"'Girlie'? Oh, yes, I hear from them. Both are in the East somewhere. Sandy's last letter was from Guam. He's a lieutenant now, and so is Tickerson." "Well, I mustn't stay here, bothering you. There's a queer crowd on board--a mixed lot. Seen those little Japs?" "No. What are they here for?" "Oh, just waiters. But it's odd to see Japanese on a Russian man-of-war, considering that--hullo, here's one of them, now!" Sure enough, a small, white-aproned figure came daintily picking his way down into the jarring, clanging, oily engine-room. He seemed a bit troubled to find two of its occupants regarding him intently, as he stepped upon the iron floor. "Mist' Johnson no here?" he asked innocently, gazing around him. "Johnson? No, not that I know of," replied Holmes. "What's his position." "He--he from Boston," said the Jap, after a slight hesitation. "Look here," broke in Larkin, in his offhand way, "what's your name, young fellow?" The steward looked into the reporter's frank, kindly face, then answered, "Oto." "Oto," repeated Fred. "That's a nice easy name to pronounce, if it _is_ Japanese. Well, Oto, how about your chum--what's his name?" "Oshima. We from Japan." "So I suspected," laughed Fred. "Been over long?" The boy looked puzzled. "When did you leave home?" Oto shook his head. "Un'erstan' ver' leetle English," he said. "Well, run along and find Mr. Johnson, of Boston. Norman, good-bye. I'll look in on you again before the end of the trip. Where did Oto go?" The little Jap had melted away--whether upward or downward, no one could say, he had vanished so quickly. Larkin shook his head and made a few cabalistic curves and dots in his note-book, then reascended the stairs to the upper deck. Through a winding staircase in a hollow mast he made his way to one of the fighting-tops. Singularly enough the other Japanese waiter, Oshima, was there before him. As Fred emerged on the circular platform, the boy thrust a scrap of paper under the folds of his jacket and hurried down toward the deck. Again the reporter made a note in his book, and then gave a few moments to the magnificent view of the ship and the open sea through which it was cleaving its way. Directly before and below him lay the forward deck of the _Retvizan_, cleared almost as completely as if for action. Most of the visitors had withdrawn from the keen wind to the shelter of the cabin, where, doubtless, the question of luncheon was already exciting interest. Beneath the fighting-top was the bridge, where the highest officials on the ship were watching her progress. Just beyond was the forward turret, with its projecting guns, their muzzles peacefully closed.