“I think you must not ask me to discuss the politics of a friendly Power within ... within the confines of that Power. Or, indeed, you may ask, of course, but I feel it would be improper to answer.”
I flung myself upon him from another angle.
“People in England cannot help wondering what effect Mr. Hara’s assassination will have on the Conference.”
“I have always thought,” he replied, after a pause, “that in a society so constituted as ours, it is impossible that such an incident—or, or, indeed, any incident—should be devoid of effect and significance.”
“It might prejudice the issue?”
“Conceivably. Or, on the other hand, in certain circumstances, by drawing attention to what is called the War Party in Japan—if such a party exists, as to which I say nothing—it might, in the long run, exercise quite the opposite influence.”
I tried a more direct approach. “Might I ask what will be the policy of the British Delegation?”
“Certainly. The policy of the British Delegation, subject to the approval of His Majesty’s Government, will be that decided upon, after due deliberation, by the Chief Delegate in consultation with his colleagues.”
We walked on a few yards in silence—I struggling to frame a question that he could not evade, he with his eyes on the horizon and his thoughts (I imagine) in another planet. To relieve my evident distress, he said at last, “Would you like me to say anything further?”
I threw diplomacy to the winds and faced him with savage determination. I said to myself that I would not be trifled with.