“What shall I say to the Emperor?” he muttered. “What shall I say to the Emperor?”
Then his feelings came again under control; he looked calmly at Alcatrante. “Well,” he said, “what would you suggest?”
Alcatrante’s face was a puzzle. Every shade of doubt, disappointment, anger, suspicion, and shrewd deduction passed over it. He was putting into play that marvelous power of concentration on subtle issues that had enabled him to play so brilliantly the rôle of international under-dog. At last he smiled and spoke.
“Find the American,” he said.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Arima looked at his master, who nodded indifferently and said: “Yes, see who it is. It can do no harm now.”
Orme heard the door open. What startled him first was the action of Poritol, who stepped back to the wall, his jaw dropping, his face a picture of embarrassment and fright. Alcatrante and the stranger showed amazement.
For a moment they stood thus in silence, and then from the door came a clear voice:
“What? You here, Mr. Alcatrante? And the Japanese minister?”
Orme almost sprang from his hiding-place. The voice was the voice of the girl!