The man addressed rose slowly, finishing a story that he had been telling his amused audience, and to the accompaniment of a loud chorus of laughter joined Williams and the two sailormen. “Robert Impey,” George Randall repeated, after he had shaken hands and heard Williams’ question, “is one of the cleverest foreigners in Japan. No one knows his business better than himself, and he’s stingy with his information about what he’s here for. Where did you hear of him?” A suspicion had entered Randall’s head. “Bill Marley and I was having an argument,” O’Neil hastened to explain. “You see, we saw him run down a Jap on the street with his chug-chug carriage about an hour ago. Bill and I helped him to get clear and we was naturally curious to know who we’d helped. We heard his name, but that’s all.” “That’s as far as my knowledge goes too,” Randall added. “He and I revolve in two widely different orbits.” While the above conversation had been taking place, O’Neil, sitting with his face toward the door, had seen the search-light of an automobile come quickly up the street and stop noisily outside of the restaurant. An attendant had hastened out in anticipation of influential guests and now returning came directly to their table. He whispered to Randall, and the latter rose at once, a half-surprised, half-guilty expression on his face. “Good-night,” he exclaimed, attempting to hide his surprise. “We newspaper men, you know, are like doctors, subject to a hurry call at any time.” After Randall had left them, O’Neil grabbed Marley by the arm and both took a hasty farewell of Williams. “I’ll be in to-morrow for breakfast, Billy,” he said, giving no explanation of his sudden change of plans. The sailor hurried after the receding figure of Randall. He saw him go direct to the waiting machine, and without a word jump in. The auto leaped forward, and as it passed under the arc light at the corner of the street, O’Neil received his reward in recognizing the man of whom he had been seeking information and with them also was Impey’s companion of the afternoon. “So Randall, after all, must know something more than he wished to acknowledge about Robert Impey!” was O’Neil’s thought. He stood undecided for the fraction of a minute, thinking quickly and silently. Here was their opportunity to find out about the man in whom the midshipmen appeared to have taken more than a passing interest. It was really too good a chance to lose, at least, without trying. O’Neil was conscious of a half dozen rikishas which had hurriedly disentangled themselves from the score or more others outside Tokyo’s favorite sailor restaurant, and were silently waiting, their shafts lowered, for the sailors to enter. On the other side of the street a victoria was standing, the driver on the box seat, his eyes on the two Americans.