In fifteen minutes Brett was bowling along Knightsbridge in a hansom, having left Hume with a strict injunction to rack his brains for any further undiscovered facts bearing upon the inquiry, and turn up promptly at ten o'clock next morning. Although the hour was late for calling upon a complete stranger, the barrister could not rest until he had inspected the Jiro ménage. No. 17 was a long way from the ground level. Indeed, the cats of Kensington, if sufficiently enterprising, inhabitated the floor above. He rang, and was surveyed with astonishment by a very small maid-servant. "Is Mr. Numagawa Jiro at home?" he inquired. "No, sir, but Mrs. Jiro is." An infantine wail from one of the apartments showed that there was also a young Jiro. The maid neither advanced nor retreated. She simply stood stock still, petrified by the sight of a well-dressed visitor. Brett suggested that she should inform her mistress of his presence. "Please, sir," whispered the girl, "are you from Ipswich?" "No; from Victoria Street." "I only asked, sir, because master is particular about people from Ipswich. They upset missus so." She vanished into the interior, and came back to usher him into the drawing-room. The flat was expensively furnished, but very untidy. He at once perceived, however, that the "former" Mr. Okasaki was not romancing when he boasted of his artistic tastes. The Japanese articles in the room were gems of faience and lacquer work. The entrance of Mrs. Jiro drew the barrister's eyes from surrounding objects. He was momentarily stunned. The woman was almost a giantess, and amazingly stout. In a tiny flat, waited on by a diminutive servant, and married to a Japanese, she was grotesque. Originally a very tall and fairly good-looking girl, she had evidently blossomed out like one of the gorgeous chrysanthemums of her husband's favoured land. Assuredly she had acquired no Japanese traits either in manner or appearance. At first she seemed to be in a genuinely British bad temper, but Brett excelled in the art of smoothing the ruffled plumes of femininity. "What is it?" she demanded, surveying him suspiciously. "I wish to see Mr. Jiro," he said, "but permit me to apologise for making such an untimely call. As he is not at home, I must not trouble you beyond inquiring a likely hour to see him to-morrow." He smiled so pleasantly that the lady became more complaisant. "He may not be very long--" she commenced, but the youthful Jiro's voice was again heard in fretful complaint. "My baby is not well to-night," she explained. "Poor little darling!" said Brett. He was tempted to add: "What is its name?" but refrained. "Won't you sit down?" said Mrs. Jiro. "As I was saying, my husband may not be very long--" She was fated not to complete that doubly accurate sentence, for at that moment a key rattled in the outer door. "Here he is," she announced; and Mr. Jiro entered.