Okido-sama, the Nakoda, was squatting comfortably upon his heels eating
his warm rice and fish when Richard Verley came to his door. During the
absence of the minister, Okido had apparently prospered. His house was
new. His servants many and obsequious. The one who hastened to respond
to the minister’s knock did not recognize him in the darkened rainy
evening. He perceived only a barbarian and, knowing his master’s trade,
saw in him a possible customer.
Verley was shown into the guest chamber. Shortly came Okido to the room,
fat and oily, discreetly wiping the rice crumbs from his thick lips with
the back of his hands. He was bowing grotesquely at every step as he
came toward the minister, but when he finally lifted his head and saw
who his guest was, he gave such a startled jump that he fell in a heap
on the floor, and there he remained, trembling with fright. Instantly
Verley was convinced that the man knew all about his wife, her
whereabouts, the horrible fate that must have befallen her.
“My wife! You know her whereabouts?”
“Your wife!” stammered the cringing Okido. “What was her august name,
Excellency?”
“You know it. Answer at once.”
“Excellency is honorably mistaken. I do not know the name of the exalted
one’s wife.”
Verley, with no effort at gentleness, seized him by the shoulder of his
robe, and as he spoke shook the trembling wretch threateningly.
“You will answer my question. Understand.”
The Nakoda began to whimper, drawing his sleeve across his eyes and
furtively looking about for a means of escape.
He was poor man, very poor, harmless man. Surely Excellency would not
hurt him.
“Quick. I am waiting.”
“So many people I know,” whimpered the Nakoda. “How I can remember one
woman among them all.”
“You do not need to remember. You already know of whom I speak.”
“She was a tall woman with thin cheeks, yes?” he inquired with attempted
guile.
The minister answered by tightening his grip upon the man’s collar, and
pushing his knuckles hard upon the neck. Okido shrunk fearfully from the
large hand of the white man. He felt sure it would hurt hard. After a
moment:
“She was fat—yes, surely fat!”
“That will do.”
He slipped down to the minister’s feet and beat his head, seeking to
shake off that hand at his neck.
“Listen,” said Richard Verley, “I will give you five minutes in which to
answer. At the end of that time——”
“Excellency will not beat a poor man. Ah, surely not!”
“Excellency will kick the life out of you.”
“No, no.” Okido cast a fearful glance at the minister’s boots. “I will
speak truth. Surely!”
At those words, the minister for a moment forgot his caution, and
slackened the tension at the man’s neck. But in that moment Okido was
free. He had slipped not only from the minister’s grip, but had
disappeared as if by magic through the wall against which he had
crouched.
Richard Verley was alone. He strode from one to the other of the four
walls of the shoji. He threw them all apart and penetrated into the
interior apartments. The servants fled before him with the speed of
wings and disappeared as silently and swiftly as their master. Suddenly
he found himself on the door step. He went down slowly into the street.
Some one called his name. “Excellency! Master—sir!”
He turned quickly and saw the woman Natsu following him.
Her name burst in a cry from his lips, and he rushed toward her.
“Natsu! You! Your mistress—quick, how—where is she?”
Her eyes shifted from his face. She covered her own with her sleeve, and
thus she stood, the picture of sorrow.
The minister stared at her, horrified. When he spoke his voice was
strange.
“I understand,” he said. “She is——”
And so she had died—his little, laughing Azalea, his beautiful
child-wife, had died while he was away from her. He put out his hands
blindly, as the inclination to faint overcame him. He hardly understood
the words the woman spoke.
“Oh, master, master, master!”
But the woman’s voice recalled him. He stared at her mechanically.
Mechanically he spoke.
“I understand,” he said. “She is dead.”
“Dead!” repeated the woman, and shook her head. “No, no, not dead;
better that than what is, O master—sir!”
“Not dead!” His hands unclinched. His fears had lent phantoms to his
imagination. “Alive! Why, then all was well.” His thought escaped his
lips, and the woman answered:
“Better death than sin, O master.”
He could have laughed. What! Was this servant of his trying to frighten
him with her old jealous tales of the insincerity of his wife’s
conversion. The sins of Azalea were microscopic.
“Come, Natsu, let us go to her,” he said impatiently. “Why do you look
at me in that way? Are you, too, seeking to hide her whereabouts from
me?”
“No, master, but if I take you thither, you will curse me for my evil
offices.”
“I don’t understand you, Natsu. You always were a mystery to me. But
now, come. Where is she?”
“Oh, master, seek her not!”
As he still sought to draw her along with him, she slipped down to his
feet and stayed his progress with her head there.
“Why do you seek to deceive me, Natsu? What is the matter with you? Why
do you act thus? What has happened to my wife? Speak!”
Still kneeling, with her head at his feet, she answered:
“She has become wife to Matsuda Isami, Oh, Highness.”
As he did not speak or seem to comprehend her words, she repeated them.
And then, as still he made no sound, she said:
“Isami is richest man in Sanyo. What is there he cannot buy?”
She was seized by the shoulders in a savage grip. Her very teeth smote
together with the shock of his grasp.
“You lie!” he cried. “You lie! Vile thing, you lie, I say!”
[Illustration]
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