MEANWHILE, in the house, Mr. Kurukawa was inquiring urgently for Gozo. Where was he? Why was he not the first to greet his parents? The grandparents would not respond to his inquiries, but remained silent, looking very dejected and miserable. Their aspect alarmed Mr. Kurukawa, who now clapped his hands loudly. Several servants came running into the room in answer to his summons. Immediately the master questioned them:
“Where is my son Gozo?”
But all the response he received from the servants was a profound silence, broken by that hissing, sighing sound peculiar to the Japanese when moved, a drawing in of the breath through the teeth. Mr. Kurukawa recognized a boy who had been his own body-servant, and to him he strode, seizing the latter by the shoulder of his kimono. But the boy slipped from his hand to the ground and put his head at his master’s feet. There, with his face hidden, he answered the questions put to him.
“Speak, my boy, where is Gozo?”
“O Excellency, young master—sir—” he broke off and began to cry, beating his head as he did so on the floor. Mr. Kurukawa raised him forcibly to his feet.
“What is it, Ido? Has anything happened to our Gozo?”
He could hardly bring the words out. The bare thought that misfortune had befallen his eldest son horrified him.
Ido dried his face on his sleeve, and from his new hiding-place spoke:
“Young master, sir, gone away, O Excellency!”
Mr. Kurukawa’s grasp on the boy’s shoulder relaxed. He stepped back and stood a moment silent, his hand against his forehead.