“Tell us what you can see, that it concerns the Emperor to know,” M. Auguste had adjured his familiar.
“I see”—the reply was rapped out with irritating slowness—I quite longed for a slate—“an English dockyard. The workmen are secretly at work by night, with muffled hammers. They are building a torpedo boat. It is to the order of the Japanese Government. The English police have received secret instructions from the Minister of the Interior not to interfere.”
“Minister of the Interior” was a blunder. With my knowledge of English politics I am able to say that the correct title of this personage should be “Secretary of State for the Domestic Department.” But few foreigners except myself have been able to master the intricacies of the British Constitution.
“For what is this torpedo boat designed?” M. Auguste inquired.
“It is for service against the Baltic Fleet. The Russian sailors are the bravest in the world, but they are too honest to be a match for the heathen Japanese,” the spirit pursued, with some inconsistency.
I could not help reflecting that Madame Blavatsky in her lifetime had professed the Buddhist faith, which is that of the majority in Japan.
“Do you see anything else?”
“I see other dockyards where the same work is being carried on. A whole fleet of warships is being prepared by the perfidious British for use against the fleet of Russia.”
“Ask her to cast her eye over the German dockyards,” I put in.
“Spirits have no sex,” M. Auguste corrected severely. “I will ask it.”