“Capella will do nothing so crude,” was the comment. “He is no fool. I do not credit him with the murder of Sir Alan, but if I am mistaken in this respect, it is impossible to suppose that he can dream of clearing his path again by the same drastic method. Of course he means mischief, but he will stab reputations, not individuals.”
“When will you come to the Black Museum?”
“At once, if you like. But before we set out I want to discuss Mr. Okasaki with you. What sort of person is he?”
“A genuine Jap, small, lively, and oval-faced. His eyes are like tiny slits in a water melon, and when he laughs his grin goes back to his ears.”
“Really, Winter, I did not credit you with such a fund of picturesque imagery. Would you know him again?”
“I can’t be certain. All Japs are very much alike, to my thinking, but if I heard him talk I would be almost sure. Why do you ask?”
“Because I have been looking up a little information with reference to the Ko-Katana and its uses. Now, Okasaki is the name of a Japanese town. Family names almost invariably have a topographical foundation, referring to some village, river, street, or mountain, and there may be thousands of Okasakis. Then, again, it was the custom some years ago for a man to be called one name at birth, another when he came of age, a third when he obtained some official position, and so on. For instance, you would be called Spring when you were born, Summer when you were twenty-one, Autumn when you became a policeman, and Winter when you reached your present rank.”
“Oh, Christopher!” cried the detective. “And if I were made Chief Inspector?”
“Then your title would be ‘Top Dog’ or something of the sort.”
Mr. Winter assimilated the foregoing information with a profound thankfulness that we in England do these things differently.