He was much disquieted by the encounter. Now he understood that Arima had been bound for this very place.

If only he had refused to let Bessie drag him into her circle! The minister would not have known his face, but the mention of his name gave full enlightenment.

The minister resumed his seat, and a chair was brought for Orme. There were other introductions.

A woman's voice renewed the conversation. "Excellency, won't you tell us another of your very interesting stories?"

The minister turned to her. "I will tell you one," he said, "that you will not find in the literature of my country. It is a story of the secret service, and it came to me through my personal acquaintance with some of the partic.i.p.ants."

"Oh, that will be splendid!" exclaimed the woman.

The minister waited for a moment. He turned his face toward Orme, and asked politely: "You will not mind listening to what I have to say, Mr.

Orme?"

"Why, to be sure not," replied Orme, wondering.

"My stories are not always short," continued the minister, "as the others already know. But they sometime hold meanings which, in my country, at least, would be perfectly plain."

After this odd bit of by-play, he began his narrative:

"There was a man who lived in the city of Takamatsu, on the island of Shikoku. His name was Kimaga, and he was much respected by all who knew him, for he was painstakingly devoted to his aged and mos' honorable parents. By trade he was a maker of vases--a--what you call him--a potter.

"One day while Kimaga was walking upon the road, he saw before him on the ground a letter. He picked it up. It was sealed, but he discovered upon the outside a curious writing which he could not make out. In fact, Kimaga could not read at all. He was very poorly educate.

"But Kimaga was charm by the grace and beauty of the writing. Though he could not read it, it fascinated his eyes. He decided to keep it, making no attempt to find the rightful owner. You must know that in Nippon beauty is worship by the humblest workman.

"It happened that the letter had been written by a Chinese spy, and it contained a report concerning our fortifications. Now there is in Nippon a very secret service. It is not responsible to the government. It is compose of n.o.bles who for many and many a generation have bound themselves by a strong oath to do patriotic service which the government itself might be too embarra.s.sed to undertake. If they are oblige to use extreme measures, and are arrested because of what they have done, they calmly accept the punishment of the law without explaining their actions.

Sons of n.o.ble houses have been executed for a.s.sa.s.sinating secret enemies of Nippon, and they have met this fate as their oath demanded.

"Members of this secret service knew about this letter of the Chinese spy. They knew, also, that it had been lost, and before long they learned that Kimaga had picked it up. How they learned all this does not matter.

But they also knew that the relations between Nippon and China at the time were of such a strain that their government, not wishing to give cause of war, would hesitate to punish the Chinese spy.

"In the meantime Kimaga had become so enamor of the letter that he could not bear to let it go out of his possession. When he was alone he would feast his eyes upon the beautiful writing. But it was not long before he discovered that men were watching him, and he became filled with fear.

Why should he be watched? Had he done a guilty thing?

"So greatly did the fear swell in him that he decided to take the letter back to the place where he had found it, and drop it again in the road.

But when he got to the place and looked for a last time at the writing, it give him such longing to keep it that he thrust it into his breast again and hurried back to his shop.

"That night a man came to see Kimaga.

"'Are you Kimaga, the maker of vases?' he said.

"Kimaga, all trembling, replied that he was.

"'Then,' said the man, 'I have come to you with high purpose. You have a letter which does not belong to you. Give it to me.'

"'Does it belong to you?' asked Kimaga, his desire putting armor on his fear.

"'That is not to be asked,' replied the man. 'I am _samurai_. For the glory of Nippon you mus' give me the letter.'

"But Kimaga did not wish to let the letter go. 'How do you know that I have it?' he said. 'You have not seen it.'

"'It is enough that I know,' said the man. 'Three days I allow you. If by then the letter has not been placed on the altar of the war-G.o.d, in the shrine of Samiya, then you will be a.s.sa.s.sinated.'

"With that the man went away.

"Kimaga was now almos' dead with fright. For the first day he did nothing but weep. The second day he put on mourning and set his affairs in order.

The third day he held the letter in his hand for many hours and filled his mind with the beauty of the writing. He could not give it up. Rather would he die. And at last he placed it in a lacquer box and buried it deep at the foot of the largest cherry-tree in his garden.

"He arose to go back into his house, an' his head was bowed over with terror. You see, he felt that many eyes were watching him from the near-by walls, an' he thought he heard breathings and the whispers of strangers. What should he do now? He dare not advance; he dare not stay where he was. So exceeding affrighted was he that he groaned aloud. From all about him came groans that answered his. Once more he groaned, and once more his ears were filled with the answers.

"Then he took one step toward his house. Nothing happened. He took another step, an' his knees they shook like the palsy. The breathings an'

whisperings seem, oh, so much nearer now. But he muster all his strength an' put out his foot for the third step. It did not reach the ground again before the vengeance struck him.

"The next morning his wife found him dead. His head had been severed from his body."

The minister stopped and sat back in his chair.

"How awful!" exclaimed the woman who had asked for a story.

"Not so," said the minister affably. "In serving my country, such things mus' be done. Kimaga should have given the letter. Don't you think so, Mr. Orme?"

The parable was quite clear to Orme. He understood the threat.

"In America," he said, drily, "we do not worship penmanship."

"But an American might for other reasons keep a letter that did not belong to him."

"Not if he was honorable. His natural course would be to see that it was delivered to the person for whom it was intended. Certainly he would not give it to any man who could not prove his right to it."

"Would he not? But if he were told that he mus' die----?"

"In that case he would inform his friends of the threats against him, and they would see that his murderers were hanged. a.s.sa.s.sination is not popular in America, Excellency."

Orme did not attempt to conceal the contempt in his words, and several of the listeners moved in their chairs, betraying their embarra.s.sment.

"Perhaps, then, Mr. Orme," said the minister, "you could favor us with a story which would show the att.i.tude of an American in such an affair."

Orme laughed. "Oddly enough," he replied, "I can give you just such a story--if you all care to hear it."

"Go on," murmured one of the men.

"It happened to a friend of mine," said Orme. "He had in his possession a number of proxies, the use of which would determine the control of a certain corporation. While he was carrying these proxies to the country-house of the man to whom he was to deliver them, he was attacked by a man who was acting for another faction. This man secured the advantage over my friend and, robbing him of the proxies, jumped into a waiting motor-car to make his escape."

"And did he escape?" the minister interrupted.

"He thought himself safe," continued Orme, "but my friend had caught the back of the motor-car just as it started. He climbed silently into the tonneau, and throwing his arm around the neck of the thief, pulled him backward from his seat.

"The car was ditched, and my friend and the thief were both thrown out.