By Tillizinni’s instructions, the house in Curzon Street was watched day and night. He had no illusions, he knew full well that if Soo could strike a blow at Talham through the girl, he would do so. The newspapers had arisen to the occasion and had referred exultantly to the “bottling up” of the fugitive Chinaman. It was a little phrase coined in a hurried moment which caught the fancy of the great public; the “bottling up” of England to hold an escaping murderer, appealed to the popular imagination. Curiously enough, the greatest difficulty had been found in identifying Soo with any known person in China. The Governor of Tai-pan, with whom the Chinaman claimed relationship, had telegraphed to his Government that his only son was pursuing his studies in Nanking, and could not possibly be the wanted man. Nevertheless, though the Chinese Government had promised every assistance to bring the culprit to justice, and to thoroughly punish him if he reached Chinese territory, Tillizinni knew that it was for China that the man would make. Talham had gone home, and the precious document had been locked in Tillizinni’s safe, and he himself was preparing for a greatly-needed night’s rest, when his sleepy servant brought a plain envelope addressed to the detective. “How did this come?” asked Tillizinni. “By a little boy, sir,” said the man. Tillizinni held the envelope to the light. It showed nothing more sinister than a folded sheet of paper, and he slit it open. There were only a few words, but those words were particularly interesting. The letter was without superscription, and ran: “Some day I will ‘bottle up’ somebody who is very precious to your friend, and you may be sure that when she is once again in my hands, nothing you can do will save her.” Tillizinni re-read the letter and sent for the messenger. The boy could tell him little, except that a man had given the letter to him to deliver, and since the description of that man did not in any way tally with the description of Soo, Tillizinni gathered that the messenger originally sent, had chosen a deputy, for reasons of his own. He sent the boy away, read the letter for the third time, and after telephoning to assure himself that the guards he had fixed in Curzon Street were at their posts, he went to bed and slept as soundly as any man could sleep who had not closed his eyes in slumber for forty-eight hours. It was broad daylight when his servant brought him in his chocolate and toast. With it came one of the few letters which were addressed personally to him. It was from Yvonne Yale, a charming little note of thanks for the service he had rendered, but she made no mention of Talham. Tillizinni smiled. Now that the excitement had passed, and the exhilaration of the rescue subsided, he imagined that the girl might very properly blame Talham for the part he had played. In this he was wrong, as he was to discover.