"Yes. A long-range attack from across the square. Four shots lodged in dining room."
"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.