harmonious quarter of an hour, which came to an end with the appearance of an attendant to announce the arrival of “two Chinese gentlemen to see Mr. Furneaux.”

They went down in the elevator without exchanging a word.  At the entrance stood the gray car, in which the Chinamen were already seated.  Furneaux introduced the chief inspector, and they were whisked to Bow Street.  There in a cell they found Len Shi, a somewhat sullen-looking man whose European chauffeur’s livery seemed curiously raffish and unsuitable when contrasted with the more picturesque if sober-hued garments worn by his fellow-countrymen.

At first he maintained the sulky know-nothing role which he had adopted successfully with the official interpreter.  Furneaux, watching the faces of prisoner and questioners, guessed that small progress was being made, so, waiting until Len Shi was evidently quite satisfied with himself, he suddenly thrust an ivory skull before the man’s eyes.  The result was unexpected but puzzling.  The man was badly scared, beyond doubt, but he now became obstinately silent.

Winter, than whom no living actor could play up better to Furneaux’s tactics in a touch-and-go encounter of this sort, assumed a highly tragic air.

“Handcuff that man, and bring him out!” he said to the constable in charge of the cells.

Len Shi blanched.  He estimated the legal methods of Great Britain by those which obtained in his own land, and probably thought he was being led forth to immediate execution.

The whole five crowded into the car, and the driver, the same English chauffeur to whom Theydon had spoken, was told to make for 412 Charlotte Street, and pass the house slowly, but not pull up.  Len Shi, though quaking with alarm, bore himself with a certain dignified stoicism until he found out where the car was apparently stopping.  Then he said something in a panic-stricken voice and the jute merchant, who spoke English fluently, turned to Furneaux.