Mr. Washburn knitted his brows.
'Still friction—always friction,' he admitted. 'The whole thing is too ridiculous. Personally, I consider our Western States are very much to blame. We have never before raised the cry 'America for the Americans only,' and it's too late to do it now. And the fact of it is you see, the Western States simply decline to fall in with Washington Policy. Then the trouble comes. Any particular reason for asking?'
'I don't know yet,' Lavendale replied. 'There's a Japanese fellow named Komashi in my line of business, seems to be very busy just lately. I only caught on to it last night, though. Chief well?'
'We are all overworked,' Washburn replied. 'We have had to send Barclay over to Berlin to get a personal report about the prisoners' camps there. Then we get enough questions from Germany ourselves, about their prisoners here, to swamp the place.'
Lavendale took up his hat.
'I'll see you later,' he promised.
He walked down the steps from Spring Gardens into St. James's Park and sat for a time upon a seat. Exactly in front of him, the upper floors of one of the big houses in Carlton Terrace had been turned into a hospital, and he could see the soldiers lying about in long chairs, a few of them entertaining guests. Behind him was the long row of huts built by the Admiralty. A troop of soldiers swung along the broad road, a loudly playing band heralded the approach of a little company of recruits. Save for these things, London seemed as usual. From where he sat, the hum and the roar of the great city came as insistently as ever to his ears. His thoughts had travelled back to New York. How long, he wondered? ...
It was one of the chances of a lifetime which brought Lavendale face to face that afternoon with Baron Niko Komashi in a quiet street near St. James's Square. Niko would have passed on without even a sign of recognition but Lavendale stopped him.
'Good afternoon!' he said.
'Good afternoon!' the other replied gravely.