A STARTLING INTERRUPTION
WALTER OGDEN’S glance roved around the dinner table as he kept up
a brisk conversation with his right hand neighbor, and a sense of
triumph replaced his concealed anxiety. The dinner was unquestionably a
success, in point of service, decorations, appointments, and the social
standing of the guests. Ogden’s contact with the world had taught
him not only the value of money, but when to spend it with the best
results. He practiced his creed, “dollar diplomacy,” at home as well as
abroad. His wife’s success deserved reward, he mentally decided, and
picked out a diamond-studded wrist watch at which Mrs. Ogden had cast
longing eyes when in the jeweler’s two days before.
Mrs. Ogden, seated between a South American ambassador and a high
dignitary of the church who had recently come to Washington, helped
herself to the salad with a distinct feeling of elation. The dinner
had moved smoothly, no lull in the conversation, no _contretemps_
such as anxious hostesses feel even to their finger tips, had marred
the pleasure of the evening. And it had not opened auspiciously.
On returning from the dining room with Professor Norcross after
rearranging the decorations, she had found Lois McLane standing in
the hall, and together they had walked into the drawing room and
into a tableau. No other word in Mrs. Ogden’s vocabulary fitted the
situation. Patterson’s ill-suppressed fury; Ethel’s flushed cheeks;
Dr. McLane’s suave manner, and Barclay’s sparkling eyes and air of
elation, all indicated a scene. What it was about she had no idea,
for they had talked inanities, all, that is, except, Barclay, who had
excused himself and left the room. Mrs. Ogden had heartily wished it
was the house--she was commencing to regard her handsome cousin as her
Frankenstein monster, and everything transpiring out of the ordinary
she attributed to his disquieting influence. He was actually making
her nervous. She had seen to it that the width of the table separated
him from Ethel, and but for the presence of Maru Takasaki, would have
assigned James Patterson to take Ethel out to dinner. But Ethel was
most decidedly the proper person to entertain the Japanese attaché, and
Ogden had assured her that Representative Patterson and Takasaki and
his wife must be put as far apart as possible.
Discovering that the ambassador was deep in conversation with the woman
seated on his right, Mrs. Ogden turned to the churchman who was her
left-hand neighbor.
“I am admiring your beautiful china and glass,” he said, finishing his
salad with due enjoyment.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Ogden smiled delightfully. She greatly respected the
bishop, and his benign manner had a soothing influence on her volatile
nature which was restful as well as comforting. “I am glad you like it.
This is my first winter in Washington----”
“Mine, too,” interposed the bishop, smiling. “We are both in a sense
missionaries--you have come to Washington to teach society how to
live--while I have come to teach it how to die.”
A low laugh from Ethel, who had overheard his comment, caused the
bishop to turn from his flurried hostess. “And what is Miss Ogden
doing?” he asked.
“Teaching also,” she answered.
“The heathen?” and the bishop’s smile was infectious.
“Foreign diplomats,” Ethel looked demurely at her plate. “And Mr.
Takasaki is so ungrateful that he is urging me to give up lessons and
try writing.”
“Ah, and so increase your sphere of teaching?” The bishop was enjoying
himself. “Why not try your hand at writing a tract which would be a
‘best seller’? _That_ would be a greater achievement than writing a
popular novel.”
“And require greater genius,” laughed Ethel. Her old buoyant spirit
had returned since the scene in the drawing room. Her faith in
Julian Barclay was not misplaced; his behavior in the face of James
Patterson’s charges had proved that. And Patterson’s attack upon his
character had not been backed up by Leonard McLane, as he had evidently
expected and counted upon. And vindicated in one instance, Barclay
would be also cleared of any implication in the murder of Dwight
Tilghman, so ran Ethel’s subconscious thoughts, and her heart was
filled with a great thanksgiving. Even unemotional Takasaki met her
gay smile with a show of responsiveness, and the bishop had eaten his
dinner with greater relish for the added spice of her merry mood.
“Genius is so misdirected these days,” sighed the bishop. “And few
writers make the distinction between strength and coarseness. You can
congratulate yourself, Mr. Takasaki,” as the Japanese attaché turned
to join in their conversation, “that the problem novel has not struck
Japan.”
Takasaki, when in doubt, always smiled, and the bishop envied him his
strong white teeth. “Sanètomo Ito is our great national political
writer,” he said. “He solves all what you call problems on paper.”
“I forgot your problems are mainly political,” responded the bishop,
concealing a smile. “Ours, alas, embrace the home. What did you say,
Mrs. Ogden?” and the bishop turned and gave his full attention to his
hostess.
“Sanètomo Ito,” Ethel repeated the name thoughtfully. “Is he known in
this country, Mr. Takasaki?”
“His writing have been given in English, and I believe are read by
the most studious,” replied the Japanese. “And he travel here once or
twice.”
“Has this Mr. Ito any relatives in the United States?” asked Ethel.
Takasaki considered the question before replying. “Many Itos in Nippon,
Mees Ogden; and one most high admiral; but I no keep track of family
member. You met a Nipponese name Ito?” and Ethel became conscious that
his black eyes were boring into her with the intentness of his gaze.
“I have not met him, only seen him,” she corrected. “Yoshida Ito.”
The Japanese attaché shook his head. “I know Itos, but no Yoshida. You
think my wife look well?” and by his manner Ethel knew that the topic
of Yoshida Ito was to be taboo between them. She had tried too often
to make Japanese discuss matters which they wished avoided, not to
know the futility of such proceedings, and she accepted the change of
conversation with good grace.
To James Patterson the dinner appeared never ending. He was furiously
angry with Julian Barclay and Leonard McLane; but for the latter’s
extraordinary conduct in the drawing room Julian Barclay would have
been exposed and sent about his business. He could not conceive what
had induced McLane to shield Barclay--he did McLane the justice to
admit that money considerations would not influence him. Perhaps after
all he was wrong, and Julian Barclay was the man he pretended to be.
Patterson looked at Barclay, who sat on his side of the round table;
no, he must be right, he could almost swear to his identity--but
McLane? Patterson shook his head in bewilderment. There was nothing for
it but to await the answer to his telegram.
“A penny for your thoughts?” said a soft voice at his side, and facing
about Patterson smiled at Lois McLane, a happy edition of the Lois
Tremaine whose troubled courtship had carried her along the path of
crime safely to the altar with the man she worshiped.
“Can you not guess my thoughts?” asked Patterson.
“Well, judging by your glances, I imagine you are wishing you were
seated by Ethel Ogden in place of the Japanese,” and Lois laughed
mischievously. “It’s not very complimentary to me, but----”
“There are extenuating circumstances,” completed Patterson, reddening.
He had not realized that his absorption in Ethel was observed by
others, and as he seldom took teasing in good part, he hastened to
change the conversation. “I cannot cure the Ogdens of inviting Japanese
to their house; some day these Japs will bite the hand that feeds them.”
“Did I not see an item in yesterday’s paper that Japan would shortly
vacate Kiao-Chau, which they took from the Germans?” asked Lois,
striving to get away from personalities.
“Oh, yes, that is published periodically,” Patterson crumbled his
cracker with impatient fingers. “Japan cares very little to colonize
in China; her people cannot compete with other Orientals; here they
can live on a few grains of rice a day, while our laborers require a
full dinner pail. They will work all day without complaint, and will
underbid any laborer in the land.”
“Why don’t they seek new lands to conquer?”
“Because the Japanese are not pioneers; their method is to colonize
in cultivated land, to insidiously work their way to the top, and to
control the local government,” retorted Patterson. “They are doing
that daily in Mexico, buying concessions, here, there, and everywhere.
It was owing to their influence that our troops were attacked at
Carrizal.”
“Really?” Lois looked her surprise, but before she could continue
Patterson’s attention was claimed by the woman on his left, and she sat
silent, not wishing to break into the discussion which Julian Barclay,
on her right, was having with his dinner partner. Lois had not met
Barclay before, having accompanied her husband to Atlanta, but what she
had heard of him had awakened her interest. She was often guided by
first impressions, and she was still debating in her mind whether she
liked Barclay or not, when he turned and looked at her.
“Be a good Samaritan, Mrs. McLane,” he said, “and tell me who is
sitting next each other on the other side of this centerpiece.”
“I can see only one corner of the table,” Lois craned her head and
looked around the bed of roses which formed the centerpiece. “Ethel
Ogden is sitting between the bishop, and Mr. Takasaki. Ethel is lovely
tonight”--in a burst of enthusiasm. “If I were a man I’d be mad about
her.”
“Far be it from me to disagree with your opinion.” Barclay laughed
but the look in his eyes won Lois’ sympathy. “I think Miss
Ogden--perfection. Have you known her long?”
“Oh, we were chums at boarding school. I am devoted to the whole
family. Unfortunately, their income has been curtailed of late years,
and Ethel insists on being independent, and as you probably know, gives
English lessons and does secretary work.”
“It is greatly to her credit,” agreed Barclay warmly. “In all my
travels, Mrs. McLane, I have yet to find a race whose women compare to
ours.”
“If such are your sentiments”--Patterson broke rudely into the
conversation, and for the first time since their interview in the
drawing room, addressed Barclay directly. “Why have you expatriated
yourself?”
“You are mistaken. I never renounce what I admire and love,” answered
Barclay curtly, and turned back to his dinner partner.
There was a brief silence, which Lois made no attempt to break, and
Patterson, too angry to speak, emptied his champagne glass.
“Ogden has an excellent wine cellar,” he commented, putting down his
glass. “Ever heard how he made his money?”
“No, except that Ethel once said he held heavy interests in the Pacific
shipping trade with the Far East.”
“Humph! Most of the carrying trade between the Pacific Coast and the
Orient has been transferred to Japanese steamship lines,” remarked
Patterson thoughtfully. “I’m afraid he’ll find he has made a poor
investment, unless--Ever been to Guam?”
“Yes. It is a delightful naval station.”
“Quite true, also one of our most strategic points, and not far away,
commanding the entrance of Guam, is Jaluit Island, of the Marshall
group, which was seized by the Japanese from the Germans. It is
strongly fortified, another Gibraltar in fact,” Patterson spoke with
growing earnestness. “If we have interests in the Far East, it is time
to take steps to safeguard them, or they will vanish in a night.”
“I do recall that when we stopped at Hawaii I was struck by the
hundreds of Japanese in Honolulu and its vicinity,” said Lois. “Did I
not hear that the Japanese had also taken the Caroline Islands near the
Philippines, from the Germans?”
“They have,” grimly.
“But what can the Japs really do to us?” questioned Lois. “They could
not hope to conquer this great nation.”
“Their hopes, so far, only include dominion over the Pacific Ocean, and
to get that they must fight us. Alaska, with its still unexplored and
undeveloped wealth, the Philippines, our trade with China, all will
be jeopardized,” Patterson declined more wine. “And Japan’s latest
diplomatic move, her treaty with Russia, is giving grave concern to
European nations.”
“But Russia has always been our friend,” objected Lois. “She would not
befriend Japan against us.”
“We have not one treaty with Russia today,” Patterson spoke
impressively. “Japan and Russia hope to work their will in China
unmolested.”
“You are too pessimistic,” chided Lois.
“No. Americans jeer and laugh at the idea of war with Japan; so did
England and France receive the idea of another great European war--and
war came, engineered by mighty Germany. The same spirit of German
militarism is abroad in Japan today--and the American nation will only
recognize it when all our lines of communication to the Pacific are
cut, and the fight is on.”
“Hush!” Lois laid a cautioning hand on his sleeve. “Not so loud, Mr.
Patterson, the ambassador is listening, and both Mr. and Mrs. Takasaki
understand English.”
“People always stop talking at a dinner at the wrong moment,” grunted
Patterson, however lowering his voice. “What is it, Charles?” as the
butler stopped at his side.
“A letter for you, sor; came special, sor,” and the butler laid a
square envelope at his plate.
“Will you pardon me, Mrs. McLane,” Patterson took up the envelope and
slit the flap with his fruit knife. “I asked my secretary to send on
anything important, as I am expecting”--as he spoke he jerked at the
contents of the envelope, which gave all at once and a photograph,
face up, shot into Lois’ lap. Finding but a slippery resting place on
her silk gown, it would have continued its flight to the floor, but
Barclay’s hand retrieved it.
“Yours?” he asked, handing the photograph to her, and Lois was
conscious that his voice sounded strained.
“No, it belongs to Mr. Patterson.” Lois turned to hand it to its owner,
and was startled by his expression. Patterson took the photograph
mechanically.
“Smell anything?” he demanded, and Lois drew in a long breath.
“Good heavens!” she ejaculated. “It is----”
“Fire!”
Wheeling spasmodically about, Julian Barclay caught a glimpse of
Yoshida Ito’s yellow face peering out from inside the portières, and
again the cry rang out:
“Fire!”