Walter Topham was nearing San Francisco. His stay in Japan had been
very brief. Long before he had had time to become acquainted with
conditions in that country or to make certain that Stiles’ suspicions
as to intense activity in the Japanese arsenals and dockyards were
justified, the ambassador had called him into his private office and
thrust before him a dispatch from Washington from the Secretary of
State.
“Ask Topham what he knows about the Countess del Ouro Preto in Berlin.
Cable fully,” it read.
The query was so unexpected that Topham flushed, despite his effort
not to do so and despite his consciousness that the keen eyes of the
ambassador were upon him. He flushed, but he did not hasten to answer
as most people would have done in his place; instead he read the
dispatch again slowly; and concluded that he owed it to what he had
told Rutile in Berlin, and to that gentleman’s faculty of smelling out
intrigues.
“Well, Mr. Topham?” questioned the ambassador.
Topham looked up. “I know the lady,” he said, slowly. “I met her in
Berlin, and learned something of her mission there. I met her the night
I reached Tokio--perhaps Stiles has told you. I do not want to conceal
anything concerning her from any one who has a right to ask. The only
question is what the Secretary wants to know.”
“Everything! I suppose, Mr. Topham.”
“‘Everything’ is pretty broad. Perhaps I had better write down anything
that I have observed that I think may be of interest to the government,
and submit it to you. Then if there is anything lacking, perhaps you
may be able to discover what it is.”
The ambassador nodded. “Do so, Mr. Topham.”
Topham wrote out his account carefully, choosing his words with
exactitude. He was anxious to tell everything that the secretary could
want to know and yet not to magnify any of it or give any part of it a
significance that it really did not possess.
He had about come to the conclusion that Stiles was wrong and that
the errand of the countess to Japan had nothing whatever to do with
any intrigue against the United States, and he naturally did not wish
to say anything that would create such a belief. Nor did he consider
himself called on to go into his personal relations with the countess.
He gave the paper to the ambassador, who read it, asked no questions,
and presumably cabled its substance to Washington. For the next day
Topham received orders to leave for Washington on the next steamer.
Loud was Stiles’ disgust. “I might have known it,” he cried. “It’s
just like those fellows! They’ve got about half the navy in Washington
already, and want more of it.”
“I think they want me for a special reason,” suggested Topham.
“Oh! I suppose so. Devilish queer about that countess, isn’t it. I
wonder what she really was up to!”
Topham looked the secretary in the eye. “Really! if you don’t mind, I
would rather not discuss her,” he observed gently.
“Oh! no offense! Say, look here, Topham. Your going is lucky in one
sense, because you can do something for me--and for the government--on
your way. Do you remember that Jap colonel--Hakodate his name
was--whom you met here the day after your arrival?”
“Yes! I think so.”
“Would you know him again?”
“I might. I’m not certain! Why?”
“Well! I told you we had native spies. One of them brought in word this
morning that Colonel Hakodate sailed a week ago for San Francisco as
an immigrant and that he carried letters to one Hiroshina, who keeps a
Jap restaurant on Market Street near Kearny. Of course the man may be
lying and of course you may say that there’s nothing in it even if he’s
telling the truth. But it looks dashed funny to me, and I wish you’d
just drop in at that restaurant when you get to San Francisco, and
snoop around a bit. See if you can spot Hakodate there, and see what
he’s up to.”
Topham promised.
That had been two months before and San Francisco was now close at
hand. The glow that hovers above every great city had grown more and
more distinct; the peak of Mt. Tamalpais bisected it and the black bulk
of the low southern shore was faintly visible beneath it. Soon the
channel and range lights grew into visibility. Then the steamer slid
through the heavy rolling waves of the bar into the calm of the outer
bay. Fifteen minutes more and it passed through the Golden Gate and the
great city lay outstretched before it.
Topham looked at his watch and wondered whether he would get ashore in
time to catch the midnight train for the east.
Scarcely had he formulated his wish, when a boat came alongside, and a
fresh young voice hailed the deck.
“This is a launch from Fort Alcatraz,” it explained. “Is Commander
Topham on board? I’ve been sent to land him. Here’s the permit from
quarantine.”
In five minutes Topham was in the boat, speeding shoreward. “Orders
from Washington, Mr. Topham,” explained the officer in charge. “Your
berth has been engaged on the twelve o’clock train. It’s nearly nine
now. Meanwhile I’m at your orders. Will you come out to the fort, or
go straight to Oakland and the train, or do you want to see the Great
White Way in San Francisco first? Command me.”
“Thank you! I’ll go to San Francisco, please. I have an errand to
discharge. Please land me at the foot of Market Street.”
“Just as you say, sir.” The young man spoke to the coxswain and the
boat bore away to the right.
Once landed in the western city, Topham said good-night and started up
Market Street, reading the signs on the lamp posts as he went.
Stiles had not been able to give him the number of the restaurant for
which he was looking, but he knew that it was on Market Street just
below Kearney Street, close to Lotta’s fountain and the Chronicle
Building, which he could see outlined against the sky far up the street.
As he stepped briskly along it occurred to him that there was an
unusual stir in the city, though not being familiar with its ordinary
state he had no means of comparison. Still, it seemed to him that
conditions could not be altogether normal. The people were not moving
about their business, but were congregating in groups here and there.
Now and then there would be a sudden movement to one point or another,
but never for any reason that Topham could see.
As a matter of fact he paid little attention. He was interested in
the task that Stiles had set him--a task for which the three hours
available before his train left for the east might easily prove
anything but superabundant. When at last he caught sight of a
brilliant sign “Hiroshima, Japanese restaurant,” his faint curiosity as
to the crowd disappeared.
But before he could enter the portals of the restaurant a big
workingman--nearly as big a man as himself--barred his way.
“You ain’t goin’ in that Jap hash house, are you, friend?” inquired the
stranger.
Topham halted. “That was--er--my idea,” he responded. “Why not?”
“There is strike on; see? An’ the Japs are boycotted; see? They’re
playin’ the devil with hard-workin’ Americans. And we ain’t goin’ to
stand for it. You want to keep away from there, mister.”
Topham hesitated. His interlocutor was not alone; half a dozen other
men, loafing near, were evidently fellow pickets. Topham did not want
any trouble during the few hours he was to be in the city. Yet he was
resolved to enter the restaurant. The sight of two policemen on guard
at the door decided him to force the game.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I must go in. There are reasons why I can’t
forego having my supper there. Pardon me!” He pushed by and stepped to
the door. As he went he heard the man cursing behind him.
He seated himself and ordered a meal from a bill of fare presented
him by a stocky Japanese waiter, who seemed not at all alarmed by the
situation. Perhaps he had grown hardened to it.
When the waiter had disappeared toward the back of the place Topham
stared around him.
Whether because of the hour or because of the strike, the restaurant
was almost empty. Only two guests beside himself were in the place and
neither of these seemed to be enjoying his meal. Another waiter was
hovering over them, and behind the cashier’s desk sat a Japanese. As
Topham looked this man raised his head and the navy officer recognized
him. It was Colonel Hakodate.
The thing took away Topham’s breath for an instant. Almost he became a
convert to Stiles’ prognostications of war. For it was inconceivable
that a samurai of the bluest Japanese blood, akin to the emperor
himself, and an officer of the imperial army, should turn restaurant
keeper except for grave reasons.
Little time, however was given him to think. From the street without
came a sudden outcry, a sort of chilling yell that brought all in the
place to their feet. Another instant a dozen stones crashed through the
plate-glass windows. Then came a rush of feet and a crowd of men leaped
into the broad doorway. Topham saw the clubs of the two policemen rise
and fall like flails, and saw them forced backward, still fighting.
It was all so sudden, so unexpected, that the head of the crowd was
actually in the room before he realized what was happening. Then he
sprang forward with a yell to the aid of the police.
But he never reached them. The Japs were quicker than he. Before he
had taken two steps, he heard the crash of firearms and saw Colonel
Hakodate and his two waiters standing coolly up pouring shot after shot
into the mass of the mob.
“Banzai! Banzai!” yelled the colonel. “Stand to it, brothers. Remember!
It is the emperor’s command.”
It was only for a second. Then the policemen went down and the mob
rolled in. The Japs disappeared, and Topham snatching up a chair,
breathlessly defended himself against a score of brawny men who swarmed
upon him.
For half a minute he held them at bay. Then a paralyzing blow on the
arm sent his chair crashing from his hands and he saw death staring at
him from a score of maddened eyes.
But before the blow could fall, a woman burst through the circle and
flung herself upon him. One arm she threw around his neck and threw the
other up into the faces of the mob.
“All right! boys! All right,” she cried. “Standt back. Dieses ist mein
mann!”
Topham saw the fire die out of the eyes that circled him. For a moment
their owners hesitated; then--
“Hurrah for Dutch Elsie!” yelled one, and the others took up the cry.
“Hurrah for Dutch Elsie.”
“Out of here. Quick!” the woman was clamoring in the navy man’s ear.
“Quick. The police are coming. Quick!”
But Topham stood still. “You,” he cried. “You!”
“Yes, I! I’ll explain later. But come now! Quick! come! Dios! Come!”
And Topham went.