"I remarked just now," Mr. Harvey continued, "that such a thing
had never happened, so far as I was aware, in any European
country. My own words seem to suggest something to me. These
methods are not European. They savor more of the East."

"I think you had better go on," she said quietly. "There is
something in your mind. I can see that. You have told me so much
that you had better tell me the rest."

"The contents of those despatches," Mr. Harvey continued,
"intrusted in duplicate, as you have doubtless surmised, to Fynes
and to Coulson, contained an assurance that the sending of our
fleet to the Pacific was in fact, as well as in appearance, an
errand of peace. It was a demonstration, pure and simple. Behind
it there may have lain, indeed, a masterful purpose, the
determination of a great country to affirm her strenuous
existence in a manner most likely to impress the nations unused
to seeing her in such a role. It became necessary, in view of
certain suspicions, for me to be able to prove to the Government
here the absolutely pacific nature of our great enterprise. Those
despatches contained such proof. And now listen, Penelope. Before
the murder of poor Dicky Vanderpole, we know for a fact that a
great nation who chooses to consider herself our enemy in Eastern
waters was straining every nerve to prepare for war. Today those
preparations have slackened. A great loan has been withdrawn in
Paris, an invitation cabled to our fleet to visit Yokohama. These
things have a plain reading."

"Plain, indeed," Penelope assented, and she spoke in a low tone
because there was fear in her heart. "Why have you told me about