“Was this letter open,” Phil asked eagerly, “and did you show it to Sago?”
O’Neil nodded in the affirmative.
“The seal was broken when I got it, sir,” the sailor replied. “I asked Sago to translate it for us, and he didn’t tell the correct dope what was in it, but one of Mr. Impey’s men did.” The sailor looked up questioningly, jerking his head over toward the listening Japanese.
“I want them to hear,” Phil exclaimed. “I want you to tell everything that has happened. We must clear up this terrible misunderstanding.”
“They said it was an imperial order to take the Chinese ships, which would mean war between the United States and Japan,” O’Neil explained. “When I realized that our having the letter might bring about ill feeling for the ‘Alaska,’ I put all the blame where it belonged, for they told me that Mr. Impey had translated the letter. I told the Japanese naval officer that we had taken the letter from the two men on the yacht. Probably those men are now prisoners on the Jap ships at Yokohama.”
Phil stepped forward to where Takishima was standing, a much puzzled expression on the lieutenant’s usually calm face.
“You see, Takishima,” he said coldly, “I meant to be honest with you, and if I hadn’t lost the letter, would have restored it last night. It seems Mr. Impey has fooled us both. He is no more my friend than he is yours.”
“Then you did not order your sailors to secure the letter?” Takishima asked slowly.
“You have heard what O’Neil has said,” Phil replied quietly, “and the ‘Shimbunshi’ letter found in my room was written by Impey’s men also.”
Takishima was on the point of inquiring further; the details of the perplexing tangle were as yet not clear in his mind, but Phil had turned away. He had caught a glimpse of a woman’s gown, and in confusion gazed at Helen Tillotson standing near, supported by her Japanese friend. He was at her side in an instant.