CHAPTER XX
Walter Topham was nearing San Francisco. His stay in Japan had been very brief. Long before he had had time to become acquainted with conditions in that country or to make certain that Stiles’ suspicions as to intense activity in the Japanese arsenals and dockyards were justified, the ambassador had called him into his private office and thrust before him a dispatch from Washington from the Secretary of State.
“Ask Topham what he knows about the Countess del Ouro Preto in Berlin. Cable fully,” it read.
“Ask Topham what he knows about the Countess del Ouro Preto in Berlin. Cable fully,” it read.
The query was so unexpected that Topham flushed, despite his effort not to do so and despite his consciousness that the keen eyes of the ambassador were upon him. He flushed, but he did not hasten to answer as most people would have done in his place; instead he read the dispatch again slowly; and concluded that he owed it to what he had told Rutile in Berlin, and to that gentleman’s faculty of smelling out intrigues.
“Well, Mr. Topham?” questioned the ambassador.
Topham looked up. “I know the lady,” he said, slowly. “I met her in Berlin, and learned something of her mission there. I met her the night I reached Tokio—perhaps Stiles has told you. I do not want to conceal anything concerning her from any one who has a right to ask. The only question is what the Secretary wants to know.”
“Everything! I suppose, Mr. Topham.”
“‘Everything’ is pretty broad. Perhaps I had better write down anything that I have observed that I think may be of interest to the government, and submit it to you. Then if there is anything lacking, perhaps you may be able to discover what it is.”
The ambassador nodded. “Do so, Mr. Topham.”
Topham wrote out his account carefully, choosing his words with exactitude. He was anxious to tell everything that the secretary could want to know and yet not to magnify any of it or give any part of it a significance that it really did not possess.
He had about come to the conclusion that Stiles was wrong and that the errand of the countessto Japan had nothing whatever to do with any intrigue against the United States, and he naturally did not wish to say anything that would create such a belief. Nor did he consider himself called on to go into his personal relations with the countess.
He gave the paper to the ambassador, who read it, asked no questions, and presumably cabled its substance to Washington. For the next day Topham received orders to leave for Washington on the next steamer.
Loud was Stiles’ disgust. “I might have known it,” he cried. “It’s just like those fellows! They’ve got about half the navy in Washington already, and want more of it.”
“I think they want me for a special reason,” suggested Topham.
“Oh! I suppose so. Devilish queer about that countess, isn’t it. I wonder what she really was up to!”
Topham looked the secretary in the eye. “Really! if you don’t mind, I would rather not discuss her,” he observed gently.
“Oh! no offense! Say, look here, Topham. Your going is lucky in one sense, because you can do something for me—and for the government—onyour way. Do you remember that Jap colonel—Hakodate his name was—whom you met here the day after your arrival?”
“Yes! I think so.”
“Would you know him again?”
“I might. I’m not certain! Why?”
“Well! I told you we had native spies. One of them brought in word this morning that Colonel Hakodate sailed a week ago for San Francisco as an immigrant and that he carried letters to one Hiroshina, who keeps a Jap restaurant on Market Street near Kearny. Of course the man may be lying and of course you may say that there’s nothing in it even if he’s telling the truth. But it looks dashed funny to me, and I wish you’d just drop in at that restaurant when you get to San Francisco, and snoop around a bit. See if you can spot Hakodate there, and see what he’s up to.”
Topham promised.
That had been two months before and San Francisco was now close at hand. The glow that hovers above every great city had grown more and more distinct; the peak of Mt. Tamalpais bisected it and the black bulk of the low southern shore was faintly visible beneath it. Soon the channel and range lights grew into visibility. Thenthe steamer slid through the heavy rolling waves of the bar into the calm of the outer bay. Fifteen minutes more and it passed through the Golden Gate and the great city lay outstretched before it.
Topham looked at his watch and wondered whether he would get ashore in time to catch the midnight train for the east.
Scarcely had he formulated his wish, when a boat came alongside, and a fresh young voice hailed the deck.
“This is a launch from Fort Alcatraz,” it explained. “Is Commander Topham on board? I’ve been sent to land him. Here’s the permit from quarantine.”
In five minutes Topham was in the boat, speeding shoreward. “Orders from Washington, Mr. Topham,” explained the officer in charge. “Your berth has been engaged on the twelve o’clock train. It’s nearly nine now. Meanwhile I’m at your orders. Will you come out to the fort, or go straight to Oakland and the train, or do you want to see the Great White Way in San Francisco first? Command me.”
“Thank you! I’ll go to San Francisco, please. I have an errand to discharge. Please land me at the foot of Market Street.”
“Just as you say, sir.” The young man spoke to the coxswain and the boat bore away to the right.
Once landed in the western city, Topham said good-night and started up Market Street, reading the signs on the lamp posts as he went.
Stiles had not been able to give him the number of the restaurant for which he was looking, but he knew that it was on Market Street just below Kearney Street, close to Lotta’s fountain and the Chronicle Building, which he could see outlined against the sky far up the street.
As he stepped briskly along it occurred to him that there was an unusual stir in the city, though not being familiar with its ordinary state he had no means of comparison. Still, it seemed to him that conditions could not be altogether normal. The people were not moving about their business, but were congregating in groups here and there. Now and then there would be a sudden movement to one point or another, but never for any reason that Topham could see.
As a matter of fact he paid little attention. He was interested in the task that Stiles had set him—a task for which the three hours available before his train left for the east might easily prove anythingbut superabundant. When at last he caught sight of a brilliant sign “Hiroshima, Japanese restaurant,” his faint curiosity as to the crowd disappeared.
But before he could enter the portals of the restaurant a big workingman—nearly as big a man as himself—barred his way.
“You ain’t goin’ in that Jap hash house, are you, friend?” inquired the stranger.
Topham halted. “That was—er—my idea,” he responded. “Why not?”
“There is strike on; see? An’ the Japs are boycotted; see? They’re playin’ the devil with hard-workin’ Americans. And we ain’t goin’ to stand for it. You want to keep away from there, mister.”
Topham hesitated. His interlocutor was not alone; half a dozen other men, loafing near, were evidently fellow pickets. Topham did not want any trouble during the few hours he was to be in the city. Yet he was resolved to enter the restaurant. The sight of two policemen on guard at the door decided him to force the game.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I must go in. There are reasons why I can’t forego having my supper there. Pardon me!” He pushed by and steppedto the door. As he went he heard the man cursing behind him.
He seated himself and ordered a meal from a bill of fare presented him by a stocky Japanese waiter, who seemed not at all alarmed by the situation. Perhaps he had grown hardened to it.
When the waiter had disappeared toward the back of the place Topham stared around him.
Whether because of the hour or because of the strike, the restaurant was almost empty. Only two guests beside himself were in the place and neither of these seemed to be enjoying his meal. Another waiter was hovering over them, and behind the cashier’s desk sat a Japanese. As Topham looked this man raised his head and the navy officer recognized him. It was Colonel Hakodate.
The thing took away Topham’s breath for an instant. Almost he became a convert to Stiles’ prognostications of war. For it was inconceivable that a samurai of the bluest Japanese blood, akin to the emperor himself, and an officer of the imperial army, should turn restaurant keeper except for grave reasons.
Little time, however was given him to think. From the street without came a sudden outcry, asort of chilling yell that brought all in the place to their feet. Another instant a dozen stones crashed through the plate-glass windows. Then came a rush of feet and a crowd of men leaped into the broad doorway. Topham saw the clubs of the two policemen rise and fall like flails, and saw them forced backward, still fighting.
It was all so sudden, so unexpected, that the head of the crowd was actually in the room before he realized what was happening. Then he sprang forward with a yell to the aid of the police.
But he never reached them. The Japs were quicker than he. Before he had taken two steps, he heard the crash of firearms and saw Colonel Hakodate and his two waiters standing coolly up pouring shot after shot into the mass of the mob.
“Banzai! Banzai!” yelled the colonel. “Stand to it, brothers. Remember! It is the emperor’s command.”
It was only for a second. Then the policemen went down and the mob rolled in. The Japs disappeared, and Topham snatching up a chair, breathlessly defended himself against a score of brawny men who swarmed upon him.
For half a minute he held them at bay. Thena paralyzing blow on the arm sent his chair crashing from his hands and he saw death staring at him from a score of maddened eyes.
But before the blow could fall, a woman burst through the circle and flung herself upon him. One arm she threw around his neck and threw the other up into the faces of the mob.
“All right! boys! All right,” she cried. “Standt back. Dieses ist mein mann!”
Topham saw the fire die out of the eyes that circled him. For a moment their owners hesitated; then—
“Hurrah for Dutch Elsie!” yelled one, and the others took up the cry. “Hurrah for Dutch Elsie.”
“Out of here. Quick!” the woman was clamoring in the navy man’s ear. “Quick. The police are coming. Quick!”
But Topham stood still. “You,” he cried. “You!”
“Yes, I! I’ll explain later. But come now! Quick! come! Dios! Come!”
And Topham went.