the more he thought it over, the more the new assignment appealed to kent. it required close thinking. he must move with the utmost caution lest suspicion be aroused which would close up every source of information instantly. he did not know just where to begin. he must proceed very indirectly. the difficulty began to fascinate him.
finally he made up his mind that he might as well begin with old viscount kikuchi, the father of young kikuchi of the foreign office, member of the privy council, whom he had met through the son and whom he called on occasionally. the name of the viscount appeared only seldom in the papers, but he was considered by those in the know to be the most brilliant mind in the council, the best informed in respect to international politics; some even insisted that he was the actual director of japan's foreign policy. kent had a great liking for him, a gentleman of the old school, who with his marvelously diversified information with regard to the most intricate ramifications of politics of europe, america and asia, wide reading in several languages, still chose to preserve the manner and appearance, the admirable traditions of vanishing japan. his finely chiseled features and long, white beard inspired a feeling of respect, almost reverence, lent him the aspect of a confucian sage of the old chinese prints, heightened by the toga-like simplicity of his black silk kimono, unornamented save for the go mon, the family crest, a white circle with a conventional heraldic device, white on the field of black[pg 140] on the back below the neck and on the sleeves. he valued the viscount highly as a source of information and had often been pleasantly surprised at the frankness with which he gave out facts which kent had not thought it possible to gain, disdaining the secrecy about petty matters so dear to the lesser minds of japanese officialdom.
kent had not called for almost a month. it was quite natural to do so now. the viscount occupied a vast room on the third floor of an office building near hibiya, an odd rookery housing half a dozen of the euphoniously named societies which have sprung up like mushrooms, in japan, and which serve no apparent purpose except that of furnishing presidencies and vice-presidencies in legion to numerous honorable gentlemen. as he climbed upward he passed the doors of the society for inculcation of spiritual influences among workmen, the foreign policy debating club, the bolivian-japanese friendship society, with their drowsy office boys and idle secretaries smoking over hibachi,—a queer collection of vapid purposelessness serving as a foil for the activities of the busy brain up above.
but as kent climbed up the stairway, he was thinking of the coming interview, how he would lead off with the economic situation, stressing the decline of japan's finances and industries. gradually he would creep over to the taxation question, try to bring in the disappointing lack of tax reduction in spite of the fact that armaments were being reduced; possibly he might even venture to refer to bywater, if it seemed propitious and natural—it would depend on how things developed. he would have to——
suddenly, as if blotted out by a flash of blinding light, the whole train of thoughts vanished, was obliterated completely. he found himself staring at[pg 141] a face looking down at him from the landing above that smote his senses, dumbfounded them with an overwhelming realization of having been instantaneously, unexpectedly, brought face to face with the essence of beauty, flawless, sublime, irradiating its splendor towards him, as he advanced slowly, hesitatingly, upwards. in the few moments which it took to mount the half dozen steps a whirl of thoughts raced through his brain, each one clear-cut enough, like the rapid succession of minute individual pictures of a cinema film, yet all melting into one another, unifying into the one idea that here was the marvel, a revelation—and yet it was not the instantaneous flash of love, the coup de foudre, desire of fulfillment of desire, possession; but rather the marvelous rapt wonder and delight at magnificent, brilliant beauty, impersonal almost, as one may be struck with ecstasy at the unexpected revealment of a splendid landscape glimpsed suddenly through a rift in fog. in the half-light he was aware mainly of the eyes, deep, dark, lustrously brilliant against her pale face, framed by a cloud of black hair. it was as if he were advancing into their luster, as if it suffused him.
as he stood in front of the table where she sat facing the stairs, he felt breathless, confused at the necessity for drab, commonplace action. he bowed ceremoniously, fished for his card case, conscious of the wonder in her eyes, pleased at her smile, irritated with the sense that he must be appearing like a fool, and still sensing delighted gratification in the feeling of her presence.
was the viscount in? yes. she took his card, flitted behind a screen which separated her place from the main part of the great room. yes, the viscount would see him. he noted the whiteness of her teeth as she smiled. as he found a seat facing the viscount,[pg 142] he discovered with joy that he was able to look past the corner of the screen at the profile of the girl as she sat at her post facing the stairway.
he tried to pull his thoughts together for the interview. hang it, it would be hard to think connectedly; the nicely arranged logic of his questions had flown from him. he experienced intense relief when he heard, as if from a distance, the words of the viscount—he was extremely sorry; he was glad to see him, but it happened that he had an important engagement. he must leave in just a few minutes. would not kent come again soon, at almost any time. he should be glad to give him all the time he might wish.
what luck! kent was glad at the heaven-sent granting of grace; he only hated the necessity of leaving, of tearing himself away from this place where he might sit and look at that girl, this revelation of beauty which had come upon him by the wondrously kind offices of fate.
he shook hands with the viscount. safely behind the screen, as he passed the girl, he bowed to her, with the ceremony as if she were a great lady of the aristocracy, emphasized it, wishing to convey to her, in some way, some indication of his desire to pay tribute to that inexpressible perfection. as he made the turn of the stairway he glanced back up at her. she was looking at him and smiled again. he thought he detected a glint of something in her eyes, understanding, gratification, something, anyway, which he might construe into the slightest possible spark of a beginning of acquaintance.
he crossed through hibiya park and found a bench where he might sit and get order into the confusion of his impressions. love at first sight? no, that was not it; there was no feeling of covetousness, of passionate desire to win, conquer, possess; rather an [pg 143]overwhelming longing to be in her presence, to sense that feeling of being pleasurably suffused by the irradiation of pure, sheer beauty, as one might bask in warm, brilliant sunshine. it was an odd, undefinable sensation, defying logic or analysis. but why bother? he was wholly overcome with the impression that great good fortune had come upon him. he wanted to be near her, that was all. there was nothing to ponder over except the means as to how he might contrive that.
of course, he would have a chance to see her when he called on the viscount. he would call soon, to-morrow—no, that would be friday, the day for meeting of the privy council, and the viscount would not be at his office—would not be at his office—— in a flash the inspiration came to him: why, that is just the time you must call, you fool; you'll have a chance to see her, to talk to her alone, to gain a little headway in acquaintance.
through the day the thought kept recurring constantly, insistingly. to-morrow. it interfered with other thoughts. well, let them go. he would think of her. but what did he want, anyway; what would it lead to? he knew distinctly that he was not seeking a flirtation, a love affair. she had not impressed him that way at all. could one then not be on terms of just friendship with a girl, enjoying her beauty as one would that of a picture, a gorgeous temple, or a fine, rich brocade, only that? still, the idea kept clamoring, if they became friends, intimate friends, would not, inevitably, time come when he would want to hold her hand, gather her, the whole glorious sum of her beauty, in his arms. he tried to push the thought away. that was not what he wanted. it was the idea of the delicacy, the purity of relation which fascinated him; to hold her tenderly, as one might a frail, fragile[pg 144] flower, a dainty, vivid butterfly, untouched, untainted by touch of physical possession. something, cynically suggestive, insisting in crowding up from the depth of his mind, irritated him, like a mocking face grinning at him insinuatingly. hang it all! he must know her, that was all there was to it. he would see her in the morning.
the following day, as he looked forward to the time when he might go to her, new, disturbing thoughts kept cropping up. it seemed so foolish, this suddenly being smitten by what had seemed to him an apparition of perfection of beauty. such could not appear, did not appear in the persons of typists in tokyo office buildings. the japanese term "nido-bikuri" shot into his mind, the laconically descriptive slang phrase, literally "twice surprised," referring to the delighted wonder of first sight of what appears to be perfection of beauty—the first surprise—which is dissipated by the second closer sight thereof, shattering the illusion—the second surprise. probably he would find that she was, after all, but a pretty little typist, dainty, attractive and all that, but no more; that sober reality would cause this iridescent bubble of fancy to dissolve instantaneously into its plain component suds on which he might but stare in foolish disillusionment.
he made up his mind to banish from his mind all idea of romance, to look upon her critically. if he had invested this girl with a glamor of beauty created out of his own imagination, he would know it. he tried to prepare himself for certain disappointment; of course, he had been an ass. still, as he climbed the stairs, his senses were aquiver with an irrepressible anxiety,—what if she should be real, after all? he peered eagerly up at her. again the sense of beauty, the radiant magnetism of it, swept over him; but he put it off, forced himself to note that that dim half-light, [pg 145]which her black hair set against the golden background of the great gilt screen behind her on which refractions of light from beyond made a delicate shimmer and play of faint aureate coruscations, might be limning a nimbus which would fade away in the cold brightness of clear, white daylight.
of course, he knew that she would tell him that viscount kikuchi was absent. he had planned for all that. too bad! might he not have a place for a moment where he might write him a note? she led him to the great desk in the big room. now would be his chance—but before he could obtain a satisfactory look at her, she had disappeared. hang it! he began to write his note. he had it all in his head, merely a polite word of regret, an assurance that his coming again so soon did not indicate that what he had in mind was at all important. he would call again. but he wrote slowly, hoping that she would come. still he did not hear her until she was close beside him, with a tray with cigarettes and tea. she set it before him and stood facing him, a few feet distant, courteously at his service. all this would give time. he sipped slowly from the tiny, bowl-like cup, of the pale green, slightly aromatic fluid, took a cigarette, lit it. with the feeling of one who has placed a stake against the chance of a spun coin—he leaned back and looked at her.
thank god, she was pretty, yes, even beautiful, with that great crown of soft black hair framing features delicately carved, finely-drawn crescent eyebrows; slender figure, but with the slightest suggestion of warm, soft curves under the closely clinging texture of the kimono. but it was the eyes which held him. he had often felt the appeal of the eyes of japanese girls, with their appearance of intense blackness until very close view revealed the dark-brown shade, but in[pg 146] this girl's eyes was a depth, a liquid sheen of luminous, limpid blackness which fascinated and held.
the feeling came to him that she was smiling. the mouth, features remained calm, unchanged, but it was as if she could convey with these marvelously expressive eyes alone mirth, amusement, probably also sorrow, anger, anything.
"i am sorry to have troubled you." he had to say something, even though he should have liked just to sit there and fill his eyes with the sight of her. "i hope i have not disturbed you—er——?"
"my name is adachi." she had caught the question which he had meant to imply.
"i have not seen you here before, adachi-san."
"no, i have been here only a few weeks."
as he sipped his tea, he employed all his wit to maintain the conversation, enjoying the clear, soft sound of her voice, its musical contralto tone reminiscent of the subdued resonance of a great brass temple bell from a distance. but he wanted principally to build up ground for more intimate acquaintance, to become established as at least some one just a little more personal than the ordinary caller. she was smilingly responsive, gracious. he managed to remain a half hour, with commonplaces. the weather led to talk of the countryside, places she had seen, his own stay in japan, and on to his impressions of the country, to mutual tastes.
he came away with a pleasant feeling of success that he had not been disappointed. prosaic as their conversation had been, there had been a subtle, warm undercurrent of understanding, mutual sympathy, which was leading swiftly, surely, towards friendship. it was one of karsten's theories that the feeling of attraction between men and women was intrinsically governed by an as yet little understood, undefined element of something like telepathy—that such [pg 147]attraction as was produced by merely physical features, such as beauty, for instance, was, if not unessential, at least only an outward, largely crude feature of the play of the relation between sexes. it could be explained most closely, said karsten, in terms of physics, the response which is established between instruments similarly attuned, an intangible, invisible condition, which draws humans irresistibly, apparently irrationally, together in one case, while in another, where outward circumstances would seem to be more conducive thereto, they remain untouched, cold. of course, there was something in it. kent felt that some sort of sympathy like that existed between this girl and himself. oddly, he was certain that he was not in love with her, and yet he craved intensely for intimate companionship with her.
a few days later he called again on the viscount. he should have liked to have arranged it again so he would see the girl alone; still, it was time to get to work, to try somehow to establish a beginning point whence he might evolve his information. the beginning of the interview moved smoothly as he had planned, almost too smoothly. they arrived at the crucial point, the bywater article, so easily that kent had an uneasy sense that this smoothness, this facility, was deceptive, that the viscount by some trick of intuition knew what he was after and was leading him on. the feeling disturbed him; he had to strive to overcome a sense of diffidence, a suspicion that he was but being played with by this uncannily clever diplomat, the master mind of the japanese empire, who had for decades gained experience at this game in bouts with the best trained brains of europe and america.
"to come to the point, mr. kent, the fact is that it is believed, or at least suspected, that japan, while living up to the letter of the washington conference[pg 148] agreement, is, in fact, violating the spirit thereof; that while she is keeping her battle fleet strictly within the ratio of six to america's and england's ten, as she agreed to do, she is trying to make up for the difference in ratio by building up a great fleet of powerful submarines. i am glad that we may take up this matter together, for it is important that this misunderstanding be set right. the fact is, as naval statistics which have already been made public will show you, that we are merely trying to make our auxiliary fleet forces catch up to the proper proportion they should bear to the battle fleet. as you know, japan is a poor country. in the past the naval authorities decided to build a great fleet of vessels of the first class, but to do so they had to give up building the number of auxiliary craft which is generally considered by the naval experts of all countries to be the minimum necessary to keep up the proportion between battleships and auxiliaries. in other words, as we did not have enough money to have both first-class ships and auxiliaries, we decided to build the big ships, even though we knew that we should be short of the smaller ones. now that the conference has made it unnecessary to spend the great sums set aside for battleship construction, we are using the chance to build smaller craft to the number necessary to make proper proportion. that's the reason you hear that we are building some submarines; but remember there's nothing sinister about that. we are merely rounding out our construction program along the lines recognized as being proper by all naval authorities. of course, the mere fact that we are building is being made use of by the anti-japanese propagandists, who seize anything whatever to make out a case against japan. it's partly because japan's liberal diplomacy of recent years had cut very short the crop of material that may be used as propaganda[pg 149] against us. we have always kept our word in both letter and spirit. we gave the chinese liberal terms in the shantung settlement, and we have withdrawn our troops from shantung. we were liberal in respect to yap. we have withdrawn our troops from siberia. we showed the world at the washington conference that we have no militaristic ambitions. our action in all these cases has deprived the anti-japanese propagandists of their old weapons, so now they must invent stuff for calumny. all we want is fair play. i know that you, mr. kent, are as interested as i am in maintaining the friendly spirit now existing between america and japan; that you are glad to help combat the mischief-makers. of course, you know that i must never be quoted—but i give you my word that there is not the slightest basis in fact for the belief that japan is violating either the letter or the spirit of the washington agreement, and the talk about her building an unduly large submarine fleet is pure buncombe."
the viscount spoke earnestly, with a tone which made for conviction even though kent had believed that he would talk on just about these lines. he had been impressed, had leaned forward intent to follow every word of the old statesman. now he relaxed a little, leaned back in his chair, let his eye wander. suddenly he felt as if some one had called sharply for his attention; involuntarily, mechanically, he looked past the screen. she was peering intently into the room, frankly eavesdropping, and her eyes were fixed on his as if she wished by mere force of will to compel him to look at her. apparently that was it, for immediately the appearance of concentration vanished. she rose, gathered some envelopes and descended the stairs noiselessly in her soft zori.
there had been something indefinably impressive about these quite ordinary actions. of course, she[pg 150] would probably ordinarily have called from the hall below one of the innumerable office boys to mail her letters. that she had chosen to go herself might have some slight significance; but, even beyond that, the conviction came upon him as clearly as if she had shouted it to him that she wished to speak to him. could it be that she really wanted to see him? the interview was over. he must go, anyway. he would soon know.
he thanked the viscount, feeling the while that, impressed as he had been while under the direct sway of the old man's magnetism, the interview would become cold, worth little, when examined in the somber light of appraisement of its worth as copy. had he been able to quote viscount kikuchi, it might have had some value. but as it was, he had gained nothing, not even the slightest clew. they shook hands and he left.
once on the street, he glanced eagerly up and down for the nearest post-box. yes, there she was, half hidden by the red, stunted column. he went up to her eagerly. she made no pretense that she was not waiting for him. as he came close, he could see that she was excited, almost breathless.
he lifted his hat. "adachi-san." but she was too eager to pay heed to mere matters of courtesy. "mr. kent," for a moment he felt the pressure of a small hand on his sleeve, "he lied to you."
he was struck utterly dumb, could but stare at her amazed. his first reaction was one of disappointment. as he had hastened down to see her, he had had no conscious thought of what he might expect. his whole mind had been concentrated on the question as to whether he had really been right in thinking that she wished to see him clandestinely, out of the hearing of the viscount. now he realized that he must, [pg 151]subconsciously, have expected something quite different, something in the lines of furtherance of purely personal intimacy. and here she was evidently not interested in him at all as an individual, but had some obscure purpose connected with the political issue. he had to wrench his mind into adjustment to this entirely new aspect of the matter, as he stood, hat still in his hand, gaping at her.
"what? lied about what? do tell me——"
but her eagerness had disappeared, though the excitement remained as her eyes flickered up and down the street. "no. i can't tell you, not now. i must hurry back to the office. the viscount will miss me. good-by."
she ran swiftly from him before he could even try to retain her.
"well, i'll be hanged!"
again he found the park a handy retreat where he might enter and ruminate undisturbed over the tangle of events of the last half-hour, the statement of the viscount, the inexplicable mystery of this girl's sudden injection of herself into the game as one of the players where she should ordinarily have remained even less than a mere pawn; the bearing that her taking a hand therein might have on the solution of his problem.
as he reasoned it out, he decided that, as he had gained nothing from the interview, he might, by some chance whim of fortune, have made a still greater gain by the new element added by the girl's appearance in the play. apparently she knew something. she might know a great deal. and evidently she wished to give him information, to put him straight. why? it was not because she took any great personal interest in him; he was sure of that; her manner had shown no trace whatever of the element of individual attraction. still,[pg 152] what her reason might be was, after all, a secondary consideration; it was what she knew, what she could tell him, evidently wished to tell him, that mattered. he must follow up this chance-sent opportunity. of course, he must see her again. she must expect it. it might be worse. here he had wished to enter into some closer relation with her, friendship, intimate association, and now the chance had come; although from an amazingly unexpected angle. it even fitted right in with his work—but—as he thought it over, the keenness of the feeling of good luck faded. it was too romantic, melodramatic. he looked upon his work in the cold, keen light of the professional, as a gatherer of facts, of news, prosaic, practical, disdaining the blatant injection therein of the personal element of the "trained seals." he might enjoy betimes coloring the drabness of everyday existence by trying to apply tints of romance—he had been rather inclined to do so lately; possibly it was the glamor of newness of a strange land, or a reflection from his association with karsten,—but work and romance were inconsistent, conflicting. he did not want to mix personal relation with this girl with business, make use of her as a tool for prying into the secrets of japanese officialdom. such use of women might be practical, it had undoubtedly served in many cases, but it was distasteful to him, repellent. but, on the other hand, what could he do? the girl herself wished it. he was not stalking her, treacherously, with cold calculation, trying to inveigle her into an affair of affections with the intention of making her serve his purposes. it seemed rather as if she thought that, in some undiscernible way, he might serve hers. he did not know what to make of it. at one moment he would be pleased, exultant even, at this element of intense interest injected into his existence, and the next he would be[pg 153] mystified, perplexed, impatient at his inability to see the road before him.
women! it seemed as if one must ever become entangled, somehow, in the insinuating meshes of their ubiquitous activities.
