“No, no.  I like the European furnishings,” protested the Japanese.  “You must remember that I lived in America for many years.  There is only one thing I would store in the ‘go-down,’ and that is the little safe.”

He pointed to a small American fire-proof safe in a corner of the room.

“But that is our ‘go-down,’” laughed Billie.  “We haven’t any other.  When Papa first came here he discovered that there was no place to lock up anything except some desk drawers, and he rented this little safe for his papers.  A Japanese gentleman advised him to do it.  He told Papa there was a great deal of curiosity here about the private business of foreigners.”

A dark flush overspread Yoritomo’s face and gradually faded out.  The others did not notice it, however.  They had followed Nicholas across the room and were standing in a circle around the safe, while the young American touched it with a caressing hand.

“Made in Newark, N.J., U.S.A.,” he exclaimed.  “Think of that.  It’s like meeting an old friend from home.”

“A very proper kind of friend,” observed Reginald.  “The kind that keeps a secret behind a combination lock.”

“I don’t call it being a real friend to have any combination at all,” put in Elinor, “because anybody who learns the combination can get the secret.”

Nicholas laughed.

“You don’t understand the Japanese, Miss Butler,” he exclaimed.  “They regard all persons with important secrets as combination safes.  Sooner or later they believe they can learn any combination if they only persist.”

“Why don’t you stand up for your country, Mr. Ito?” asked Nancy.

“What Nicholas says is true,” answered Yoritomo.  “If the secret concerns his country, the Japanese will learn it if he must give up his life.  What you call ‘spy’ in your language should be changed to patriot, or one who risks all for his country.  Every Japanese is a spy, because every Japanese will suffer for Japan.”

“Perfectly good logic,” said Nicholas.

“Are you a spy?” asked Mary, so innocently that even the imperturbable Yoritomo laughed.

“I am, in the sense of being a patriot,” he answered.  “There is nothing I would not do for Japan.”

“Are you a Samurai?” asked Billie, hardly understanding the meaning of the word.

“My grandfather was.  There are no real samurai now.  Only descendants.”

“But what were they?”

Yoritomo’s face became strangely animated.

“A samurai was a soldier,” he said.  “He was brave and feared neither death nor suffering in any form.  He carried two swords, a long one for fighting and a short one for defense.  The sword was the emblem of the samurai spirit.  He took pride in keeping it sharp and bright.”

“Aren’t some of the descendants of the old warrior samurai rather fanatical?” asked Reginald.  “That is, I mean—­” he hesitated, seeing a peculiar gleam in Yoritomo’s eyes, “aren’t some opposed to the entrance of foreigners into Japan, and the invasion of foreign ideas—­perhaps that feeling has died out now?”