Keiki approached nearer, bowing courteously, though somewhat stiffly.
“Sakura,” he said, to gain time, while he held out a roll of paper in his hand. He drew nearer to the figure on the divan. The cold eyes of the other scanned him without fear.
“You are not Sakura. You are—I know you. Be good enough to bring me that cabinet.”
Keiki crossed the apartment to the spot indicated by the other’s gesture. He brought a small, inlaid, lacquer box to the side of the divan.
The one upon the divan, without a trace of nervousness, opened the box and held up to the Prince of Mori a picture of himself.
“See,” he said, “I have your portrait, with an interesting description attached of certain cannon foundries and works I believe you maintain in the south. Ah, there is something else written beneath the picture.” He held it to the light. “Mori, head of the rebel cause, to be followed and beheaded. What is it you want with me?” he finished, replacing the portrait in the box.
Mori laid his hand upon his sword.
“What do you want with Iyesada? I am he, as you are well aware. It is less than a year, I believe, since your lordship was at my court.”
Mori winced. The memory of that last visit recalled his first meeting with Wistaria. He became very pale.
“What do you want with me?” inquired the other, quietly watching him.