And Utterbourne, though he ignored the reproach, seemed to comprehend. “My God,” he said very softly, under his breath. But already his mind was grappling with possibilities, some of which might be realities, beyond this fact. “Where’s King?” he asked with the former terseness.
Tsuda hesitated, as though delicately loath to be the bearer of so much ill news. “The White Kami,” he muttered at length, “lies—gn—in a trance, Captain. We can’t rouse him much any more. Yet sometimes he cry out about the ogres. They are still go on, you know, yes sir, even if Raikō—”
“That’s enough!” exclaimed Utterbourne almost savagely, though still in a very low voice. “I tell you it’s no time for your prattle about the gods. Where is King?”
“In the great house, Captain.”
“What do you mean by saying he’s in a trance? Do you mean—opium?”
“Sss,” replied Tsuda, and was still.
Captain Utterbourne thrust out his hands and gripped Tsuda’s arms—felt the man tremble in his clutch.
“If all this isn’t the truth, let’s have it now. Otherwise it will go hard with you later.”
Utterbourne was a man who, when a situation seemed perfectly simple, could make it appear obscure and devious, but who, if a situation was full of doubt and mystery, could speak out bluntly from the shoulder.
“No, no—the truth!” cried Tsuda. “By all the shrines of Shinshū...!” And in a moment he added: “The White Kami is fall on evil ways, Captain.”