“On the ‘Shimbunshi’s’ bulletin-boards is a cable from America that the Chinese government has agreed to turn over its new navy to America.” Impey strove to show unconcern, giving the startling news in his every-day voice. “The bulletin says that the President at a cabinet meeting this morning decided to buy the ships and had sent orders to the United States fleet in Manila to receive and man them.” Takishima trembled inwardly with rage against his former friends. Then Captain Inaba had failed to stop their cable to America. Now he looked upon them as his avowed enemies. Had they not spied upon his countrymen? Had they not stolen secret letters and divulged them? And that while protesting their love and friendship for him and his country. Phil sat next to him, his face pale and his eyes wide with excitement. Impey’s part in this international tragedy was clearing before his eyes. This two-faced scoundrel had stood in with both parties, warning each that the other was striving to obtain the ships. With consummate cunning he had covered up his tracks. Each side believed in his loyalty. How he had obtained the secret letter Phil could not fathom, but that letter contained the information which, upon its being known in Washington where the ambassador had cabled it, had decided the United States government to take a step which was unparalleled in its history; a step taken only as a necessary measure just before the outbreak of a war. Phil gazed into Takishima’s face. He was startled at the sudden gleam of hatred in the dark eyes of his friend. “In Japan we cut open the carcasses of such traitors as you and feed them to the pigs,” the Japanese lieutenant cried in a voice scarcely recognizable. Both midshipmen jumped to their feet. Greater consternation could not have been caused by the explosion of a shell in their midst. The slowly spoken direct words were too plain to be misunderstood. Impey sat by in silence, an outraged expression on his face. He raised his hand in the rôle of peacemaker. The two men of different races and traditions stood face to face; one self-controlled, disdainful, the pride of the old time Samurai, generations of them, looking out of unbending and unflinching eyes; the other angry, hurt, surprised into a stupid, stolid silence, stung to the quick by the vituperation in his erstwhile friend’s voice. “I---- Why, what do you mean?” Phil gasped, his face livid. He towered head and shoulders above his unflinching accuser.