“Taki says it’s a riot,” Sydney returned. “There you are!” he exclaimed, pointing. They had emerged into the lighted thoroughfare, and Phil’s question was answered. Scarcely four blocks down the street a great crowd could now be seen completely filling the street. Phil’s pulses beat faster. A riot--and American sailors the cause! At this time it might lead to grave consequences. Takishima had stopped precipitously; it was too dark to see his face, but his voice expressed quite distinctly the anxiety he felt. “How has this happened? Some one shall suffer for this blunder!” he exclaimed angrily. The mob was pressing toward the brightly lighted entrance to the theatre, but the doors were closed, barring its entrance. Though there were many policemen present, they seemed unable to control the ever-increasing crowd, whose angry voice could be heard, raised ever louder and louder. “This is a case for soldiers!” Takishima had cried out in English, and in his excitement talking to the little guide, who stood mute and mystified. Across the street Takishima darted, telling the midshipmen to wait where they were. “With all their training for discipline, the Japs are just like any one else.” Sydney’s voice betrayed his excitement, but he felt he must say something to relieve the tension. “Winston should be here to see this. No riots in Japan!” Phil gulped hard. “What’s happening inside?” he gasped. All thoughts of the two men he had rendered unconscious were forgotten. “There are two hundred of our men in Tokyo; if they hear of this they will come on a run from all over the city.” Sydney’s diagnosis was not reassuring. “A fight between our men and a mob would mean indemnity, for some of them would be sure to be killed and wounded,” Phil said tensely. “Do you recall the Chile trouble, when we nearly came to war over just this same kind of thing?” Phil’s thoughts were pessimistic. Both lads were aware of the terrible possibilities. They thoroughly understood the workings of their sailors’ minds. Once they heard their companions were in trouble the American sailormen would flock to the rescue. “My countrymen--right or wrong,” is ever their motto. The impatient midshipmen could stand the strain of inaction no longer. “Where is Taki? Why doesn’t he return? Where did he go?” Forgetting in their excitement the inability of their guide to speak English, they were pulling him violently by the arm toward the rioters, but the little policeman had received his orders, and remained firmly planted where Takishima had left him. The naval officer suddenly reappeared. “I have telephoned,” was his reassuring greeting. “There’s a back entrance to the theatre.” The four were retracing their steps. An alley, dimly lighted and deserted, opened before them and, led by Takishima, they rushed down and through its many turnings. A heavy door barred their further progress. With hearts beating tumultuously they listened to the babel of angry voices from within.