"Barnaby Lunkchurch, Mr. Gornt, pleased to meet you, welcome to Yokopoko, see you in the Club, hear you play bridge, any time."

Everyone was quietly easing out of range.

Drunks had suddenly become sober. All were very much on guard, the speed of a sudden samurai rush with flailing swords too well known. Norbert had already chosen a line of retreat should it prove necessary. Then he saw the Marine night watch come out of the side street on the double, rifles ready, a sergeant at their head, to take up a commanding, though not provocative position and he relaxed.

"Nothing to worry about now. Do you always carry that, Edward?"

"Oh yes, suh, always. I thought I'd told you."

"No, you didn't," he said, curtly. "Can I see it?"

"Certainly. It's loaded, of course."

The pistol was tiny but deadly.

Double-barrelled. Two bronze cartridges.

Silver sheathed hilt. He gave it back, hard eyed. "Neat. It's American?"

"French. My pa gave it to me when I went to England. Said he'd won it from a riverboat gambler, the only thing he gave me in his life."

Gornt laughed softly, both of them watching the approaching samurai. "I even sleep with it, suh, but I've only fired it once. That was at a lady who was sneaking off with my wallet in the dead of night."

"You hit her?"

"No suh, wasn't trying to, just parted her hair, to frighten her. A lady shouldn't steal, should she, suh?"

Norbert grunted and put his eyes back on samurai, seeing Gornt in a new light, a dangerous one.

The patrol walked down the center of the road, sentries in front of the British, French and Russian legations--the only ones with permanent guards--quietly cocked their rifles, already warned. "Safety catches on! No firing, lads, till I says," the Sergeant growled.

"Grimes, go warn his Nibs, he's with the Russkies, third house down the street, quietly now."

The soldier slid away. Street lamps of the promenade flickered. Everyone waited anxiously. The strutting officer approached impassively. "Mean-looking bastard, ain' he, Sar'nt?" a sentry whispered, his hands slick on his rifle.

"They're all mean-looking bastards. Easy now."

The officer came abreast of the British Legation and barked command. His men stopped and formed up facing the gate as he stomped forward and spoke guttural Japanese at the Sergeant. A sharp silence. More impatient, imperious words, clearly orders.

"Wot you want, cookie?" the Sergeant asked thinly, half a metre taller.

Again the ugly sentences, more angrily.

"Anyone knows wot he's saying?" the Sergeant called out. No answer, then Johann, the interpreter, carefully came out of the fringe of the crowd, bowed to the officer who bowed back perfunctorily and spoke to him in Dutch. The officer replied in Dutch, searching for the words.

Johann said, "He's got a message, a letter, for Sir William, has to deliver it personally."

"Don't know about that, Mister, not with them bloody swords at his side."

The officer started towards the Legation gate and all safety catches came off. He stopped.

A furious tirade at the Sergeant and sentries. All samurai eased their swords a quarter length out of their scabbards and took a defensive stance. Down the road the Marine patrol moved into riot order. Everyone waited for the first mistake.

At that moment Pallidar and two other dragoon officers hurried out from the Russian Legation just down the street, in evening dress uniform, dress swords. "I'll take charge Sergeant," Pallidar said. "What's the problem?"

Johann told him. Pallidar, well rehearsed in Japanese customs now, went over to the officer, bowed, made sure the officer bowed equally. "Tell him I'll accept the letter.

I'm aide-de-camp to Sir William," he said exaggerating.

"He says, Sorry, his orders are to do it personally."

"Tell him I'm authorized t--"

Sir William's voice stopped him.

"Captain Pallidar--just a moment! Johann, who's this letter from?" He stood on the threshold of the Russian bungalow, Zergeyev and others crowding the entrance beside him.

The officer pointed at the banner and snapped more words and Johann called out, "He says it's from the tairo but I guess he means the roju, the Elders. He's been ordered to deliver it at once, personally."

"All right, I'll take it, tell him to come over here."

Johann translated. Imperiously the officer beckoned Sir William to come to him but Sir William called out, even more sharply, with even less courtesy, "Tell him I'm at dinner. If he doesn't step up right now, he can deliver it tomorrow."

Johann was too practiced to translate exactly and only gave just enough emphasis to transfer the meaning. The samurai officer sucked in his breath with fury, then stomped over to the Russian gate, brushed past the two huge bearded sentries and stood before Sir William, clearly waiting for him to bow.

"Keirei!" Sir William barked.

Salute!--one of few words he allowed himself to know. "Keirei!"

The officer flushed but automatically bowed.

He bowed as to an equal, seethed even more when he saw Sir William just nod as to an inferior, but then, he thought, this foul little man is the leader gai-jin with a reputation for anger as vile as his smell. When we attack I will personally kill him.

He took out the scroll, went forward and handed it over, stepped back, bowed perfectly, waited until his bow was returned, however rudely, completely satisfied that he had bested the enemy.

To rid himself of his anger, he cursed his men and strode off as though they did not exist. They followed, seething at the gai-jin rudeness.

"Where the devil's Tyrer?" Sir William asked.

Pallidar said, "I'll send someone to find him."

"No, ask Johann to join me, will you please?"

"No need for that, Sir William,"

Erlicher, the Swiss Minister said, "if it's in Dutch I can read it for you."

"Thank you, but it best be Johann as he knows some Japanese too," Sir William said, not wanting to share anything in advance with any foreigner, particularly one who openly represented a small but growing, highly specialized armament industry anxious for exports, with a reputation based on the extraordinary and unique quality of their watchmakers, one of the few areas where British manufacturers could not compete.

The dining room, largest room in the bungalow, contained a table for twenty ladened with fine silver and serving plates. All Ministers were guests, except von Heimrich who was still sick, Struan, Angelique at the head of table, some French and British officers, with two liveried servants behind each seat and more to serve. "Can I use the anteroom, Count Zergeyev?" Sir William said in Russian.

"Of course." Count Zergeyev opened the door. They waited a moment until Johann hurried in and he closed it.

"Evening, Sir William," Johann said, pleased that he had been called. He would be the first to know what this was all about, and could continue to be useful, profitably, to his own country's Minister. He broke the seal of the scroll and sat down also. "Dutch and Japanese. It's short." Rapidly he scanned it, frowned, re-read it and then again and laughed nervously.

"It's addressed to you, the British Minister and says: "I communicate with you by dispatch.

By order of Shogun Nobusada received from Kyoto, all ports are to be closed at once and all foreigners expelled and driven out, not nee--"'

"Driven out? Driven out did you say?"

The bellow went through the door. An uneasy pall fell on the dinner guests.

Johann winced. "Yes sir, sorry sir, that's what it says: "and driven out, not needing or wanting any dealings between foreigners and our people. I send you this before commanding an immediate meeting to finalize particulars of your urgent withdrawal from Yokohama. Respectful communication."