ALMOST
After dinner that evening, Ashton-Kirk looked over the last edition of
the papers. About eight o'clock he arose, stretched himself contentedly,
and then went to a stand, a drawer of which he pulled open. From this he
took several black, squat-looking pistols of the automatic type, and one
by one balanced them in his hand. Selecting the one which struck his
fancy, he slipped it into his pocket and prepared to go out.
"Shall you leave any word, sir?" asked Stumph, in the lower hall.
The secret agent paused for a moment. Then he scribbled something on a
card and gave it to the man.
"If I do not return by morning, get Fuller on the telephone and read
this to him," said he.
"Very good, sir."
At the station Ashton-Kirk was forced to wait some little time for a
train; and when, finally, he rang the bell at Okiu's door in Eastbury,
it was a trifle past nine o'clock.
There was a delay after he rang; the house was gloomy; not a light
showed at any of the windows; from all indications it may have been
deserted. But through the tail of his eye he caught a slight stirring of
a curtain at a window upon the lower floor.
"They seem to be very careful," mused the secret agent. "I am much
favored, as, apparently, they do not admit any one who is not thoroughly
convincing."
After another brief space, the door was opened. Ashton-Kirk saw a dim
hall and a short man of enormous girth.
"Mr. Okiu?" asked the secret agent.
"He is at home," replied the fat man. "Who are you?"
The secret agent gave his name, and at once the man stood aside.
"I will tell him that you are here," said he, as Ashton-Kirk entered.
"Will you sit down?"
He indicated a hall chair with much politeness; but Ashton-Kirk nodded
and remained standing. There was a single incandescent lamp burning in
the hall, and its yellow rays barely lit up the dark corners. At the end
was a railed stairway which led to the rooms above; and along the hall
there was a dark array of tightly-closed doors. However, these things
got but a glance from the secret agent. The Japanese who had admitted
him attracted his notice.
This latter had a huge, round head and a fat, brutal face, and his
immense body gave him the appearance of an overfed animal. His skin
glistened with a high-smelling oil; when he moved, its scent was
particularly heavy and unpleasant. Everything about him seemed to
promise inertia, ponderous movements, shortness of breath. But this
promise was not kept, for he passed down the hall with a light, quick
step; then he sprang at the staircase and went bounding up like an
enormous rubber ball.
There was something in this so unexpected, so utterly tiger-like, that
Ashton-Kirk felt the nerves of his scalp prickle.
"Rather a formidable sort," he murmured, and as he spoke his hand went
to his outer coat pocket as though to assure himself that the squat,
black pistol was still there. "One might hold him off and hit him to
pieces; but let him break down a guard and come to grappling and he'd
afford astonishing entertainment."
In a few moments the fat man reappeared. He paused half-way down the
stairway, and the light rays were reflected in his slanting eyes as he
fixed them upon the secret agent.
"You will come with me, please," he said.
Unhesitatingly Ashton-Kirk followed him up the stairs and along a hall
upon the second floor. A door at the rear stood open, and at a round
table, under a powerful light, sat Okiu. At sight of the visitor this
latter arose, a welcoming smile upon his placid face.
"Sir," said he, "you are too good. I am delighted beyond measure."
Ashton-Kirk shook the outheld hand.
"I am pleased to be asked here," said he. "I could have hoped for
nothing that would have agreed so well with my inclinations."
The heavy lids partially veiled the black searching eyes of the
Japanese; but the bland, childlike face was as expressionless as before.
"You are polite," smiled Okiu, still shaking the secret agent's hand.
"But I knew you would be so. All persons of real parts are kind and
ready to place the stranger at his ease."
Then turning to the other Japanese, who remained waiting in the doorway,
he added:
"Sorakicha, give the gentleman a chair."
With rapid, soft, tiger-like steps, Sorakicha advanced; lifting a
high-backed chair he placed it at the side of the table opposite where
Okiu had been sitting. And when the secret agent walked around the table
he came face to face with the man as he was about to leave the room.
"Sorakicha," said Ashton-Kirk, "I think you have been a wrestler."
The brutal face became a mass of yellow corrugations; a set of broad,
well-worn teeth shone whitely.
"I have been a champion," said he proudly.
Ashton-Kirk nodded, and critically his keen eyes ran over the monstrous
form before him.
"You are strong," said he. Then darting out one of his slim hands he
grasped the thick wrist of the wrestler. Instantly the man caught the
meaning of the act and his huge, blubber-like body grew rigid with
effort. There was a pause full of striving; the eyes of the two were
savage, the teeth shut tightly, the breath swelling in the lungs. Then,
slowly, the thick arm of the Oriental bent upward until the clinched
hand touched the shoulder; and at this Ashton-Kirk released him and
stepped back.
For a moment the amazement which the wrestler felt was plain; but again
the fat face broke into yellow corrugations.
"You, too, are strong," said he. "But it was a trick."
"The proper use of strength is made up of tricks," answered Ashton-Kirk,
simply.
Okiu had witnessed this little incident with a smiling calm. And now he
said to his countryman:
"And so, my friend, you have met your match at hand grasps? I told you
it would be so. But," and he turned to Ashton-Kirk, "I did not expect to
see it in a man like you." There was a curiously speculative look in the
half-closed eyes as they examined the tall, well-built form of the
white man. "But," he went on, "experience is knowledge, is it not? And
to profit by experience," to Sorakicha, gently, "is the sign of wisdom.
So remember, my friend," and he smiled as he spoke, "remember that Mr.
Ashton-Kirk is strong."
"I will not forget," replied the wrestler, his well-worn teeth shining.
And with that he left the room, the door shutting quietly behind him.
Ashton-Kirk sat down, as did his host. The latter fluttered the pages of
a great, uncouthly made book which lay before him; his yellow,
beautifully-shaped hands touched the leaves with careful gentleness; it
were as though the volume were a child which he was caressing.
"Again," said he, "I will tell you that I am greatly favored by your
coming. I had not hoped for so much when I wrote you, for I knew," and
here his voice grew even softer than before, "that your time was greatly
occupied just now."
"We all have our occupations," replied Ashton-Kirk, suavely, "but even
when one is interested, one can always find a little time to devote to
others."
"I suppose that is so," said Okiu, thoughtfully. "However, I who am a
mere idler, so to speak, know very little of the value of time. Day
after day, night after night, I spend wandering in the ancient gardens
of Nippon. There are no singers like these," and one pointed finger
indicated some shelves filled with books and scrolls; "there are no
written words quite so full of beauty."
"The poets of one's own nation are always the most touching," said
Ashton-Kirk. "This is especially so of the old poets. Sometimes we take
down a dusty, musty old fellow from a top shelf where he has long lain
neglected, and being in the humor for it, we are startled by the
sweetness of his vision. There is a fragrance about ancient memories
which is irresistible. The distance, perhaps, has something to do with
it. Yesterday has no perspective for the most of us; but 'yester year'
is deep with it, for all."
Okiu nodded.
"The ancient peoples had their prophets and their oracles," said he,
"and their gods spoke through them. But the shades of the old Nipponese
speak to me through the messages of the poets. The virtue of the dead is
here accumulated; the wisdom of my holy ancestors leaps up to me from
the pages of my books." Caressingly, the wonderful hands touched the
faded pages of the volume upon the table. "There are no thoughts so
reverent as these," he went on; "there are no gardens so still, so full
of quiet odors, so slumberous under the stars. And there is no moon so
silent, or so wan and soft in searching out the secret paths beneath
the flowering trees, where the shadows walk hand in hand."
"But," said Ashton-Kirk, "the great bulk of your countrymen have
forgotten these dreams of a past time. Modern progress seems to interest
them more than anything else."
Again the Japanese nodded.
"Progress was forced upon them," said he, and then with a smile, he
added: "It would be strange, would it not, if they should outstrip their
teachers?"
"It is a thing which has happened before now."
"Napoleon, I have read, once declined to molest the Chinese because he
feared to teach them his own great art, and so put the power in their
hands which might eventually crush him and his nation." Okiu laughed
softly, and his polished nails picked at the edges of the book. "The
Corsican, my friend, was not quite so venturesome as your merchants."
"Your history will point out to you the fact that soldiers are seldom so
daring as those in quest of trade. In most cases the trader is first
upon the ground; and the troops come later."
"In any event," replied Okiu, "your merchants desired the trade which
the Dutch possessed, and that desire, in the end, made Japan a nation to
be reckoned with. The more imitative the people, say your own
philosophers, the greater their future development. And no one,"
gently, "can say that my countrymen have not kept their eyes open."
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
"It is a way they have," said he. "And people who keep their eyes open
learn much."
"But not all," said Okiu. "The eyes will not tell us all." He arose and
walked to the window; the starlight was but dim, and there was no moon.
"Much as I might desire to see what is passing out there," said he,
after a moment, "I cannot do so. And it is so with other desires. Many
things which we might wish to know are hidden from us, some in one way,
some in another."
Ashton-Kirk said nothing in reply to this; there was a marked pause,
then the Japanese went on:
"The other night as I stood here, I saw----" he turned upon the secret
agent. "You recall what I told you?"
"Very clearly."
"I saw moving shadows, then I saw a man hurrying away. I should have
liked to have seen more, but I could not--and so I went to the house
over there to see what a closer look would do for me."
"And to tell Dr. Morse what you had seen."
"As you say, of course. And then I saw you--a friend of the family
of--was it two days' duration, or three?"
"Two only."
"Thank you."
Okiu looked out into the night; his arms were folded, his legs very wide
apart, his back turned toward the secret agent. Usually there is
something peculiarly disconcerting in a squarely turned back; it is so
blank, it tells so little. However, this was not so in the case of Okiu.
His bland, lineless face told nothing; whereas in his attitude there was
a purpose which Ashton-Kirk read easily. And, reading it, he looked
carefully but swiftly about the room.
The table was between himself and the closed door; a pair of heavy
curtains hung behind him. To all appearances these protected some open
book shelves, but a rapid swing of his light stick showed the secret
agent that their real purpose was to conceal a doorway. Calmly he sat
back in his chair, nursing his cane, his keen eyes upon the figure at
the window.
"I think," now resumed Okiu, "that I remarked at the time how short a
space there was between your forming the acquaintance of Dr. Morse and
his death. You meet him one night and he dies the next."
The tongue clicked against the roof of the mouth pityingly; it were as
though the coincidence excited his grief.
"I have always understood that you Americans were an impatient people.
You have the reputation, whether deserved or not, of forcing things
which do not happen as promptly as you would have them. This in itself
is an excellent trait at times, for it saves one from imposition of many
sorts. But it does not always serve." Here Okiu turned and faced the
secret agent. His face was as bland and meaningless as ever, and his
voice was low pitched and gentle, as he proceeded. "No," said he, "it
does not always serve. As it has resulted in this case, Dr. Morse is
dead, and you have not benefited in the least."
Ashton-Kirk looked at him with steady eyes; there was not the slightest
surprise in the secret agent's face, and his tone was unruffled as he
replied:
"I think I understand."
"I am quite sure that you do," replied Okiu, with equal suavity. He
resumed his seat at the table; and once more he began lovingly to
flutter the leaves of the ancient book. "That the methods pursued in
this case should be resorted to by a barbarous nation," said he, and a
gleam of mockery appeared in the slanting eyes, "would be the expected
thing; but that a Christian government should so stoop is something of a
surprise."
"Oh! You were surprised, then?"
"Only mildly. You see, I have been employed upon many international
occasions, and know the requirements of a secret agent. When the case
demands it, he does not hesitate. But," and here the smooth hands
gestured their disapproval, "this case did not demand it. Nothing was to
be gained by the mere death of this Englishman."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"In that," said he, "I agree with you."
"I do not know," continued Okiu, "what put you upon the scent, but that
a person possessing sufficient acumen to strike it at all should at the
same time be so great a bungler as to do that," and one leveled finger
indicated the Morse house, the lights of which could be seen through the
window, "astonishes me."
Ashton-Kirk bent the light cane into a bow across his knee; his
expression was that of a man waiting for an expected something to be
said or done. There was now a pause of some duration. Okiu studied the
man before him in the same impersonal fashion with which a man studies a
mounted insect, then he resumed:
"I have heard of you very favorably, and had counted upon one day having
the pleasure of testing myself against you; but now----" again the
remarkable hands gestured, this time to complete the sentence.
"I'm sorry you have been disappointed."
"You are not nearly so sorry as I, believe me." The heavy lids drooped
over the piercing eyes in a way which Ashton-Kirk had already come to
regard as a warning of something ulterior. "You have been searching the
house?" he asked.
Ashton-Kirk laughed lightly.
"Who has not?" he inquired.
Okiu joined in the laugh.
"It has all been labor wasted," said he. "Dr. Morse was not the man to
leave valuable property lying about." Again he regarded the secret agent
intently, and once more resumed: "I suppose by this time you have not so
much hope of coming on anything as you once had?"
Ashton-Kirk allowed the cane to spring back straight; with a look of
unconcern he made reply.
"On the contrary," said he, "I was never quite so sure as I am just
now."
Okiu stared, and then came slowly to his feet.
"You have found it?"
"No." And Ashton-Kirk yawned contentedly. "But I could place my hands in
a very few moments upon the person who has."
At this the palms of the Japanese came together softly.
"Why," said he, and his voice was full of gentle surprise, "perhaps I
have been mistaken in my opinion of you, after all."
"Perhaps," answered Ashton-Kirk.
But for all the secret agent's seeming ease of manner, at the soft slap
of the Oriental's hands, his every sense had grown alert; and now his
ear caught a rustling behind him which said plainly that some one had
stepped quietly into the room. An instant later, a peculiar, high scent
as of an Eastern oil reached his nostrils; and though he did not turn
his head, he knew that the newcomer was the wrestler, Sorakicha.