"I studied it for yeals in Japan--" began Jiro, but in vain, for his very
much better half resented the word "idiomatic."

"I don't know about that," she snorted. "He talked a lot of nonsense when
we were married, but I've made him drop it, and he is teaching me
Japanese."

"His task is a pleasant one. It is the tongue of poetry and love."

Again there was a pause. A minute later Brett was standing in the street
trying to determine how best to act.

He was fully persuaded that Jiro had, in the first place, identified the
crest as belonging to one of the many Samurai clans. But the motto was new
to him, and its discovery had revealed the particular family which claimed
its use.

Why did he refuse to impart his knowledge? There must be plenty of
Japanese in London who would give this information readily.

Again, why did he lie about the type-writer, and endeavour to mislead him
as to the make of the machine he used?

To-morrow, for a certainty, Jiro would dispose of the Remington which he
now possessed. Well, he should meet with a ready purchaser, if a letter
from Brett to every agency in London would expedite matters.

He did not credit Jiro with the death of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer, nor even
with complicity in the crime. The Japanese had acted as the unwitting tool