"Eight o'clock. I was sorry to miss you when you called this afternoon, Douglas." "How did you know I had been to see you, Chisholm?" in surprise. "The telephone girl told me you were out." "I stopped for a moment at the Rochambeau and found your card in my letter box. I am on my way to the embassy now. Washington seems to agree with you, Douglas," eying his companion with interest. "I never saw you looking better." "Happiness is a great health restorer," laughed Douglas. "Happiness?" Chisholm tugged at his fair mustache. "Hum!" he looked carefully around. They had that end of the car to themselves. "Heard the news?" "What news?" "About the Japanese Ambassador?" "No." "He has been recalled." "For what reason?" "Not given out," shortly. "He called at the White House and State Department, presented his papers and left this morning." Chisholm looked Douglas squarely in the face. "Can't give a poor blasted Englishman a point on the situation, I suppose?" Douglas smiled with his lips, but his eyes were grave. "I would if I could--but I can't. The Ambassador's sudden departure is as great a surprise to me as to you." Chisholm leaned forward and touched the electric button as the car approached N Street. "I'll look you up to-morrow, Douglas. Ta-ta, old chap," and he hurried out of the car. Douglas settled back on his seat and pondered over the information Chisholm had given him. What did the Ambassador's abrupt departure portend? Was it but another of those puzzling coincidences which seemed to follow in the wake of Senator Carew's murder, or was it the culmination of an intrigue which would end in war? The spring day was drawing to a close as Douglas left the car in Georgetown and walked toward "Thornton's Nest." The old place had not altered since he had seen it last, twelve years before, even the beautiful old garden appeared as usual, the same box hedge, the envy of the neighboring landowners, separated the sidewalk from the well-kept private grounds. The large, old-fashioned mansion stood back some distance in its own grounds. The bricks had been brought from Philadelphia by sloop, and the fanlight over the front door had been imported from England in the days prior to the Revolutionary War. The huge columns supporting the arched roof shone white in the gathering darkness. Douglas turned in at the gate and ran lightly up the few stone steps leading to the portico and rang the bell. He had hardly removed his hand from the button when the hall door was opened and an old darky confronted him on the threshold. "Cum right in, Marse Douglas, I'se mighty glad ter see yo' ag'in, suh." "Nicodemus, is that you?" shaking the old man's hand. "I haven't seen you since you chased me off the grounds for stealing apples. How's Sophy?" "Only tol'able, thank ye, suh; she's got a misery in her back. Want ter go to yo' room, suh?" "No; I'll just leave my hat and overcoat here."