Furneaux, a creature oddly constituted either of all nerves or of no nerves, disregarded the skull.  He had eyes only for the few words typed on a single sheet of note-paper.  They ran: 

“James Creighton Forbes:  If you are willing to come to terms, announce the fact by advertisement in Thursday’s Times.  Address your reply to Y. M., and sign it ‘J.  C. F.’  Yield, and you will hear further.  Refuse, and no other warning will be given.”

CHAPTER VIII

 The first counter-stroke

Furneaux apparently made up his mind with reference to the contents of a somewhat enigmatic message after one quick, unerring perusal.

“The man who wrote that took a great many things for granted,” he said.  “He assumed, firstly, that you knew of Mrs. Lester’s death and understood its significance; secondly, that you are aware of the nature of the ‘terms’ he will offer; thirdly, that you may hesitate between compliance and threatened death.  ‘Y.  M.,’ of course, can be read as ‘Young Manchus.’  Even there, the writer exhibits artistic reticence....  Frankly, Mr. Forbes, I wish you had come straight to Scotland Yard on Monday evening instead of wasting those precious hours at Daly’s Theater.”

Forbes was moved to energetic protest.

“How was I to deduce the true nature of these hell hounds’ mission from a casual glance vouchsafed of one who may or may not be their leader?” he cried.

“Yet you treated your discovery as serious enough to warrant a prompt visit to the woman with whom association was dangerous?”

“Yes; I wanted to act secretly.”

“Just so.  You were afraid the police would bungle the job.  Between you and Mr. Theydon, you have exhibited remarkable skill in heading us off the scent.  Fortunately, we were able to dispense with your assistance, having other matters to occupy our brains.  You two were ripe nuts waiting to be cracked and have the contents extracted at leisure.  There were a few freshly broken shells lying about which invited immediate attention.  For instance, some four months ago, a well-known and reputable firm of private inquiry agents was instructed from Canton to secure all possible information about Mrs. Lester and you—­ yes, you, Mr. Forbes—­ your household, friends, methods of living, servants, tradesmen,—­ every sort of fact, indeed, which might be useful to a thoroughgoing and well-organized society of cutthroats like the Young Manchus.  The inquiry agents did their work well, and were handsomely paid for it.  I haven’t the least doubt that Wong Li Fu knows what brand of cigars you favor, and what you eat for breakfast.  His informants sent us a copy of their notes an hour after the murder was announced in the newspapers.  Mr. Lester is ‘removed’ in Shanghai.  His widow comes home.  The inquiry agents receive instructions.  They forward their report to Canton, and Wong Li Fu turns up in London.  The program is a tribute to the excellence and regularity of the mail service between England and the Far East.”