“Where’s the madam?” O’Neil asked. His eyes were searching the crowd. In his mind’s eye he saw a graceful Japanese woman of some ten years ago, Haru-san by name, whom Williams had married and settled down after receiving his honorable discharge from the United States navy.
“She’s back in the house,” Williams answered in an offhand way. “She don’t come into the restaurant any more. If you’ve got time, we’ll go back and see her after you’ve finished supper. She often speaks of you.”
An appetizing supper had been set before the two sailors, and they without ceremony commenced the attack. Williams sat watching them in silence, his smile broadening at the evident appreciation in his friends’ faces of the good fare they were eating.
“Billy, you’ve been here in Tokyo long enough to know who’s who?” O’Neil asked the question, shoving back his chair in sign of the end of his meal.
“If there’s any one I don’t know, you can bet that Haru-san does,” was Williams’ quick reply.
“Then, who is this fellow Robert Impey?” O’Neil asked eagerly.
Williams shook his head. “Don’t know the party, never comes here,” was his answer.
“Oh! he ain’t our kind,” O’Neil returned with a smile to set the matter straight. “He belongs to the court set, drives his own automobile, knows the American ambassador.”
Williams appeared to be deep in thought. “Believe I have heard of him, but don’t know anything against him, if that’s what you mean,” he answered.
O’Neil signed by nods of his head that Williams had guessed rightly.