Takishima turned his dark almond eyes on Phil during this attempt to excuse Captain Inaba’s apparent rudeness. His subtle mind was seeking a reason for Phil’s remark. Could the document have fallen into the hands of the Americans? However, he was sure Captain Inaba would be thorough in his search even to a careful scrutiny of their rooms at the hotel. That the paper would be of great interest to the Americans, Takishima was sure; it was in the Japanese characters, but doubtless there would be some one ready enough to translate it. It was in the young officer’s mind to ask his American friends, frankly, if they knew where the letter was; but even in his desire to help Captain Inaba, his great friend, he realized that a ballroom was hardly the place to broach such a subject. Poor Inaba, he had been completely crushed over the loss. It was such an important and secret paper that it should not have been trusted to a messenger and last of all to poor deaf Oka. As to what would happen to Inaba in case the letter had gone into American hands, Takishima did not dare think. He would be irreparably disgraced, and by the old Samurai law might even be forced to wipe out the stain of his dishonor by committing “hara-kiri.” Takishima believed that hara-kiri was a crime. To destroy one’s life, no matter how hard living would be, was by his Western teaching suicide, and a sin against society. He was not in accord with this barbaric teaching of feudal Japan. There had come a lull in the music furnished by the guards’ band, the same that played before the Emperor. Phil had nearly forgotten the presence of the thoughtful lieutenant, for his own eager eyes had been searching the ballroom for some one who he knew was amidst this profusion of bright colors. The dancers had stopped, and were fast disappearing from the ballroom floor to seek the cooler air outside, in the spacious hallways and porches, draped so artistically with the national colors of America and Japan. Helen Tillotson and Winston had joined the three classmates, and each had penned his name on her dance card. They were standing near one of the doors to the garden. Phil could see the many lanterns flickering their subtle invitation. Winston still retained the girl’s fan, but plunged into conversation with Takishima. The lad tried not to listen but could not help catch the words, “torpedoes” and “distance,” and it suddenly dawned upon him that Winston was the torpedo expert mentioned in the “Shimbunshi” letter. He recalled that Winston had in the last few months perfected the air chamber and superheater of the “Alaska’s” torpedoes, and an experimental run had given it a much greater danger radius. How could the author of the letter know this? Phil was more perplexed than ever. Sydney, after writing his name on Helen’s card, hurriedly excused himself with an implied intention of returning instantly. “Some one I must see!” he exclaimed as he hastened off.