"Boy no must tell. He say letter send Tokyo Club."
Ware's composure had been fiercely shaken that night and this obstacle in his path pricked him to the point of exasperation. With impatience he threw away his cigar and walked out through the cool, brilliant evening.
But the glittering pageant of the prismatic streets inspired only a rising irritation. When a pedestrian jostled him, the elaborate bow of apology and ceremonial drawing-in of breath met with only a morose stare. He left the Bund and threaded the Honcho-dori—the "Main Street"—striving to curb his mood. Midway of its length was a jeweler's shop-window with a beautiful display of jewel-jade. In it was hung a sign which he read with a wry smile: "English Spoken: American Understood." Ware entered and handed the Japanese clerk his broken cigar-case.
The counter was spread with irregular pieces of the green and pink stone, wrought with all the laborious cunning of the oriental lapidary. At his elbow a clerk was packing a jade bracelet into a tiny box for delivery. He wrapped and addressed it painstakingly with a little brush—
Esquire Philp Weare,
Kasumiga-tani Cho, 36.
Tokyo.
In the street Ware smiled grimly as he entered the address in his note-book. He had always believed in his luck. To-morrow he would find Phil, and gain further enlightenment—incidentally on the matter of jade bracelets! His mouth set in contemptuous lines as he walked back to the hotel.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE WOMAN OF SOREK
"And as to the foreigner named Philip Ware, that is all you know?"