THE ALARM
As the three men listened to the swift, broken story, there was no sound
save the rustle of the wind outside, the clack of a night-watchman, and
the ticking of the clock on the marble mantel. The crouching form, the
sodden garments, the passionate intensity of the slim, clutched hands,
the fire in the dark eyes--all lent effect to a narrative instinct with
terrible truth. The Ambassador's knowledge of the colloquial was
limited, but he knew enough to grasp the story's main features. It
capped the edifice of suspicion and furnished a direful solution to what
had been mysterious. Once the Admiral's eyes met his, and each knew that
the other _believed_. Terrible as its meaning was--pointing to what
black depths of abysmal wickedness--it was true!
The Admiral listened with a countenance that might have been carved of
metal, but the faces of the others were gray-white. Later was to come to
both the pathos and meaning of the sacrifice this frail girl had laid on
the knees of her country's gods, but for the hour, all else was
swallowed up in the horrifying knowledge, struck through with the sharp
fact that one of the partners in this devilish enterprise, however
expatriate, was of their own nation. To Daunt this was intensified by
his own acquaintance with Phil. Memories swept him of that worthless,
ribald career--the evil intimacy with Bersonin--the gradual dominance of
the bottle, which in the end had betrayed him!
With a singular separateness of vision, he seemed, in lightning-like
flashes, to see that betrayal: the blind infatuation, the slow
enticements, the reckless, intoxicated triumph, the final surrender. He
seemed to see Haru, her secret won, running panting through the wind. He
saw Phil waking at last from his drunken slumber--to what shame and
penalty? He shuddered.
* * * * *
When the secretary entered at the crisp sound of the Admiral's bell, he
started at the pallid countenances in the room. The Japanese girl stood
trembling, half-supported by the Admiral's arm. The latter spoke--in a
voice that held no sign of feeling. It was to present the young man to
the girl in the most formal and elaborate courtesy.
"The _Ojo-San_ deigns to be for but an hour the guest of my mean abode,"
he said. "Instruct my _karei_ that in that unworthy interval he may
offer her august refreshment and afterward prepare her proper escort and
conveyance. Meantime, send my _aide_ to me."
The secretary's gleam of astonishment veiled itself under oriental
lashes, and a tinge of color warmed the whiteness of Haru's cheek. He
bowed to her profoundly. As he deferentially opened the door, she turned
back, swayed, and sank suddenly prone in a deep, sweeping obeisance.
An instant the Admiral stood looking after her. "The petal of a
plum-blossom," he said, "under the hoof of the swine!"
His manner changed abruptly as the _aide_ entered. He spoke in quick,
curt Japanese, in a tone sharp and exact as steel shears snipping
through zinc:
"Something has transpired of great moment. There is no time to deal with
it by the ordinary channels. It is of the first importance--the _first_
importance!--that I reach Yokohama within the hour. You will call up
Shimbashi and order a special train with right of way. This admits of
_no delay_! Send for my carriage at once. You will accompany me. We
leave in ten minutes." The _aide_ went out quickly while he seated
himself at his desk and began to write rapidly.
"Two battle-ships!" he said suddenly, wheeling in his seat. "With the
human lives on them! Perhaps even war between two or more nations! Gods
of my ancestors! All this to hang on the loyalty of a mere girl!"
The Ambassador, pacing the floor, snapped the lid of his watch. "It must
still be close to two hours of sunrise," he said in an agitated voice.
"Surely there is time!"
The Admiral was consulting an almanac when the _aide_ reëntered. "Here
is a telegram," he said. "Put it on the wire at once. It must arrive
before us."
"Excellency," said the _aide_, "the train is not possible. The service
to Yokohama ceased at six o'clock. The rains--there is a washout."
His chief pondered swiftly. "It must be left to others, then. Call up
the emergency long-distance for Yokohama and give me a clear wire at
once to the Governor's residence. I must make the telegraphic
instructions fuller." He bent over the desk.
Trepidation was on the _aide's_ face when he returned this time.
"Excellency the accident to the line was the failure of the bridge over
the Rokuga-gawa. It carried both the telegraph and telephone conduits.
No wire will be working before noon to-morrow."
The Admiral half-rose. He stretched out his hand, then drew it back.
"The wireless!" exclaimed the Ambassador.
The _aide's_ troubled voice replied. Whatever the necessity he knew that
it was a crucial one.
"The mast was displaced by to-day's earthquake," he said. "The system is
temporarily useless."
There was a moment of blank silence. The Admiral sat staring straight
before him. The only sign of agitation was his labored breathing.
"Can a horse get through?"
The other shook his head. "Not under three hours. It would have to be by
_détour_--and there are no relays."
"A motor car?"
"Impossible!" exclaimed the Ambassador. "By the long road and in better
weather my Mercedes can not do it under eighty minutes."
The Admiral lifted himself from his chair. His eyes were bloodshot and
on his forehead tiny veins had sprung out in branching clusters of
purple.
"In the name of _Shaka_! Yokohama harbor but a handful of miles away,
and cut off utterly? It must be reached, I tell you! _It must be
reached!_" His voice was low-pitched, but terrible in its intensity.
"Drive to the Naval College and ask for twenty cadets--its swiftest
runners--to be sent after you to Shimbashi. A locomotive can take them
as far as the river. If there are no _sampan_, they can swim. Make
demand in my authority. Not a minute is to be lost!" He put what he had
been writing into the _aide's_ hand. "Read this in the carriage. It will
serve as instruction."
The _aide_ thrust the paper into his breast and vanished. The Admiral
looked about him through stiffened, half-closed eyelids. Then, under the
stress, it seemed, of a mighty shudder--the very soul of that
overwhelming _certainty_ of the peril awaiting the red dawn on that
bungalow roof above the Yokohama anchorage--the racial impassivity, the
restraint and repression of emotion that long generations of ingrain
habit have made second nature to the Japanese, suddenly crumbled. He
struck his hand hard against the desk.
"Has not Japan toiled and borne enough, that this shame must come to
her?" His deep voice shook. "Your Excellency--Mr. Daunt--in all this
land where heroism is hackneyed and sacrifice a fetish, there is no
prince or coolie who, to turn aside this peril, would not give his body
to the torture. Yet must we sit here helpless as _Darumas_! If man but
had wings!"
Daunt stiffened. He felt his heart beat to his temples. He started to
his feet with an exclamation.
"But man _has_ wings!" he cried.
What of the long hours of toil and experiment, the gray mornings on
Aoyama parade-ground when his Glider had carried him circling above the
tree-tops? Could he do it? With no other word he darted to the hall.
They heard his flying feet on the gravel and a quick command to a
_betto_. The wind tossed back the word into the strained quiet.
"Aoyama!" exclaimed the Ambassador, as the hoof-beats, lashed to an
anguish of speed, died into silence. "His Glider!"
A sudden hope flashed into the Admiral's face.
"The gods of _Nippon_ aid him!" he said.