“Only a flesh cut,” Sydney exclaimed in relief after he had examined the wound and assisted O’Neil in applying a first-aid dressing.
Takishima and Lieutenant Tanu, his second, stood nonplussed at the sudden appearance of what they looked upon as an unwarranted interruption.
“This is a nice hospitable way of entertaining your guests,” O’Neil exclaimed almost angrily, as he glanced at the haughty faces of the Japanese officers. “Civilized people don’t fight duels any more. I thought you prided yourself on being highly enlightened.”
“Don’t make it any worse than it is, O’Neil,” Sydney commanded irritably. “Mr. Perry has given him satisfaction, and his life too, for that matter.”
“I am afraid it’s all my fault, Mr. Perry,” O’Neil said soberly dropping his bantering manner. “Bill and I found a letter at the theatre. It was the one lost by the injured messenger. If we’d caught you at the hotel this morning we’d have given it to you and saved all this trouble.”
“Where’s the letter now?” Phil questioned anxiously, holding out his hand to O’Neil, half expecting to see the sailor produce it from his blouse.
“It’s in the hands of the Japanese naval officers at Yokohama.” O’Neil imparted the information, a spark of triumph in his eyes. “Our friend Mr. Impey and his cutthroats attempted to jail me and Bill here, and lay hands on the letter, but we fooled ’em, and when we were let loose, I gave the letter to the Japanese naval officer that came over in response to our call for help.”
The lads looked surprised and puzzled, but Takishima’s face as he listened wore an expression which was hard to interpret.
O’Neil quietly and in a few words outlined the yacht incident, not sparing the two men who had been aiding Impey to discredit America in the eyes of the Japanese.
“The man that brought our flag on the stage at the theatre last night was with them. I believe he’s a Filipino insurgent,” O’Neil added.