Chapter XVII: A Visit to the Kencho

The North Wind began a wild song through the trees in the night. It tore at the mountains with the fury of an attacking army. It lashed the waters of the sea into a frenzy. With the dawn came the snow. Softly and tenderly it wrapped the earth in a great white coverlet, hushing the troubled notes of the savage storm music into plaintive echoes of a lullaby. As it grew light a world of magic beauty greeted my eyes. Winter was King, but withal a tender monarch wooing as his handmaidens the beauties of early spring. The great Camellia trees gave lavishly of their waxen flowers, brocading the snow in crimson. Young bamboo swinging low under the burden, edged its covering of white down with a lacy fringe of delicate green. The scene should have called forth a hymn of praise; but the feelings which gripped me more nearly matched the clouds rolled in heavy gray masses over land and sea.

Page was to call for me at ten. Long before that time I was sitting on the edge of the chair, ready and waiting, trying to coax into my over-soul an ounce or so of poise, a measure of serenity. It needed no fortune teller to forecast that this visit to the Kencho would be productive of results, whether good or bad the coming hours alone could tell.

Knowing the searching questions that would be put to Page Hanaford, I was beginning to wonder if the offer of this position was not part of the game Kobu was playing. I had never seen Japan's famous manhunter till the day before, but by reputation I knew him to be relentless in pursuit of victims to be offered as tribute to his genius. Thoughts of Page Hanaford in prison garb behind barred doors made me shiver.

I was depressed in spirits and was trying to plan what I could possibly do, when the sound of Zura's voice came to me as she moved about in the upper story attending to her household duties. It was a foolish old negro melody she sang, and one of its verses ran:

Ole Cap'n Noah a-feelin' mighty blue,
Kep' a sayin' to hisself, "Oh, what shall I do?"
'Long come a sparrow bird, spic 'n spin,
'N _he_ say, "Brer Noah, do de bes' you kin.

Yo' joy 'n yo' trouble is sho' gwine to bide
'N las' jes' as long as yo' own tough hide.
So say, Cap'n Noah, better laugh 'n grin;
Perk up yo' speerits 'n do de bes' yo kin.

The insistent note of happiness in the girl's voice and the humble philosophy of the song so cheered me that, when my escort appeared on the stroke of ten, hope came riding down on the streaks of sunshine that were battling through the clouds.

While my companion had about him every mark of nervous restlessness that so often precedes a crisis or an illness he also had the air of a man at last determined to turn and face a pursuing enemy and stand, or fall by the clash. Fear was absent from face and manner. He even lightly jested as Jane, while greeting him, slipped into his pocket a tempting-looking package.

"Page, dear," she twittered, "it is only cookies and sandwiches and pickles and cake. But talking always makes people hungry. Those nice gentlemen down at the Kencho are never in a hurry. They may keep you till after lunchtime. You and Miss Jenkins can have a tea party."

Page laid a kindly hand on Jane's shoulder. "You dear little saint of a woman! How good all of you are to me, and how I thank you. Well good-by. When you see me again I'll be--"

With hand outstretched to open the door for me to pass, he paused. Once again the sound of a song reached us:

"Before I slept, I thought of thee;
Then fell asleep and sought for thee
And found thee.
Had I but known 'twas only seeming,
I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming."

There was enough sweetness in Zura's voice to woo a man to Heaven or lure him to the other place. Page listened till the last note, then softly closed the door and walked beside me. The look on his face held me speechless. It was a glorious something he had gained, yet never to be his; a glimpse into paradise, then the falling of the shadows between; but the vision was his reward.

Usually it takes endless time in Japan to unwind the huge ball of red tape that is wrapped about the smallest official act. That morning, when Page and I presented ourselves at the Government office, the end of the tape seemed to have a pin stuck in it, so easily and swiftly was it found. Promptly announced, we were ushered without delay into a small inner office.

The walls of this room were lined with numberless shelves filled with files and papers. Any remaining space was covered by pictures of famous persons, people wanted or wanting, and a geisha girl or two.

I noticed two other things in the room. Adorning the center of the table, before which we were seated, was a large cuspidor. The fresh flowers inside matched the painted ones outside. To Japanese eyes the only possible use for such an ornament was to hold blossoms. It was neither beautiful nor artistic, but being foreign was the very thing with which to welcome American guests. Anxious as I was I felt myself smiling, if rather palely, at the many ways in which Kishimoto's prophecy was being fulfilled.

The other thing was not amusing, only significant. Page sat opposite me and I faced a heavily curtained recess, and some one was behind the drapery. I had seen the folds move. I had no way of warning the boy. Had we been alone, I doubt if I would have made the effort. Concealment for Page, unendurable suspense for those who loved him, must end. I spoke only when necessary to interpret an unusual word.

A small official with a big manner began by eulogizing Mr. Hanaford's skill in teaching and his success in imparting English. He felt it a great rudeness of manner to the honorable teacher gentleman, but the law compelled applicant for the position of Professor of English in the Normal College to answer many personal questions. For a moment he dallied with a few preliminary statements; then, throwing aside all reserve, the man began his probe as a skilled surgeon might search a victim's body for hidden bullets.

Page, outwardly calm, answered steadily at first, but his knotted fingers and swelling veins showed the strain. Once his lips trembled. I had never seen a man's lips tremble before. It's no wonder mothers can die for sons.

Inquiries as to quantity and quality of ancestors, place of birth, age, calling now and formerly came with the precision of a marksman hunting the center of the target. "How long have you been in this country?"

"About a year."

"From where did you come to Japan?"

Page hesitated, then stammered: "Don't remember."

The high-lifted brows of the official were eloquent, his voice increasingly sarcastic: "So! Your memory makes absence. Repeat your name once again."

"Page Hanaford."

"Hanaford? So! Now your other name?"

"I have no other name."

"Your other name!" was the sharp demand.

"My name is Page Hanaford, I tell you." He spoke with quick anger as he arose from the chair.

"Your other name!" sternly reiterated his inquisitor.

A wave of confusion seemed to cover the boy. Desperate and at bay, he rather feebly steadied himself for a last defense. "What do you mean? Can't you hear me? I tell you for the last time my name is--"

"Ford Page Hamilton," supplied the voice of Kobu, cool, suave and sure as he came from behind the curtain. "I arrest you as fugitive. See what paper says? You take moneys from bank." He exposed a circular printed in large type. It read:

"$5,000 reward for information of one Ford Page Hamilton, dead or alive. Last seen in Singapore, summer of 1912," followed by a detailed description and signed by a Chicago banking firm.

"It's a lie!" shouted Page as he read.

"No lie. See? Page Hanaford San, Ford Hamilton San all same." Kobu held close to the pitiful white face a photograph which undoubtedly could have been Page Hanaford in happier days.

The boy looked, then laid his shaking arm across his eyes. With a moan as if his soul had yielded to despair he hoarsely whispered: "Oh, God! A thief! It's over!"

He sank to the floor.