Walking toward their favorite restaurant in Soho, they met a newsboy running with an edition of an evening newspaper damp from the press.  The boy was shouting, “’Orrible crime in the West End; Chinese outrage!” Furneaux bought a paper.  It contained a lively account of the attack on Mr. Forbes’s house and described the mansion as an armed fortress.  Scores of police were parading the neighborhood and examining every passing motor car lest it held Chinese bandits.  The arrest of Len Shi at St. Albans, and of a Japanese outside Innesmore Mansions, was recalled, and an Eastbourne correspondent had sent a fairly accurate version of the kidnaping of Mrs. Forbes.

“The pack is in full cry now, James,” grinned Furneaux.  “Tomorrow—­”

“O, bother tomorrow!  Let’s eat, and talk about something else.”

“What?  Both?  Well, now, if that isn’t a bit of luck,” cried a pleasant voice close behind them, and Mr. George T. Handyside held out his two hands.

“I was feeling kind of lonesome in the hotel, and just strolled out to look at the shops,” he rattled on.  “Say, can you boys eat a line?  Is there any place in London where they know what a planked steak is?”

“Planked steak!” snorted Furneaux.  “When you’ve tasted a porterhouse steak grilled by a master hand you’ll never mention any other variety again.  Come right along, Mr. Handyside.  Tell us fairy tales about God’s own country.  We’re in the right mood to believe anything!”

“But what’s this story of another shooting up in Fortescue Square?  Is it true?”

Then Furneaux dug him in the ribs.

“This isn’t the Wild and Woolly West,” he said.  “This is London, sir, poor, old, played-out London, whose beefy citizens do nothing but eat, talk cricket or golf, and sleep.  If you credit the newspapers, you’ll never get us in the right perspective.”

Another newspaper boy raced past, bawling loudly.

“All a flam, is it?” said the American quizzically;

“No,” said Winter, “it’s the truth, and less than the truth.  Let’s hunt that steak, and we’ll season the dish for you.”

Winter never erred when he chose a man as a friend.  He liked Handyside, and was half inclined to drop a hint in his ear as to the night’s program, for the American had seen Wong Li Fu more than once, and might be useful for identification purposes.

CHAPTER XVII

 The settlement

Now, Len Shi had communicated one vital fact to his compatriots which they had carefully concealed from the detectives.  The opening campaign against Forbes had practically ended that day.  Thenceforth, for a week, the Young Manchus meant to separate, revert to Chinese costume, live in Chinese boardinghouses in the East End, and thus utterly mislead and bamboozle the police, who, in their hunt for the miscreants, would be searching for Chinamen in European dress and living in European style.