“Ishi, you are drunk.  And at such a time.”

“No, Jenkins San, I triumph for Hanaford San.  He die to escape Zura San.  ’T is special ’casion.  All Japanese gentlemens drink special ’casions.  I assist honorable gods celebrate downfall of ’Merca and women.”

Having locked up the gates and Ishi, I went back to the living-room, where I found Jane and Zura.  It was my first opportunity to tell them in detail what had happened at the Kencho—­of Kobu’s charge, the arrest and Page’s collapse.

Zura was called from the room by some household duty.  Jane and I were left alone.  Though my companion looked tired and a little anxious, she seemed buoyed up by some mental vision to which she hopefully clung.

“Miss Jenkins, please tell me just what the poster said,” asked Jane.

The printed words I had read that morning seemed burned into my brain.  I repeated them exactly.

“Well, it didn’t even give a hint that Page was that nice cashier gentleman from Chicago, did it?” she inquired.

“No, Jane, it didn’t; only it was signed by the Chicago Bank.  But Kobu told me he was sure Page was the man.  He has cabled the authorities to come.”

“He has cabled, has he?  He knows, does he?  Kobu has himself going to another thought.  Isn’t that what Zura says?  Page Hanaford is no more the man wanted for borrowing that bank’s money than I am a fashion plate wanted in Paris.”  Her words were light, but very sure.

Her apparent levity irritated me.  “How do you know?  What are you saying, Jane?” I asked sharply.

“Oh, I just have a feeling that way.  Page is too good-looking,” answered my companion.

“For the love of heaven, Jane Gray, that’s no reason.  Good looks don’t keep a man from sin.”

“Maybe not, but they help; and Page loves poetry too,” she ended with quiet stubbornness.  Then after a pause:  “That program did not say what particular thing our boy was wanted for, did it?” Neither in joy nor sorrow did Jane’s talent desert her for misusing words.

“No, the circular did not state the details.  But if you think there is any mistake about the whole thing go to the room and look at that policeman pacing up and down before the door.  And if you think the boy’s not desperately ill, look inside and see those two doctors and that speck of a trained nurse watching his every breath.  You can read the paper yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

“Miss Jenkins, don’t pin your faith to a program; they tell awful fibs.  Once I wrote one myself for a meeting and I said, ’The audience will remain standing while collection is taken,’ and it made me say:  ’The remains of the audience will be collected while standing.’”

“How can you?” I asked.  Hot tears stung my eyes.

Instantly Jane was by my side.  “How can I?  Because it’s best never to believe anything you hear and only half of what you see.  I know the dear boy is ill.  But he’s not guilty.  The idea of that sweet boy, with such a nice mouth and teeth, doing anything dishonorable!  It’s all a mistake.  I know guilt when I see it, and Page hasn’t a feature of it.”