At first I thought he just hadn't bought the story. But then it turned out that there were these rules, you see. No one was allowed on the floor weekends without a pass signed personally by Tanaka-san. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly two A.M. More heavy intakes of air and muzukashii’s. Of course the honorable Dr. Richardson-san, being an honorable director herself, should be able to come and go as she pleased, but the rules . . .
He seemed to be pleading with Tarn to help him find a resolution for this towering dilemma.
"What's the problem, Tam?" I enquired, sotto voce.
"No fucking pass."
After an extremely awkward pause a light bulb clicked on in my simple mind. With great theatrics I suddenly slapped my own forehead, gave Tam a tip-off in English, and began rummaging my pockets. When we left the house I'd grabbed an old topcoat, not worn since that rainy night I met Noda, and in it somewhere was . . .
She started explaining that Walton-san may have brought the pass with him and merely let that fact slip his mind.
Then I felt what I was looking for, in the bottom of the inside pocket. Noda's meishi, his business card, complete with the English note scribbled across the back.
"How stupid of me," I apologized. "Had it all along. Noda- san's 'top priority' pass. He gave it to me only yesterday."
Yamada took the business card and studied it with a puzzled look. What did this have to do with anything?
That's when I impatiently turned it over and pointed to the English scribbling on the back. Noda's initials, I groused, right there at the bottom.