“Very good. Here is the packet.” The Secretary passed it over. “That is all, Mr. Topham. Good luck.” He rose, and held out his hand.
Topham bowed and took his departure. Obedient to the secretary’s instructions he went along the corridor to the offices of the Bureau of Navigation of the Navy Department, and explained to the admiral in charge his desire to go via Berlin. Evidently the affair was cut and dried, for his orders were made out and placed in his hands in an amazingly few minutes.
While he waited for them he mentioned to several navy friends the route that he would take and his reasons for desiring it, and made inquiries concerning the officer whom he was to relieve. Later, when, orders in hand, he made his way to the entrance of the building he met an old newspaper friend, to whom he casually mentioned his prospective journey.
Under the big portico he stopped and drew a long breath. Events had moved so fast in the last few hours that he was almost bewildered. He had only reached Washington about noon on that same day, having been detached from his ship at Hampton Roads. On his arrival, he had been questioned concerning his reported acquaintance with the Japanese language, and had been notified to prepare to leave at once for Tokio as naval attaché to the embassy there. He had received detailed instructions, both written and oral, as to the duties of his post; and then had been sent to the Secretary of State for further confidential instructions which had taken the shape described.
His watch showed that barely five hours had elapsed since he had entered the building, with no thought either of Japan or Berlin in his mind. And now he was practically en route for both. The rapidity of the thing made his head swim. “Almost like war times,” he muttered. “Great Scott! I wonder if we really are going to have trouble with the Japs!”
With a shrug of his shoulders he dismissed the matter from his mind. It was no business of his for the moment at least. Again he looked at his watch. “Half-past five o’clock,” he muttered, hesitating.
He need not leave for New York before midnight, and the temptation was strong upon him to spend a few hours in looking up the friends he had made during his tour of duty at the Capital City two years before. They were very good friends, many of them, and he would enjoy meeting them.
Only one thing made him pause and that was the thought of Lillian Byrd—if she still were Lillian Byrd. She had played with him, laughed at him, and tossed him over for a wealthier man. When she did so, he had asked for sea duty and had gotten it. He believed that the two years he had spent afloat had healed the wound, and yet he hesitated to risk testing it. Everything and every one he would see would remind him of the days when he lived in a fool’s paradise. Why should he torture himself with the vain recollection. He would not! He would take the next train for New York and leave Washington with its friends, foes, and sweethearts behind him.
An hour later he was speeding northward.