Lieutenant Katura stood in the long counting-room of the Okugawa Bank,
a film of despair over his eyes, while Toruma and Hata, their words
exhausted, looked on helplessly. Just then a young man, perhaps an
American, well-dressed, keen, hustling and alert, bustled up to them.
“Will you pardon my addressing you?” he asked. “I was at the American
Club, and from the look on your face, sir, I fear that you may have
been made the butt of too rough a piece of work.”
“What do you mean, sir?” hastily asked Lieutenant Toruma, for Katura
seemed incapable of speaking.
“Why, I saw you three on your way out through the crush around the coat
room,” explained the stranger. “With you was one of my countrymen, I
should judge.”
“An American, yes,” Toruma nodded.
“I saw him play a little trick on your friend here,” nodding at Katura.
“At the time I did not think much about it, and I might have forgotten
it, had not business brought me here. But my first look at you made me
feel certain that something was wrong.”
“Something _is_ wrong,” replied Lieutenant Toruma quickly. “But what
was it that you saw near the coat room of the American Club?”
“I saw my countryman slip his hand in one of your pockets, sir,”
continued the stranger, addressing Katura. “He took out some small
object—a lacquer box, I should say, but I cannot be sure.”
“It _was_ a lacquer box!” cried Katura, a fierce light leaping to his
eyes, while his face, first paling, next turned to a deep red hue. “It
is a lacquer box that I have just missed.”
“And Mr. Darrin remarked that he felt much tempted to steal it,” broke
in Lieutenant Hata.
“Be still, Hata, please,” begged Katura, recovering his own dignity.
“Mr. Darrin is an American officer and a gentleman, not a thief!”
“I trust I haven’t intruded, and that I haven’t made any trouble,” the
stranger went on, hastily, “but you appeared to me to be in so much
trouble that, as a gentleman, I felt I must speak to you.”
“And I thank you from the bottom of my heart, sir!” cried Katura, his
eyes once more gleaming fiercely, despite the gentleness of his words.
“It was probably all a joke,” the stranger smiled, “but I am glad if I
have been able to save you from any anguish of mind. Of course you will
see my countryman—Barron, did you say his name is? I know that I may
rely upon you all not to bring me into the matter.”
“You may depend upon us for the courtesy that is due to one gentleman
from others,” promised Lieutenant Toruma.
Then, as their informant left them, the three Japanese held swift,
sorrowful conference.
“Of course we must go to the hotel at once and see Mr. Darrin,”
proposed Toruma.
“I feel that it will be necessary,” bowed Katura. “But let none of my
friends suspect that it was more than a joke. An American officer and
gentleman could not be an intentional thief.”
“Even as a joke it was in very, very bad taste,” declared Lieutenant
Hata slowly and gravely.
“Say not so,” urged Katura. “Let us say nothing, and suspect or accuse
no gentleman.”
“But let us go to the Imperial Hotel as fast as possible,” urged
Lieutenant Toruma.
“By all means,” agreed Hata.
So Katura, who was sorrowful and dazed, felt thankful that he had loyal
friends with him to do his thinking for him at this moment.
Not many minutes were needed for reaching the Imperial. Three little
Japanese officers, with smiling faces, entered and went to the desk in
the hotel office.
“We desire to see Mr. Darrin of the American Navy,” declared Toruma,
speaking in Japanese to the clerk, who was a fellow-countryman.
“I regret much to say that Mr. Darrin is out,” replied the clerk.
“Then may we do ourselves the honor of waiting until your guest
returns?” asked Hata.
“Officers of his majesty the Emperor will confer distinction upon this
poor hotel by deigning to wait,” replied the clerk.
So the three Japanese officers walked into a parlor, where they took
seats, knowing that they would be notified when Ensign Darrin
reappeared at the hotel.
At about this time, Belle, who had been absent from her rooms for a few
moments, was looking diligently for the note that had accompanied the
lacquer box.
“I closed and locked the door when I went out, so I can’t understand
what has happened to that note,” mused Belle Darrin perplexedly, as she
hunted about the room.
The medallion itself still lay on the table, but to that the young wife
now paid no heed.
So much did the disappearance of the note perplex her that Belle spent
some minutes in the vain search for it.
At last, a perplexed frown on her face, she again picked up the lacquer
box and stood gazing at the exquisite, precious medallion.
Below, Dave entered the hotel. He passed quickly through, going to the
stairs.
Not immediately did he go to his apartment. First of all he turned down
a corridor on the second floor to speak to Lieutenant Barbes from the
“Katahdin.”
But the clerk, who saw Dave pass through the lobby, himself stepped
into the parlor where the three Japanese lieutenants waited. Bowing
very low, the clerk informed them that Mr. Darrin had returned and had
gone to his apartment.
“The number of that apartment?” cried Toruma.
The clerk gave the number, forgetting to add that Mrs. Darrin was also
there. Nor did the Japanese officers remember that Dave was married.
So, Toruma leading the way, the three filed up the stairs, sought the
apartment, and knocked on the door.
Inside, Belle, the lacquer box in her hand, and supposing that it was a
servant who had knocked, stepped over to open the door.
And there she stood in the doorway, the lacquer box in her hand, the
medallion plainly showing.
The eyes of the three young officers immediately turned toward that
priceless heirloom, not a betraying sign came to their faces.
“A thousand pardons, madam,” begged Toruma. “We have knocked at the
wrong door. We sought the apartment of Mr. Darrin.”
“Then you have found the right door,” smiled Belle. “I am Mrs. Darrin.
Unfortunately, my husband is out.”
“We were wrongly informed that he had returned,” apologized Toruma,
bowing low. “We crave a thousand pardons, and hasten to withdraw.”
“Shall I tell Mr. Darrin who called?” asked Belle.
“We shall do ourselves the honor to see Mr. Darrin soon after he
returns,” replied Lieutenant Toruma sweetly, in a voice in which there
was no suspicion of menace.
“Who asks for me, gentlemen?” hailed a merry voice, as Ensign Dave
Darrin rounded a turn in the corridor, and came upon the party.
“Toruma? Katura? Hata? This _is_ a pleasure.”
“We shall go to the main parlor below,” said Toruma courteously, taking
the hand that Dave extended, as did the others. “May we hope to see you
there, sir, at your own convenience?”
“I will be down inside of five minutes,” Dave promised lightly, and the
Japanese bowed themselves away.
Unconsciously Belle had thrown behind her the hand that held the
lacquer box. For that reason Dave did not see it until he had stepped
inside and had closed the door after him.
Then, of a sudden, young Mrs. Darrin remembered her surprise, and held
forward the box in such a way as to display the medallion lying in it.
“I have something strange, Dave dear, to tell you about this,” she
announced.
With an astonished cry Dave caught up the box.
“Why it is—it must be—the heirloom that Katura showed me at the
American Club this morning,” he uttered.
“Mr. Katura’s?” echoed Belle.
“Yes. And so he came here and offered it to you? Belle, my dear, we
cannot accept such—”
“Oh, do you think it could have been Mr. Katura who sent it to me?” the
young wife asked.
“Sent it to you? Don’t you know who gave it to you?” Ensign Darrin
asked, in amazement. “Didn’t he hand it to you just now?”
“Oh, no, indeed!” Belle exclaimed. “Listen, Dave.”
Thereupon Mrs. Darrin related all she knew of the matter. She and Dave
spent some minutes together in hunting for the strange note, which
could not be found.
“No use in looking any further,” Darrin declared, at last. “Besides
Katura is waiting for me below. I will take this medallion back to him.
Certainly he can clear up the matter for me.”
Full of uprightness of purpose Dave Darrin started below, to face a
storm that was certain to be past his comprehension.