Although the hour was late for calling upon a complete stranger, the
barrister could not rest until he had inspected the Jiro menage. No. 17
was a long way from the ground level. Indeed, the cats of Kensington, if
sufficiently enterprising, inhabitated the floor above.
He rang, and was surveyed with astonishment by a very small maid-servant.
"Is Mr. Numagawa Jiro at home?" he inquired.
"No, sir, but Mrs. Jiro is."
An infantine wail from one of the apartments showed that there was also a
young Jiro.
The maid neither advanced nor retreated. She simply stood stock still,
petrified by the sight of a well-dressed visitor.
Brett suggested that she should inform her mistress of his presence.
"Please, sir," whispered the girl, "are you from Ipswich?"
"No; from Victoria Street."
"I only asked, sir, because master is particular about people from
Ipswich. They upset missus so."
She vanished into the interior, and came back to usher him into the
drawing-room. The flat was expensively furnished, but very untidy. He at
once perceived, however, that the "former" Mr. Okasaki was not romancing
when he boasted of his artistic tastes. The Japanese articles in the room
were gems of faience and lacquer work.
The entrance of Mrs. Jiro drew the barrister's eyes from surrounding
objects. He was momentarily stunned.
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