“See if you and Marley can find out their business here in Tokyo.”
O’Neil’s face lighted up in pleasurable anticipation at the suggestion of detective work.
“The man who got in the motor with Impey, just before O’Neil and Marley arrived, dropped a paper,” Sydney interjected. “I picked it up for him.”
“You did!” Phil exclaimed in surprise. “What was it like?”
“A long white envelope,” Sydney replied. “I was too excited to notice it particularly.”
Phil was thoughtfully silent.
“Here’s Sago, the captain’s steward’s address,” Phil said after a few minutes of deep thought. “If you need an interpreter look him up. Come back here when you have anything to tell us.”
The sailors departed, and the midshipmen again read the letter for the “Shimbunshi.”
“No Japanese could write this,” Sydney declared. “This is the work of an Englishman or American.”
“The writer of this,” Phil answered grimly, “is one of the gang of rascals who have been for months trying to break up the friendly relations between Japan and the United States. Could the man with Impey have dropped it? O’Neil spoke of its lying where he had passed.”