High up in one of the topmost chambers of the Hotel Plaza, Nikasti,
after his conference with Von Schwerin and Fischer, sought solitude. He
opened the high windows, out of which he could scarcely see, dragged up
a chest of drawers and perched himself, Oriental fashion, on the top,
his long yellow fingers intertwined around his knees, his soft brown
eyes gazing over the wooded slopes of the Park. He was away from the
clamour of tongues, from the poisoned clouds of sophistry, even from
the disturbance of his own thoughts, incited by specious arguments to
some form of reciprocity. Here he sat in the clouds and searched for
the true things. His eyes seemed to be travelling over the battlefields
of Europe. He saw the swaying fortunes of mighty armies, he looked into
council chambers, he seemed to feel the pulses of the great world force
which kept going this most amazing Juggernaut. He saw the furnaces of
Japan, blazing by night and day; saw the forms of hundreds of thousands
of his fellow creatures bent to their task; saw the streams of ships
leaving his ports, laden down with stores; saw the great guns speeding
across Siberia, the endless trains of ammunition, the rifles, food for
the famine-stricken giants who beat upon the air with empty fists. He
saw the gold come streaming back. He saw it poured into the banks, the
pockets of the merchants, the homes of his people. He saw brightening
days throughout the land. He saw the slow but splendid strength of the
nation rejoicing in its new possibilities. And beyond that, what?
Wealth was the great means towards the great end, but if the great end
were once lost sight of, there was no more hideous poison than that
stream of enervating prosperity. He remembered his own diatribes
concerning the decadence of England; how he had pointed to the gold
poison, to the easy living of the poor, the blatant luxury of the rich.
He had pointed to the soft limbs, the cities which had become pools of
sensuality, to the daily life which, calling for no effort, had seen
the passing of the spirit and the triumph of the gross. And what about
his own people? Mankind was the same the world over. The gold which was
bringing strength and life to the nation might very soon exude the same
poisonous fumes, might very soon be laying its thrall upon a people to
whom living had become an easier thing. However it might be for other,
the Western nations, for his own he firmly believed that war alone,
with its thousand privations, its call to the chivalry of his people,
was the one great safeguard. China! The days had gone by when the
taking of China could inspire. It was to greater things they must look.
Australia. New Zealand! Had any Western race the right to flaunt her
Empire's flag in Asiatic seas? And America! Once again he felt the slow
rising of wrath as he recalled the insults of past years ... the
adventurous sons of his country treated like savages and negroes by
that uncultured, strong-limbed race of coarse-fibered, unimaginative
materialists. There was a call, indeed, to the soul of his country to
avenge, to make safe, the homes and lives of her colonists. Across the
seas he looked into the council chambers of the wise men of his race.
He saw the men whose word would tell. He watched their faces turned
towards him, waiting; heard the beginning of the conflict of thoughts
and minds--blind fidelity to the cause which they had espoused, or a
rougher, more splendid, more selfish stroke for the greatness of Japan
and Japan only. "If we break our faith we lose our honour," one
murmured. "There is no honour save the care of my people," he heard one
of his greatest countrymen reply.
So he sat and thought, revolved in his mind arguments, morals,
philosophy. It was the problem which had confronted the great Emperor,
his own ancestor, who had lived for three months on the floor of the
Temple, asking but one question of the Silent Powers: "Through what
gate shall I lead my nation to greatness?"
The senses of the man who crouched in his curious attitude, with his
eyes still piercing the heavens, were mobile and extraordinary things.
No disturbing sounds had reached him from outside. His isolation seemed
complete and impregnable. Yet, without turning his head, he was
perfectly conscious of the slow opening of the door. His whole frame
stiffened. He was conscious for one bitter second of a lapse from the
careful guarding of his ways. That second passed, however, and left him
prepared even for danger, his brain and muscles alike tense. He turned
his head. The expression of slow surprise, which even parted his lips
and narrowed his eyes, was only half assumed.
"What do you wish?" he asked.
Lutchester did not for a moment reply. He had closed the door behind
him carefully, and was looking around the room now with evident
interest. Its bareness of furniture and decoration were noteworthy, but
on the top of the ugly chest of drawers was a great bowl of roses, a
queer little ivory figure set in an arched frame of copper--a figure
almost sacerdotal, with its face turned towards the east--and a little
shower of rose leaves, which could scarcely have fallen there by
accident, at the foot of the pedestal. Lutchester inclined his head
gravely, as he looked towards it, a gesture entirely reverential,
almost an obeisance. Nikasti's eyes were clouded with curiosity. He
slipped down to the ground.
"I have travelled in your country," Lutchester said gravely, as though
in explanation. "I have visited your temples. I may say that I have
prayed there."
"And now?" Nikasti asked.
"I am for my country what you are for yours," Lutchester proceeded.
"You see, I know when it is best to speak the truth. I am in New York
because you are in New York, and if you leave on Saturday for Japan it
may happen--of this I am not sure--but I say that it may happen that I
shall accompany you."
"I shall be much honoured," Nikasti murmured.
"You came here," Lutchester continued, "to meet an emissary from
Berlin. Your country, which could listen to no official word from any
one of her official enemies, can yet, through you, learn what is in
their minds. You have seen to-day Fischer and the Baron von Schwerin.
Fischer has probably presented to you the letter which he has brought
from Berlin. Von Schwerin has expounded further the proposition and the
price which form part of his offer."
Nikasti's face was imperturbable, but there was trouble in his eyes.
"You have found your way to much knowledge,", he muttered.
"I must find my way to more. I must know what Germany offers you. I
must know what is at the back of your mind when you repeat this offer
in Tokio."
"You can make, then, the unwilling speak?" Nikasti demanded.
"Even that is amongst the possibilities," Lutchester affirmed. "Strange
things have been done for the cause which such as you and I revere."
Nikasti showed his white teeth for a moment in a smile meant to be
contemptuous.
"It is a great riddle, this, which we toss from one to the other," he
observed. "I am the simple valet of two gentlemen living in the hotel.
You have listened, perhaps, to fairy tales, or dreamed them yourself,
sir."
"It is no fairy tale," Lutchester rejoined, "that you are Prince
Nikasti, the third son of the great Marquis Ato, that you and I met
more than once in London when you were living there some years ago;
that you travelled through our country, and drew up so scathing an
indictment of our domestic and industrial position that, but for their
clumsy diplomacy, your country would probably have made overtures to
Germany. Ever since those days I have wondered about you. I have
wondered whether you are with your country in her friendship towards
England."
"I have no friends but my country's friends," Nikasti declared, "no
enemies save her enemies. But to-day those things of which you have
spoken do not concern me. I am the Japanese valet of Mr. Fischer and
Mr. Van Teyl."
Lutchester, as though by accident, came a step further into the room.
Nikasti's eyes never left his face. Perhaps at that moment each knew
the other's purpose, though their tongues clung to the other things.
"Will you talk to me, Japan?" Lutchester asked calmly. "You have
listened to Germany. I am England."
"If you have anything to say," Nikasti replied, "Baron Yung is at
Washington."
"You and I know well," Lutchester continued, "that ambassadors are but
the figureheads in the world's history. Speak to me of the things which
concern our nations, Nikasti. Tell me of the letter you bear to the
Emperor. You have nothing to lose. Sit down and talk to me, man to man.
You have heard Germany. Hear England. Tell me of the promises made to
you within the last hour, and I will show you how they can never be
kept. Let us talk of your country's future. You and I can tell one
another much."
"A valet knows nothing," Nikasti murmured.
Lutchester came a step nearer. Nikasti, in retreating, was now almost
in a corner of the room.
"Listen," Lutchester went on, "for many years I have suspected that you
are an enemy of my country. That is the reason why, when our
Intelligence Department learnt of your mission, I chose to come myself
to meet you. And now we meet, Nikasti, face to face, and all that you
are willing to do for your country, I am willing to do for mine, and
unless you sit down and talk this matter out with me as man to man, you
will not leave New York."
The arm of the Japanese stole with the most perfect naturalness inside
his coat, and Lutchester knew then that the die was cast. The line of
blue steel flashed out too late. The hand which gripped the
strangely-shaped little knife was held as though in a vice, and
Lutchester's other arm was suddenly thrown around the neck of his
assailant, his fingers pressed against his windpipe.
"Drop the knife," he ordered.
It fell clattering on to the hard floor. Nikasti, however, twisted
himself almost free, took a flying leap sideways, and seized his
adversary's leg. In another moment he came down upon the floor with a
crash. Lutchester's grip upon him, a little crueller now, was like a
band of steel.
"There are many ways of playing this game. It is you who have chosen
this one," he said. "It's no use, Nikasti. I know as much of your own
science as you do. You're my man now until I choose to let you free,
and before I do that I am going to read the letter which you are taking
to Japan."
Nikasti's eyes were red with fury, but every movement was torture.
Lutchester held him easily with one hand, felt over him with the other,
drew the letter from his vest, and, shaking it free from its envelope,
held it out and read it. When he had finished, he replaced it in the
envelope and pushed it back into the other's breast pocket.
"Now," he directed, "you can get up."
Nikasti scrambled to his feet. There were livid marks under his eyes.
For a moment he had lost all his vitality, he was like a beaten
creature.
"You would never have done this," he muttered, "ten years ago, I grow
old."
"So that is the letter which you are taking to your Emperor!"
Lutchester said. "You think it worth while! You can really see the
German fleet steaming past the British Isles, out into the Atlantic,
and bombarding New York!"
Nikasti made no reply. Lutchester looked at him for a moment
thoughtfully. There was a light once more in the beaten man's eyes--a
queer, secretive gleam. Lutchester stooped down and picked up the knife
from the floor.
"Nikasti," he enjoined, "listen to me, for your country's sake. The
promise contained in that letter is barely worth the paper it is
written on, so long as the British fleet remains what it is. But, apart
from that, I tell you here, of my own profound conviction--and I will
prove it to you before many days are past--Germany does not intend to
keep this promise."
Nikasti made no reply. His face was expressionless.
"Germany has but one idea," Lutchester continued. "She means to play
you and America off against one another. I have found out her offer to
you. All I can say is, if you take it seriously you are not the man I
think you. Now I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to
find out her offer to America. I will bring that to you, and you shall
see the two side by side. Then you shall know how much you can rely
upon a country whose diplomacy is bred and born of lies, who cheats at
every move of the game, who makes you a deliberate offer here which she
never has the least intention of keeping. Have you anything to say to
me, Nikasti?"
Nikasti raised his eyes for one moment.
"I have nothing to say," he replied. "I am the valet of Mr. Fischer and
Mr. Van Teyl. These things are not of my concern."
Lutchester shrugged his shoulders.
"Whatever you may be," he concluded, "and however much you may resent
all that has happened, I know that you will wait. I might go direct to
Washington, but I prefer to come to you, if it remains possible. Before
you leave this country we will meet again, and, when you have heard me,
you will tear that letter which you are treasuring next your heart into
small pieces."
Lutchester turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Nikasti crouched in his place without movement. The ache in his heart
seemed to be shining out of his face. He turned slowly towards the
little figure of black ivory, his head drooped lower--he was filled
with a great shame.