Phil plunged into the crowd and the expert spoke quickly to the servant, who was staring after him. "Better keep him in sight," he said. "You can come when he does." Bersonin was sauntering on, when a turmoil behind him made him turn. A woman's cry and an angry oath in English rang out, startlingly clear above the low murmur of the multitude. He caught a glimpse of a Japanese form leaping like a tiger--of Phil lying in the dust of the road--of a girl vanishing swiftly into the shadows. As the expert hurried forward, Phil stumbled to his feet. Lights were dancing before his eyes and his neck felt as if he had been garroted. With his first breath he turned on Ishida, incoherent with rage and curses. The big man caught his arm. "The honorable sir make mistake," said the Japanese smoothly. "Man have done that who have ranned away." "He lies!" said Phil fiercely. "There was no one else near me but the girl. He did it himself! He tried to _ju-jits'_ me!" The fingers of the Japanese were clenched, but his face was impassive as he added: "I think he have been snik-thief." "That's no doubt the way it was, Phil," said Bersonin. "Why on earth would Ishida touch you? That's an old thieves' trick. The fellow tried to get your watch, I suppose. But we must move on. The police will be here presently, and we don't want our names in the papers." They went rapidly through the close ranks that had been watching with the decorous, inquisitive silence so typically oriental. "I suppose you're right," said Phil sulkily. "I--I beg your pardon, Ishida." The Japanese bowed gravely. "Only a mistake," he said, "which honorable sir make." CHAPTER XXIV A MAN NAMED WARE The three-storied front of the Cherry-Moon Tea-House, when Daunt's party arrived, was glowing with tiers of large round lanterns of oiled-paper bearing a conventionalized moon and cherry-blossoms. At the door sat rows of little velvet-lined sandals. Here shoes were discarded, and servants drew on the guests' feet loose slippers of cotton cloth, soft and yielding. One other guest was awaiting the party at the entrance. This was Captain Viscount Sakai, of the General Staff, spruce, fine-featured and in immaculate European evening dress. He had a clear, olive complexion, and, save for the narrow, Japanese eye, might have been a Spaniard. The small second-story _shokudo_ in which they dined was floored in soft _tatamé_ edged with black and laid in close-fitting geometrical pattern. Save for a plain alcove at one end, holding a dwarf pine and a single _nanten_ branch with clusters of bright red berries, it was empty. There was no drapery. The walls were sliding screens of gold-leaf on which were finely drawn etchings of pine-trees covered with snow, the effect suggested rather than finished. It was brilliant with electric light.