“Happiness?” Chisholm tugged at his fair mustache. “Hum!” he looked carefully around. They had that end of the car to themselves. “Heard the news?”
“What news?”
“About the Japanese Ambassador?”
“No.”
“He has been recalled.”
“For what reason?”
“Not given out,” shortly. “He called at the White House and State Department, presented his papers and left this morning.” Chisholm looked Douglas squarely in the face. “Can’t give a poor blasted Englishman a point on the situation, I suppose?”
Douglas smiled with his lips, but his eyes were grave. “I would if I could—but I can’t. The Ambassador’s sudden departure is as great a surprise to me as to you.”
Chisholm leaned forward and touched the electric button as the car approached N Street. “I’ll look you up to-morrow, Douglas. Ta-ta, old chap,” and he hurried out of the car.
Douglas settled back on his seat and pondered over the information Chisholm had given him. What did the Ambassador’s abrupt departure portend? Was it but another of those puzzling coincidences which seemed to follow in the wake of Senator Carew’s murder, or was it the culmination of an intrigue which would end in war?