“No, not Patterson,” explained Ogden. “The man to his left.”
“Oh,” Ethel raised her opera glasses. “Why”—in pleased surprise—“that is little Maru Takasaki and his wife,” and she bowed in greeting. “Aren’t they the cutest little pair?”
“If you mean acute, I’ll agree with you.” Barclay had edged his chair forward and joined in the conversation. “Takasaki has never taken his eyes off Patterson during each entr’acte.”
“Seems to me you were observing them pretty closely to find that out,” remarked Mrs. Ogden dryly. “Hardly complimentary to me, Julian.”
“I, eh,” he stammered in some confusion, but the entrance of James Patterson interrupted him.
“Sit here,” exclaimed Ogden rising and pushing forward a chair toward the middle of the box, and Patterson, casting an indignant look at Norcross who still sat by Ethel, accepted the seat offered. Ethel’s cool smile was not made up to him by Mrs. Ogden’s cordial welcome.
“What were you discussing when I came in?” he asked.
“You,” promptly answered Mrs. Ogden, and Patterson looked gratified. “Julian had just remarked that the little Jap, Takasaki, has been watching you all the evening.”
“Not from admiration, I’ll wager.” Patterson’s smile was grim. “I have a bit of information which may electrify that heavily armed little empire, and awaken our national indifference to a coming crisis.”
“And when will you explode your bomb?” asked Barclay.