Simultaneously came a shout from both ends of the street.  Men were running from the detachment guarding the rear of the premises to say that a fierce fire was raging on the first floor back of No. 412.

“Smash in those three doors!” cried Winter to his helpers.  “Drag out every Chinaman you meet!  Handcuff them in threes and fours!  Arrest these fellows standing outside, but keep the two lots separate!”

“Why are we, your friends, to be arrested?” demanded Li Chang’s dignified voice.

“I’ll soon tell you why, you slim demon!” shouted the chief inspector, roused to anger by the consciousness that he had been duped.  “What fiendish trick have you played on those wretches penned up inside there?  But I’ll soon know.”

He turned to the local officer.

“Better march this crowd of Chinamen straight to your station,” he said.  “I’ll follow soon, and lay a charge.”

He felt a claw-like hand on his arm, and wild with vexation though he was, forced himself to listen.

“We are ready to go where you wish,” said Li Chang calmly.  “But spare your own men.  They must not enter No. 412.  They will be blown to pieces.  Stop them!  I shall not warn you twice!”

Somehow, Winter was impelled to obey.  The center door was already yielding, but he rushed forward and told the party which meant to enter at that point to abandon it, and reinforce their comrades.  A number of detectives and police were already inside the dark hallways of Nos. 410 and 414 when the very walls trembled under the shock of a violent explosion in No. 412, which was quickly followed by three others.

A tongue of flame darted instantly to a height of many feet above the topmost storey, showing that the series of explosions had not only destroyed the whole rear section of the house, and thus given the fire fresh fuel and plenty of space but there could be no reasonable doubt that the bombs, if bombs they were, had themselves been filled with some highly inflammable substance.  Thenceforth, the police could do nothing beyond keeping at a distance the crowds which soon gathered, and thus clear a space for the operations of the fire brigade.

No. 412 was thoroughly gutted.  Not a shred of the building remained except the crumbling walls at front and back.  Its neighbors were in little better case, and the firemen devoted their efforts mainly toward keeping the disaster within bounds.

One thing was certain.  No human being had escaped from out of that doomed habitation.  The fire, too, had gained hold with a phenomenal rapidity which argued the use of petrol, or some kindred agent of irresistible potency when ignited.

Winter and Furneaux, accompanied by the commissioner and Mr. Handyside, walked to the local police station.  The American was the only one who spoke.

“Queer ducks, the Chinese!” he said, seemingly musing aloud rather than inviting comment.  “They like to settle their own differences.  I guess we’d feel pretty much like that if we lived in China.”