"The fact is," she explained, "there are a lot of silly girls about who think every man with a dark skin is a prince in his own country if only he wears a silk hat and patent leather boots." "Is that all?" said Brett. "All what?" cried the girl. "Oh, don't be stupid! I mean when they are well dressed. Princess, indeed! Catch me marrying a nigger." "But Japanese are not niggers." "Well, they're not my sort, anyhow. And fancy a great gawk like Flossie Bird taking on with a little man who doesn't reach up to her elbow. It was simply ridiculous. What did you say her name is now?" He gave the required information, and went on: "Had Mr. Jiro any other friends in Ipswich to your knowledge?" "He didn't know a soul. He was here for the Assizes, about some case, I think. Oh, I remember--the 'Stowmarket Mystery'--and he stayed at the hotel where Flossie was engaged. How she ever came to take notice of him, I can't imagine. She was a queer sort of girl--used to wear bloomers, and get off her bike to clout the small boys who chi-iked at her." "Do her people live here?" "Yes, and a rare old row they made about her marriage--for she is married, I will say that for her. But why are you so interested in her?" The fair Hebe glanced in a mirror to confirm her personal opinion that there were much nicer girls than Flossie Bird left in Ipswich. "Not in her," said Brett; "in the example she set." "What do you mean?" "If a little Japanese can come to this town and carry off a lady of her size and appearance, what may not a six-foot Englishman hope to accomplish?" "Oh, go on!" He took her advice, and went on to the hotel patronised by Mr. Jiro during his visit to Ipswich. The landlord readily showed him the register for the Assize week. Most of the guests were barristers and solicitors, many of them known personally to Brett. None of the other names struck him as important, though he noted a few who arrived on the same day as the Japanese, "Mr. Okasaki." He took the next train to London, and reached Victoria Street, to find Mr. Winter awaiting him, and carefully nursing a brown paper parcel. "I got your wire, Mr. Brett," he explained, "and this morning after Mr. Jiro went out alone--" "Where did he go to?" "The British Museum." "What on earth was he doing there?" "Examining manuscripts, my assistant told me. He was particularly interested in--let me see--it is written on a bit of paper. Here it is, the 'Nihon Guai Shi,' the 'External History of Japan,' compiled by Rai Sanyo, between 1806 and 1827, containing a history of each of the military families. That is all Greek to me, but my man got the librarian to jot it down for him." "Your man has brains. What were you going to say when I interrupted you?" "Only this. No fat companion appeared to day, so I called at No. 17 St. John's Mansions in my favourite character as an old clo' man."