CHAPTER XIVA STARTLING INTERRUPTION
Walter Ogden’sglance 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, nocontretempssuch as anxious hostesses feeleven 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’?Thatwould 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. “SanètomoIto 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 matterswhich 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 arewishing 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 doingthat 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 betweenthe 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!”