The opening session of the Limitation of Armaments Conference was held in an environment outwardly calm, but with mutterings of the storm very clearly audible to those who knew something of the real position. The actual surroundings all made for peace,—a stately and dignified chamber, with carefully shaded windows, cool white walls, and oaken furniture, massive, and beautiful with age. There were twenty-six representatives present and six secretaries at the side table, amongst whom Slattery, by special appointment, found a place. He was next to Itash, but the two men exchanged no greetings. At the appointed hour the President entered the room and spoke a few words of welcome. His allusions to the world’s desire for peace seemed to contain, perhaps, a faint note of irony; otherwise there was nothing to indicate any foreknowledge of untoward events. After he had extended his usual formal invitation to luncheon he left the room, and his place was taken by the Secretary of State, who embarked at once upon the proceedings. He declared that on a matter of urgency he had given permission to the English representative. Lord Yeovil, to make a statement before the agenda was entered upon. There was a little movement, a rustling of papers, as Lord Yeovil, on the right-hand side of the Secretary of State, rose to speak, a slim, dignified figure in the cool, soft light. He spoke slowly and very gravely, and his words seemed chosen to attain to the essence of brevity.
“Mr. Secretary and members of the Conference,” he said, “as you know, certain of the Powers have assumed year by year the duty of policing the waters and lands of the earth, in order to satisfy ourselves that the regulations imposed by you, gentlemen, are dutifully and honourably carried out. I have to present to you a report from the Commander of the English flotilla in eastern waters to the effect that Japan, by a system of duplication, described in the papers which I have the honour to lay before you, has during this and the preceding year, exceeded her allowance of marine tonnage by two hundred and fifty thousand tons, and also that, in the harbour of a port on the Chinese coast, leased to her, or on an adjacent island, there have been constructed and are now ready for flying, a score of flying ships of a new type, obviously designed for offensive purposes. The papers containing particulars of this divergence from the principles and ordinances of the Conference, I had the honour to hand to Mr. Secretary of State last night, and a copy has, I believe, been prepared for the inspection of each of you.”
There was a tense silence. One of the young men from the side table arose, with a little pile of papers in his hand, which he distributed around the table. The Secretary allowed a few minutes to elapse while everyone studied the very simple document laid before him, translated in each case into the language of each separate representative. Then he rose to his feet.
“It is my duty,” he said, “to call upon the representative of Japan, His Excellency Prince Yoshimo, to afford us an explanation and reply to this very serious charge.”
Itash moved silently from his place and stepped behind the representative of his country, who was also the Ambassador to the United States. Prince Yoshimo rose slowly to his feet. He seemed imperturbable and wholly unembarrassed.
“Mr. Secretary,” he said, “and gentlemen, the charge of Lord Yeovil has come as a surprise. I can only say that, as has happened before, a little too much zealousness has been shown, a little too great—great—”
“Credulity,” Itash whispered.
“—credulity displayed,” the Ambassador went on. “The so-called duplicate ships are nothing but coal barges, and the flying boats are for commercial purposes. That is my reply.”
Lord Yeovil rose once more to his feet.
“The statement of His Excellency Prince Yoshimo,” he announced, “is in direct contradiction to my information.”
Once more Prince Yoshimo rose, calm and soft-tongued.
“Mr. Secretary,” he said, “I have afforded you the explanation you desired. Let others go and see. Our harbours, and the harbours of such part of the Chinese coast over which we have influence, are free to the vessels of any one of the powers here present.”
The Secretary turned to Lord Yeovil, who rose once more to his feet.
“I desire, sir,” the latter begged, “a postponement of any further discussion for two days.”
The routine business of the Conference was continued, but it was very hard to secure the close attention of any of the members. The questions which they were called upon to decide seemed of infinitesimal importance compared to the magnitude of the issues which had already been raised. The morning session drifted away, however, and the afternoon session, without further incident. The proceedings terminated about five o’clock. Slattery, leaving the place alone, came face to face with Itash in one of the lobbies. No form of salutation passed between them, but Itash stopped and the beginnings of a smile curved his lips unpleasantly.
“Is this wonderful information,” he asked, “part of the babble I am supposed to have talked in my sleep and Mademoiselle Cleo to have repeated?”
“And for repeating which she was murdered.” Grant added.
Itash was unmoved.
“I so seldom read the newspapers,” he said. “I understood that she had committed suicide. That was quite reasonable. Why not? We each have the right. But you do not answer my question.”
“Nor do I intend to,” Grant replied. “But I will be very rash indeed and tell you this. It was Mademoiselle Cleo who conveyed to us your fear that Mr. Cornelius Blunn yielded too much to sentiment. The deepest vault in the Safe Deposit Company of the City should have held that little casket of gold.”
Itash drew a queer little breath. It was as though he had been attacked suddenly by asthma. No thunderous exclamations or furious expletive could have contained half the feeling of his simple words, each one detached from the other, slow and pregnant of a certain agony.
“What—do—you—mean—?”
“Ah!” Grant murmured. “Explanations are so tedious. I will leave you a little puzzle with which you may occupy the rest of the day. Prince Lutrecht is sharing your anxiety. So, I think, is Prince von Diss. Very soon you will know.”
“The casket contained nothing but the letter of Cornelius Blunn, the elder, to his son. A personal letter of no importance.”
Grant passed on with a little smile. Itash watched him down the long corridor, watched him disappear. Then he turned back and hurried to the room where Prince Lutrecht and Von Diss were still talking.
“Prince,” he confided, drawing Lutrecht on one side, “I have just spoken with Slattery, the man who has been doing all this evil work for America. He either jibed at me or the books were in the casket.”
Prince Lutrecht shrugged his shoulders. He was a philosopher and a man of great mind.
“My friend,” he said, “everything that could be done to recover that casket was done. It escaped from our hands. We did our best. I refuse to believe that Cornelius would have trusted himself upon the ocean, carrying such a treasure, without a bodyguard. Besides, two or three days have passed, and nothing has happened. There would have been a thousand arrests and the papers would be seething with their discovery, had the books been there.”
“But,” Itash began
Prince Lutrecht waved him away.
“I will not be worried with possibilities,” he declared. “We have others matters to face.”
Slattery spent a wonderful hour in a quiet room of an official building, talking through a private wire to Hodson in New York. Afterwards he dined at the British Embassy, where all official entertainment had been postponed. He was able to sit alone with Susan on one of the broad piazzas afterwards, watching the rising of the moon, and the fireflies in the meadow at the bottom of the garden.
“Your father was splendid,” Grant told her. “He said just enough. The day after to-morrow will come the bombshell. Hodson has done splendidly too,” he went on. “They have raided thirty or forty mansions in New York, St. Louis, and even Philadelphia, and discovered documents which afford them absolute proof. They are trying to keep the Press muzzled until after to-morrow, but I’m afraid it will be difficult.”
“It seems an amazing tangle,” she murmured.
“We’re making history at express speed,” he replied. “I wonder whether we couldn’t walk down and see if those really are fireflies.”
She rose to her feet, took his arm, and they passed down the broad walk, through the ornamental gardens, to the little wood beyond. After which they talked no more of politics.