Edith and Wynnie found Tokio rather lonely after the two young men had gone. It was the loveliest season of the Japan year; the trees were pink with blossoms and every street and square carpeted with fallen petals. Save in the government offices and at the railway stations there was little outward sign of war. All over the empire almond-eyed girls and women were working quietly for the soldiers, arranging bandages, picking lint, preparing scrap-books for the hospitals; but this made no stir. The rickshaw coolies pattered along the city streets and groups of strangers clustered about the shop-windows as in the time of peace. Now and then the tap of a drum was heard, and a column of dark-faced little soldiers passed at quickstep, their faces set with stern resolve, the sunrise flag floating before them. For a moment the crowds turned to look, then returned to their money-making or sight-seeing or shopping.
Señor Bellardo became more attentive to the Blacks on the very day when the midshipman and correspondent sailed away in the Zafiro. He attached himself naïvely to their party, even when they went to the War Office to ask for the latest news.
Larkin and Bob Starr, in pursuance of their purpose of showing their friends everything worth seeing in Tokio, had introduced the American girls, as well as Colonel Selborne, to the high government officials, who had welcomed the strangers with utmost courtesy.
About a week after the departure of the young men the Blacks called at the War Office, Bellardo following meekly in their train. As it happened, no one was in the room but the orderlies, who gave the party to understand that their superiors had been called out, but would return soon.
"Oh, we can't wait," said Edith impatiently.
"But it's our last visit, really a call of ceremony, girls," protested their adopted uncle, as he called himself. "It will hardly be courteous to leave without seeing one or both of these gentlemen who have been so polite to us."
"I'll write a line and leave it for them," said Wynnie impulsively. "We've lots to do, Uncle, and we can't waste time, you know, in our last day in Tokio. They may not come back for hours."
She took the chair of one of the officials, looked about for pen and ink, and began writing hurriedly on a blank sheet which lay on the top of a pile of documents. The orderlies gazed in bewilderment at the pretty vision of the girl in a picture hat, occupying the chair of their venerated head of department.
Before Wynnie could finish her note, however, the owner of the chair appeared, with profuse apologies for his delay. Wynnie crumpled up the slip of paper upon which she was writing, and dropped it into the waste-basket as she rose to pay her respects to the war official. The rest of the party advanced and joined in the mutual farewells and regrets. As they stood by the desk, Edith was surprised to see the Spaniard stoop, take Wynnie's half-written note from the basket, and bestow it in an inner pocket. "How sentimental!" she thought, rather contemptuously. She started to speak to her sister about it, on the way home, but something in the street took her attention, and she forgot all about it.
The Blacks had expected to leave next morning for Yokohama, where they were to go on board a steamer for Hawaii and San Francisco. In the disturbed state of affairs on the Chinese coast, Colonel Selborne had concluded not to risk inconvenience or danger, and to give up the rest of the trip. Early in July the whole party would be at home once more. But their plans were interrupted by an unforeseen and astounding incident. It was no less than the detention of all four by the Japanese Government.