There was also a minute description of Mr. Hemster, Miss Stretton, and myself, so that the man at the gate could make no mistake, which indeed he had not done. Hilda had not asked for a letter, therefore the remaining note had not been delivered.
Whoever concocted the plot had expected a search to be made for the House of the Million Blossoms, and of course knew that its situation could easily be found. I put all the documents into my pocket, and now went out by the public exit, greatly to the amazement of my urbane friend at the gate. I fear I may be accused of adopting Western methods, but the occasion seemed to me too serious for dilly-dallying. I pulled Mr. Hemster’s revolver from my pocket and pointed it at the man’s head.
“Now, you scoundrel,” I said in his own tongue, “when did those women leave here? Answer me truly, or I shall take you prisoner to Nagasaki, where you will have to face the authorities.”
I showed him the written instructions I had captured inside the house, and he saw at once that the game was up.
“Excellency!” said he, still politely enough, “I am but a poor man and a hireling. Many days ago a messenger brought me these instructions and three letters. No lady has been in this house for some years; the instructions were written by my mistress, the Countess, and I was compelled to follow them.”
I saw that the man spoke the truth, and proceeded to cross-examine him on the motives which he imagined actuated this extraordinary complication; but he had told me all he knew, and was apparently as much in the dark regarding the motive as I was myself. I left him there, and hurried along the road over the hill to the spot where I had left Mr. Hemster and Hilda. Here I explained the conspiracy so far as I had discovered it, but the record of my investigation naturally did nothing to calm the fears of my employer, whose shrewdness had given a clue to the real situation at the House of the Million Blossoms. There was nothing to do but get back to Nagasaki as speedily as possible, and lay the case before the authorities. Hemster seemed suddenly to have become in truth an old man. We went directly to the hotel, and the clerk met us in the passage-way.
“Mr. Hemster,” he said, “this telegram came for you about two hours ago.”
The old gentleman tore open the envelope, read the dispatch, then crushed the paper in his hand.
“Just as I thought,” he said. “She is in Seoul and has found some way of communicating with me. Poor little girl, poor little girl.”