“I don’t know all, but something about seizing or buying the Chinese battle-ships; also a lot of talk about what the United States was doing--most of it untrue and furnished by Impey and company, that’s us, you know,” including himself and Wells in a sweep of his hand. Then Randall’s eye fell upon the letter which O’Neil had drawn forth. “Hurrah!” Randall had jumped to his feet and was hugging the astonished sailor. “That’s the very letter. Impey thought the Japs had taken it, and we were all ‘beating it’ in the yacht.” “Well,” O’Neil’s voice was sarcastic, “some one’s been stringing you. This letter talks about a naval review of the fleet by the Emperor and a lot of other unimportant stuff.” It was Randall’s turn to be sarcastic. “I suppose you’ve translated it offhand yourself?” he asked, “or maybe your friend there has an intimate knowledge of Japanese classics. He looks like a scholar.” “None of your high-brow jaw!” O’Neil’s eyes flashed; he could chaff his friend if he liked, but he resented it from a stranger. “It was read to us by a Jap steward from the ‘Alaska.’” “Well, he did it intentionally. He was probably afraid to tell you what was really in it. But where and how did you get it?” Randall asked. Then he turned and cried aloud up the hatch to Wells who had gone to meet a boat that had come alongside, “Say, Jim, here’s the lost letter, snug enough, in this sailor’s hand!” O’Neil explained how he had obtained it. Randall shook his head in sign of mystery. [Illustration: “_THIS LETTER TALKS ABOUT A NAVAL REVIEW_”] “It beats me,” he said, “how it got to the theatre. I witnessed the theatre row and afterward found Mr. Impey knocked out on the floor of his room; both happened about the same time. “Jim lost a paper in the crowd when the man was run over,” he continued, “and one of your officers picked this up near the wheels of the motor, and Wells took it thinking it was the one he had lost.” “So you fellows are the authors of that pack of lies about our ship? Bill there got your yellow journal dope for the Jap newspaper.” O’Neil’s face was black with anger; he saw it all now. These were the men who had aroused the Japanese nation, who had embittered them against everything American. “And you call yourself an American, too!” O’Neil’s fists were clenched tightly. “I’ve a good mind to give you a good thrashing here and now,” he cried, advancing menacingly upon the surprised journalist. Randall was between the two threatening sailors and the hatchway, with the heavy mahogany table between. He put up his hands as if he would appease the two angry sailors, and then with the agility of a cat cleared the ladder in one bound, and the surprised sailors heard the iron hatch above them close shut with a loud report. They rushed madly up the ladder and with their combined strength attempted to force the steel door, but it withstood their combined attack. “Shanghai’d, by Jove!” O’Neil’s voice was tearful with anger.