A Chicago Princess

by Robert Barr

Next morning the Chinese steamer was nowhere in sight, so it was reasonably certain she had been the cause of our misfortune. The yacht rode at its anchorage, apparently none the worse so far as could be seen from the town. Before noon the craft was in dock, and we learned to our relief that her propellers were untouched. She needed a new rudder, and the rest was mere carpenter work which would be speedily accomplished by the deft Japanese workmen. Mr. Hemster had his desk removed to a room in the hotel, and business went on as before, for there were still many details to be settled with Mr. John C. Cammerford before he proceeded toward San Francisco. I think we all enjoyed the enlarged freedom of residence on shore, and the old gentleman said that he quite understood his daughter’s desire to get away from sight of sea or ship. It struck me as remarkable that he was not in the slightest degree alarmed for the safety of his daughter, nor did he doubt for a moment her assertion that she was going to stop at the country house of the Countess. On the other hand I was almost convinced she had been kidnapped, but did not venture to display my suspicions to her father, as there seemed no useful purpose to be served by arousing anxiety when my fears rested purely on conjecture. Of course I consulted confidentially with Hilda, but a curious transformation had taken place in our several beliefs. When she spoke of the probability of the girl’s committing suicide or doing something desperate, I had pooh-poohed her theory. We had each convinced the other, and I had adopted her former view while she had adopted mine. She had heard no scream on the night of the disaster, and regarded it as a trick of my imagination.

But what made me more uneasy was the departure of the Prime Minister. His fears for himself and family were genuine enough, and he was not likely to abandon a quest merely because his first effort had failed. It meant death to him if he returned to Seoul without the girl, so, if he had not captured her, it seemed incredible that he should return the same night without a single effort to accomplish his mission. The second,—and, as far as he knew, successful,—essay to sink the yacht, must have been to prevent pursuit. He was probably well aware that the yacht was the fastest steamer in the harbour, and, if it were not disabled, would speedily overhaul him. He also knew that his officers and crew were no heroes, and that with half-a-dozen energetic Japanese in addition to our own crew we could capture his steamer on the high seas without the slightest effort being put forth to hinder us. He had now a clear run to Chemulpo, and, however resolute we were, there was no possibility of our overtaking him. I had offered him my assistance, which he had accepted in a provisional sort of way, yet here he had disappeared from the scene without leaving word for me, and apparently had returned to the land where his fate was certain if he was unsuccessful. Of course, he might have made for Yokohama or Shanghai, but I was convinced, after all, that he cared more for the safety of his family than for his own, and indeed, if he was thinking only of himself, he was as safe in Nagasaki as elsewhere. I could therefore come to no other conclusion than that the girl was aboard the Chinese steamer and was now a prisoner on her way to Seoul, but of this I could not convince Hilda Stretton, and Mr. Hemster evidently had no misgivings in the matter.

Obviously the first thing to do was to learn the antecedents of the so-called Japanese Countess, and with this intent I called at the American Consulate. The official in charge received me with the gracious good-comradeship of his nation, and replied with the utmost frankness to my questions. He remembered Miss Hemster’s visit of a few days before, and he assured me that the Countess was above suspicion. As for her knowledge of Corean, that was easily accounted for, because her late husband had been a Japanese official at Seoul a dozen years or so ago, and she had lived with him in that city. Corea, indeed, had been in a way the cause of the Countess’s financial misfortunes. Her husband, some years before he died, had invested largely in Corean enterprises, all of which had failed, and so left his wife with scarcely anything to live upon except the country house, which was so remote from Nagasaki as to be unsalable for anything like the money he had expended upon it. Exactly where this country house was situated the United States Consul professed himself ignorant, but said he would endeavour to find out for me, and so genially asked me to take a drink with him and call a few days later.

This conversation did much to dissipate my doubts. Of course, without Mr. Hemster’s permission I could not tell the Consul the full particulars of the case, or even make any reference to them. So far as that courteous official knew, I was merely making inquiries on behalf of Mr. Hemster about the woman engaged to be his daughter’s companion, and about the country house which the girl had been invited to visit. The Consul assured me that everything was right and proper, and that Miss Hemster would get a glimpse of the inner life of the Japanese not usually unfolded to strangers, and thus my reason was convinced, although my instinct told me there was something unaccountable in all this. The scream I had heard simultaneously with the crashing of the collision might of course have been the shrill shriek of one of the Chinese sailors, but at the time it had sounded to me suspiciously like the terrified exclamation of a woman. Then, again, the action of the Prime Minister remained as unaccountable as ever, unless my former theory proved correct. However, I got the name of the Countess, which none of us who remained had known before, and I promised to return and learn the situation of the country house. My visit, on the whole, was rather reassuring; for, after all, there was little use in attaching too much importance to the actions of any Corean, even though he were Prime Minister of that country; so the problem began to appear to be a self-conjured one, and I gradually came to recognize that I had been troubling myself for nothing.

The week that followed was one of the most delightful in my existence. The captain was superintending the repairs on the yacht, and the intricacies of Mr. Hemster’s business activity were such that I could not be of much assistance to him; so there was practically nothing to do but to make myself agreeable to that dear girl, Hilda, to whom I showed whatever beauties Nagasaki possessed, and surely no one knew the town better than I did. She took a vivid interest, not only in the place, but also in my own somewhat doleful experience there in former and less happy times, not yet remote, the recital of which experiences rendered the present all the more glorious by contrast.

On our tenth day ashore Hilda told me that the old gentleman was beginning to worry because he had heard nothing from his daughter, and Hilda herself expressed some uneasiness because of the long silence. This aroused all my old doubts, and I called a second time on the American Consul. He told me that the information I sought had been in hand several days. The villa was called “The House of the Million Blossoms,” and it was situated nearly ten miles from Nagasaki. He produced a sketch map, drawn by himself, which he said would guide me to the place, so I resolved to visit it without saying a word to anyone.

I found the villa of the Blossoms without the least difficulty, and a most enchanting spot it appeared to be. Situated inland, at the bottom of a sheltered valley, through which ran a trickling stream, the place had evidently been one of importance in its day; but now the entrance lodge showed signs of dilapidation, and the plantation itself was so marvellously overgrown as to be almost a wilderness, with foliage too thick for me to see anything of the house itself. The custodian of the lodge received me with great urbanity but no less firmness. He confessed that the ladies were there, but added that he had strict orders to allow no one to enter or even to approach the house. I asked him to take my card to the stranger lady, and, although at first he demurred, I overcome his reluctance by an urbanity which I flatter myself was a stage imitation of his own, and, what was more to the purpose, I induced him to accept a present in the coinage of the realm. Nevertheless he securely barred the gate and left me outside, showing that his trust in my good faith was either very weak, or that his politeness was confined to the flowery language of his country. After a long absence he returned, and handed to me a folded sheet of note paper which I recognized as belonging to the stationery of the yacht. It bore these words in English, and in Miss Hemster’s handwriting:

“I wish to remain here in seclusion, and I consider it very impertinent of you to have sought me out. I am perfectly happy here, which I was not on board the yacht, and all I wish is to be left alone. When good and ready I will write to the yacht and to the Nagasaki Hotel. Until that time it is useless for you to intrude.”

This was definite enough, and I turned away angry with myself for having played the busybody, not knowing enough to attend to my own affairs. I had intended to tell the young woman of the accident to the yacht, making that in some way the excuse for my visit; but in the face of such a message I forgot all about the information I desired to impart, and so returned in a huff to Nagasaki. This message set at rest all thoughts of kidnapping, although it left my honoured friend Hun Woe’s precipitate departure as much a mystery as ever.