The Emperor bent upon him a gaze that in a man of genius would have shown his soul.
“I believe you,” he muttered. Then to himself: “Whom may I, of a truth, believe—whom may I trust?”
The Prince of Echizen, regaining his feet, continued:
“These massacres were the work of a ronin—Hasuda—who is all for the cause, although an unauthorized agent. By this deed, however, he and his men will aid the cause.”
“How?”
“They will embroil the shogunate with the powers—the shogunate, which is responsible to the foreigners for the peace.”
“But the shogunate had naught to do with these burnings and killings.”
“True,” said Echizen, smiling slightly, “but think you that the silly foreigner is possessed with your penetration, sire? At the burning of the foreign houses the ronins cried in the name of the shogunate.”
“A stroke, truly,” said the Emperor, thoughtfully.
And having dared this observation the cautious Emperor hastened to qualifications.