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  FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  The groundwork has been laid. The carpenter is coming in the morning, and it is arranged that M H and G will depart for the Admiralty—in actuality the Swiss embassy—upon his arrival. In his persona of the carpenter, Sutton will work a full day on the pocket doors and leave at five-thirty. Sutton will return at six-thirty, as M H and will make his customary visit to his club, then come back to remain here until M H returns from the Swiss embassy.

  It is a simple plan, but for that reason has more chance of success, for it has been my experience over the years that the less there is to go wrong the greater the chance of success.

  M H has instructed me to make the proper clothes ready for the reception at the Swiss embassy two nights from now. He said that the invitation, unofficial though it may be, is foolish beyond permission. “If our dealings are discovered, all the care we have taken for the last two weeks will be for less than naught, for not only will our efforts be undone, they will be completely undermined.”

  Tomorrow I am to devote my time to locating whoever is watching this place, and to determine what it is they want to know. I haven’t done this since Cairo, but I remember how it is done well enough.

  I ARRIVED IN Pall Mall an hour earlier than was my habit, and was admitted by Mycroft Holmes, who was waiting impatiently for me, once again in the striped trousers and swallowtail coat he so disliked. I, too, had dressed more formally than was my wont, and I carried a black leather portfolio for my notebooks and any papers I was instructed to carry upon our return; it had a small brass lock keeping it closed. The key was in my inner waistcoat pocket.

  “There’s tea, kippers, and eggs in the sitting room, if you want a bite of food.” He himself held a cup of tea, and was clearly finishing it.

  “I’ve broken my fast already, sir,” I said, knowing he was eager to be off, though it was also the truth. In the year I had been in Holmes’ employ, I had learned to make myself completely ready before presenting myself to him, and breakfast was part of the preparation.

  “Good, good,” he said distantly. “Tyers is speaking to the Viscount’s servants, alerting them to the carpenter’s arrival.” He held his cup as he paced. “It is always awkward in these cases,” he mused, resuming an interrupted thought. “If only the Prince would tell us who his mistress is. Then we could deal with the situation. The woman would appreciate the impossibility of their . . . liaison and would listen to reason.”

  “You would threaten her,” I said with distaste.

  “If she would not accept a more agreeable settlement, yes,” said Holmes, and turned on me with a look of chagrin. “Good God, man, I would deny no man his happiness, but this is an untenable romance. It cannot succeed in giving the two of them anything but pain at best and disgrace at worst.” He shook his long head. “It is not only that they are endangered by their affaire, they bring far greater risks to their two countries. Any difficulties we might have to resolve can only be exacerbated by this . . . contretemps. I do not think the woman is so lost to propriety and duty that she would remain with the Prince if she understood the magnitude of the problem they have created.”

  “And the Prince?” I asked, thinking of the unfortunate woman who had so disastrously engaged his affections. “He is the son of the Emperor of Japan. Surely he is not so lost to passion that he is willing to forget his birth. What of his duty?”

  “He has refused to discuss the matter with Ambassador Tochigi. And given that the Prince is the Emperor’s second son, Tochigi may not press the matter.” Holmes shrugged and set his cup aside. “It is a more Medieval society than our own, the Japanese, and more military in character. More proscribed. It is due to their history. They have not been successfully invaded for more than seven hundred years. But though the Normans were the last to conquer, England has a long history of absorbing its conquerors. We have them in our people and our language, layer upon layer of them: Celt, Roman, Saxon, Jute, Angle, Viking, Norman, all have played their part. And that tradition has continued to this day. England has long taken in waves of people fleeing the wars on the Continent—Dutch weavers in Norfolk, Huguenots in the south, Italian intellectuals at Oxford and Cambridge, German and Hungarian musicians with the House of Hanover. We have not turned back those who sought refuge here. Luckily for England.”

  “So I have grasped from the material you have instructed me to read.” I looked about for his case and saw it at the door. “I find much of it baffling.”

  Mycroft Holmes reached for his cloak. “As do I. Though I am sure many of our best officers would sympathize with the Bushido code.”

  “The Samurai code? Do you think so? To the point of suicide?” I asked, astonished that Holmes would endorse anything so repellent. “That is what I cannot grasp—a sense of honor that demands self-murder.”

  Holmes gave me a long, steady look. “There are many kinds of suicide, dear boy. Think a little. Do not assume that those ruined men who blow their brains out to save themselves from scandal are the only suicides in England. They are only the most obvious.” He turned as he heard an unexpected sound from the rear of the flat. “Tyers? Is that you?” he called out.

  “Mister Holmes” came his answer. A moment later Tyers appeared at the end of the corridor. “Only the baker’s delivery wagon is in the back just now. Old Reg is driving, as always. He told me he was thinking about letting his son-in-law take over the work, what with his hands being all gnarled up. I took half the number of scones I usually buy; I remarked that you would be at the Admiralty today and would have your tea there.” He regarded me carefully. “The proper coat; very good.”

  Holmes’ grey eyes lit appreciatively. “You will discover how fast that information spreads, won’t you?”

  “I certainly will,” said Tyers, and went to hold the front door for Holmes and me.

  I gathered up my portfolio and took an umbrella from the large Chinese vase by the door where Holmes kept several. I was not so much worried about rain as I wanted to have a useful-but-unobvious weapon.

  Holmes gave an approving nod. “Wise. Pistols will not be welcome at the Swiss embassy, by either the Swiss or the Japanese. They will claim that we cannot negotiate in good faith if we arrive armed. We will respect their wishes for the time being.” Holmes had taken the largest of the umbrellas, the one I knew contained a sword in its shaft. As he led the way down to the street, Holmes said over his shoulder, “The Admiralty carriage will arrive in a short while. I only wish we might use Sid Hasting’s cab, but—We must allow time for people to notice our departure.”

  “How fortunate the morning is sunny,” I said, holding my portfolio close against me as we reached the street. “That will make it easier for us to be observed as we make our departure.”

  “Certainly,” said my employer with heavy-handed sarcasm.

  Pall Mall was busy at this hour of the morning. Fashionable cabriolets and milord coaches and a few whiskeys and spiders moved along the long curve of the street. Though it was approaching nine, some late delivery wagons mixed with the grander equipages, like fishing smacks among yachts.

  The Admiralty coach was a fine modern enclosed brake with a handsome Comtois gelding between the shafts. The driver drew up at the kerb and opened the side panel for us. Mycroft Holmes entered first, I followed and closed the door-panel, making sure that my portfolio was behind my legs against the seat.

  “Let me advise you, Guthrie,” said Holmes as we started off into the traffic. “The Japanese expect to see a great deal of deference from men of your position, and will not think well of you if you do not show the degree of respect—not to say obsequiousness—their society demands. I realize it is distasteful, but I believe it is also necessary to accommodate them in these matters.”

  “You wish me to take my model from their secretaries and clerks,” I said. “As we did with the Turks in Barcelona last March, is that what’s wanted?” I nodded in answer to this rhetorical question, and turned the nod into
a bow. “Rest assured, I understand. And I will contrive to do as you request.”

  “I knew I need not ask,” murmured Holmes, and patted his case. “This must be your first concern when you are in my company. No one but you and I are to handle the case and its contents.” He leaned back against the squabs. “If I can arrange it, however, I want you to spend some time with the Japanese underlings. It is rumored that the Emperor is seeking more support from the Samurai class, wanting them to endorse his overtures to the West. The servants might well discuss this among themselves; servants usually do. Most of them know some English. And while you are at it, I want you to find out what you can about the character of the Prince.”

  “Servants’ gossip, sir?” I asked, shocked at the suggestion. “How will that help you? Even if I spoke Japanese, I doubt whether the servants would be so indiscreet as to speak out of turn in my presence.

  “No, not that, not those whispers that are always passing among servants. I want to know how things stand between Tochigi and the Prince as the Japanese understand it. I want to know what the servants think of the attempts to have more Japanese cadets at Dartmouth. I want to know if anyone else has been asking similar questions.” This last remark turned his face grave. “That may well be the most important of all.”

  I did my best to appear calm. “I’ll do what I can, sir. But from what I have read in the material you gave me, the Japanese are not likely to be very forthcoming with a foreigner like me.”

  Holmes sighed. “Probably not, but we must make an attempt,” he said. “Tochigi is in the position of strength just now.”

  I stared out the window and watched the jumble of the London streets. We were, I realized, taking a circuitous route to the Swiss embassy. “Strange, isn’t it, that a young man’s youthful indiscretion should have so much significance.”

  “Youthful indiscretion, my arse,” Mycroft Holmes snapped with unaccustomed ire. “Prince Jiro is going to cause more than scandal, he may well bring about a severing of all relations between the British Empire and the Empire of Japan.” He rubbed his jaw—a gesture of marked discontent with him—and said, “Our interests in the Pacific may well be at stake. Consider the unrest in China: We desperately need a strong ally in the Far East if we are not to be damaged by it. Russia now maintains a major fleet at Port Arthur and continues to expand Russian influence with the warlords who control much of central and western China. The prosperity we in these islands all enjoy is the direct result of our trade with the Orient. America is too caught up in itself; there is no other nation on the Pacific Ocean other than the Empire of Japan we can make an alliance with to balance Russia’s might.”

  “I am aware of the troubles in China, sir,” I said. “But how can a treaty with Japan bring about the results you seek?”

  Holmes looked out into the street, speaking in a remote manner. “The Russians once again appear to be pressing their frontiers. It is an old pattern with them, one used to release the internal pressures of their hybrid country with an outside adventure, which places much of the Orient in danger.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If it were possible, we would deal with their ambitions in another manner. But at this time the English government is not in a position to commit forces so far from Europe in sufficient numbers to maintain a strong presence in Oriental waters. Our obligations in Europe preclude such measures, for it is daily more apparent that humbling France was not the entire purpose of United Germany’s intentions. We must continue complete dominance of our seas and the Atlantic or face diplomatic ruin at the hands of an expanding German presence. Therefore we must make common cause with the Japanese to keep the Russian Pacific Fleet from tipping the balance beyond our control. We must also curb any German or Austro-Hungarian schemes to expand their activities into the Orient as they attempt to gain the advantage for themselves. We cannot do this without the help of the Japanese.”

  “Surely our forces in Singapore and Hong Kong could deal with any German ships straying into their theaters of operation,” I protested, remembering a newspaper article I had read in the Guardian not long ago. “They haven’t a single coaling station anywhere near China, much less India.”

  “And we have nary a dreadnought among our Far East stations, so the matter may be a moot one, if Germany should put us to the test,” Holmes informed me. “Even a single German warship could be enough to dominate the trade-lanes of India and China, with severe economic consequences throughout our Empire. That alone should cause concern in government. Additionally we know that Russia has allocated at least two capital ships to her Port Arthur squadron.” His unhappy mood lifted. “But, as the Japanese are more threatened by the Russian fleet than we, they have every reason to enter into this agreement with us. If we can eliminate this one perplexing problem you know about, all will be well and our interests—and theirs—will be protected.” He nodded to the pristine white stone facade looming ahead. The handsome Georgian building and its fenced gardens took up half the block. “Ah. At last.”

  We had reached the Swiss embassy, and the driver was proceeding toward it with caution, for it had been arranged for us to be let down near the side entrance, away from the porte cochere where our arrival might be noticed.

  “All right,” I said. “If the opportunity presents itself, I will do what I can to find out how the servants feel about all this, but I must tell you I do not expect much of a response from any of them.”

  “Very good. I am aware of what you have to deal with.” Holmes reached for his case, his umbrella and his cloak in one swift gesture.

  The driver turned down a side street and drew up at the kerb near an inconspicuous door in the stone wall of the hundred-year-old building. I gathered up my things and descended from the coach quickly, glancing up and down the street before nodding to my employer. This was the time when I most missed having a pistol with me.

  A soft cough from the door caught our attention; the side door stood half-open. Holmes was out of the coach and into the side door as quickly as a man might take a Newmarket hurdle. I followed him at once, trying to make this arrival appear somewhat less secretive than it was.

  The servant who greeted us was a small, dapper man with waxed moustaches and a permanent three-cornered smile set on his lips. He bowed. “It is an honor to welcome you to Switzerland, Mister Holmes. I am Andermatt. Please allow me to escort you to the chamber where you are expected.”

  “Thank you, Andermatt,” Holmes said with an expression of approval. “I appreciate all the Swiss are doing to assist England in her dealings with Japan.”

  Andermatt made a slight gesture which indicated that there was no effort worth considering. He indicated a flight of stairs. “At the top, the second door on the right.” With that he bowed again and went on his way.

  As Andermatt left us, Holmes observed, “A most estimable fellow, Andermatt.” There was a trace of amusement in his eyes as he turned to me. “You heard him, Guthrie. At the top, second door on the right.” Holmes began to climb, taking care not to hurry.

  I trod along slightly behind him. “Tell me,” I said as we made our way upward, “”Whom do you expect today?”

  “I suppose it will be Tochigi and one of his two personal secretaries, at least.” He reached the top. “The secretaries are Mister Minato and Mister Banadaichi.”

  Slowly I repeated the names to myself, remembering at the same time to keep my place to the rear of my employer as we arrived at the specified door.

  The chamber was good-sized without being overly large. There was elaborate wainscoting with deeply beveled panels rising halfway up the wall with blond wallpaper above it accented with a regular series of straw-colored stripes. Five windows overlooked the largest of the three embassy gardens, their lace curtains delicate as spider webs. I saw that a tray of tea and coffee had been carried up and placed on an occasional table under the windows. So far, it appeared to be untouched.

  The Japanese ambassador rose as we entered the room, a dignified man of middle
years with the manner of privilege etched into every move and gesture. His whole demeanor was somber, his face gravely expressionless, his blunt hands held at his sides without any offer of a more Western greeting. He was wearing striped trousers and a swallowtail coat. He bowed to Mycroft Holmes, and waited while Holmes returned the courtesy, then took his seat on the far side of a long, glossy table of splendid ash-wood. Separated from him by a single chair on each side, his secretaries remained standing while Mycroft Holmes sat down. “This is my personal secretary, Mister Paterson Erskine Guthrie, of Edinburgh, Scotland. “

  “You know Mister Banadaichi and Mister Minato; Mister Banadaichi is from Kobe, Mister Minato is from Osaka,” said Ambassador Tochigi; the two men bowed and took their places.

  Mister Banadaichi and Mister Minato were both fairly young men, not more than a few years older than I. Or perhaps, I thought as I studied them, it was their reserved and respectful manner that made them seem so. Both had straight dark hair, both were clean-shaven, both were dressed in black frock coats and black waistcoats, and both wore trousers with a single stripe down each leg. Mister Minato’s face was narrower than Mister Banadaichi’s, but otherwise they looked eerily the same to me.

  “Let us begin,” suggested Mycroft Holmes.

  I chose a chair one place away from my employer, put down my portfolio and retrieved my key from my pocket. As I unlocked the portfolio, I saw the look of thunderous disapproval Ambassador Tochigi directed toward me.

  “I gave him permission to make ready before we entered the room, as is our English custom,” explained Mycroft Holmes at his blandest. “I am certain you have already given your instructions to your secretaries.”

  Ambassador Tochigi gave a single, curt nod without admitting the accuracy of Holmes’ observation. “We are ready.”

  “As am I, and my secretary,” said Holmes as I drew out my notebook and four sharpened pencils. I noticed that Holmes had laid his case on the chair between us. “I received the sash you were gracious enough to send me, with your invitation for the reception tomorrow night.”