"Imagination," Phillip gasped, already hurrying away in the fastest walk possible. He raised his hat to the samurai around the fire who acknowledged him perfunctorily, and by the time he heard the Japanese shout of "You, come here," he was swallowed in the crowd. When it was safe he broke into a trot, and did not begin to breathe until he was safe in the Legation.

"Good gracious, Phillip," Bertram said, popeyed, "you poor dear, what on earth's the matter?"

"Oh fuck off," Tyrer said, not over the close call.

"Why should he do that?" Sir William asked from his office doorway, his face taut and voice harsh.

"Oh, oh sorry sir, it was... just a pleasantry."

An irritable grunt greeted that.

"Phillip, your brains are addled!

Where the devil have you been? There's a note from the Bakufu marked urgent on your desk to translate, a dispatch for Sir Percy to copy that must go with Atlanta Belle tonight, four insurance claims to stamp--I've already signed and approved them. When you've done that come and find me. I'll either be here or at the jetty seeing the passengers off--well don't just stand there!

Hurry up!"

Sir William went back into his office and closed his door and leaned against it. Inexorably his eyes went to Andr`e's file neatly centered on his desk. Sadness welled up again.

When Angelique had left he had hardly moved for an hour or more, trying to decide, desperate to be correct, for truly this was a life and death issue. His mind had wandered into the byways of his own experience: to his boyhood in England, to the Paris Desk, to St.

Petersburg, his house there and the garden and laughing with Vertinskya in spring and summer and autumn and winter, loving her; then back to England again, to missions in the battlefields of the Crimea, and into swirling, smoky dark passages that frightened him.

He was glad that Phillip's voice had drawn him back to normality. Again his eyes wandered over the room and the fire and to the file, passed that to the lovely young face in the miniature smiling at him. His heart broke as it always did and then repaired itself. A little less each time.

He went over and picked the miniature up and studied it, every brush stroke already etched on his mind. If I didn't have her portrait, would I have forgotten her face as Angelique and her Malcolm? "No answer to that one, Vertinskya, my darling," he said sadly, near tears, setting it down again. "Maybe I would--your face--but never you, never never never you."

And much as he tried to go back to live again the time he had been most alive, Andr`e's file was an iron door between them.

God damn him!

Never mind that, make the decision. No more shillyshallying, he ordered himself. Back to work, deal with this problem so you can go on to more important matters like Yoshi and the coming war against Satsuma-- you are Her Britannic Majesty's Minister.

Act like one!

The correct and only proper way to deal with Andr`e's file is to seal it, to write a private report that relates what occurred and when, what was said and by whom, then to seal that and send it all to London and let them decide. Lots of secrets in their vaults and archives. If they want it to be secret, that's up to them.

Good, that's the correct, right and only course.

Confident he was making the right decision, he gathered the pages and, one by one, fed them to the fire, humming to himself, watching them curl and blacken and burn. This isn't ill-advised.

They're not positive proof and anyway the poor girl was a victim, Andr`e was a dangerous and active undercover agent for an enemy power and if half the evils listed in his secret dossier are correct, he deserved to go over the moon a dozen times. Truth or lies, in this instance dust is going to dust.

When it was done he raised his glass to the miniature, feeling very good. "For you, my darling," he said.

It was getting towards midnight when Tyrer finally hurried out of the Legation and headed for the Struan jetty. His head ached like never before, he had had no time for supper, no time to think about Hiraga or Fujiko, no time to do anything but work. He carried an official H.m.

Government dispatch satchel and in his pocket was the translation that he had done last and wished he had done first. His pace quickened.

The jetty was thronged. A few people were there seeing off the last of the passengers, but most of the men noisily surrounded the Belle's Purser who was accepting last-minute mail for Hong Kong and Shanghai Head Offices--insurance agents, suppliers, shippers, banks--anyone and everyone who needed to know about the fire and damage. He saw Angelique chatting with Gornt. On the other side of the crowd Pallidar was talking to some officers who were boarding as passengers, and near the head of the jetty he spotted Sir William in conversation with Maureen Ross. Seeing her immediately reminded him of Jamie and Hiraga, and of his promise to Jamie to clear the "students" with his superior. He eased through the crowd.

"Evening, Miss Maureen, excuse me Sir William, but you might want to see this."

He handed him the translation. "I'll make sure the dispatches get safe aboard." Quickly he turned away for the Purser, not wanting to stay close at hand for the inevitable explosion. The Purser was a short, dyspeptic man and the haphazard queue of men jostling for position around him was still long. Tyrer pushed his way to the head, disregarding the "Wait your bloody turn," saying, "Sorry, Sir William's orders, H.m.'s business. A receipt, please."

"All right, all right, wot's the bloody rush, eh?" While the Purser laboriously entered the shipment in his ledger, Tyrer peeked at Sir William who had moved under the oil lamp and was squinting at the paper. While he watched, the face contorted, the lips began to mouth profanities, men nearby backed off in shock, not because of the language but merely because it was so unexpected. He groaned and turned his back.

The document was from the roju, signed Tairo Nori, curt, without the usual flowery phrases, and addressed impudently, To the Leader of the Gai-jin, so he had translated it as best he could in the same fashion, interpolating it where necessary: The roju congratulates you and other gai-jin on your escape with your lives and little else from fires started by malcontents and revolutionaries.

Tomorrow the Kanagawa Governor will send 500 coolies to assist in your evacuation of Yokohama in accordance with clear warnings from the gods, and according to wishes of the Emperor given to you many times. When you return, if you return, give us a long warning. Accommodation will be provided for selected gai-jin at Deshima, in the port of Nagasaki, from where, as in the past, all future gai-jin trade and business will be conducted. A cordial communication.

"Tyrer!"

He pretended not to hear, kept his back to Sir William and accepted the receipt from the Purser, the impatient men in the line calling out with degrees of rudeness, "Hurry up for God's sake, do you want all night ... hurry, there she is!"

The empty cutter, returning from the Belle, was docking. Tyrer noticed Jamie was not aboard. The Bosun leaned out of his cabin and bellowed, "All aboard wot's going aboard!"

In the heightened bustle Maureen joined him.

"Phillip, when will Jamie be back?"

"Certainly with the last ferry, if not before," he said, not sure if Jamie had told her of their scheme. "There's an hour or more yet."

"Tyrer!"

"Sorry, got to go. Yessir?" he called out, took a deep breath, mentally girding his loins and hurried off.

"In half an hour, Phillip," Sir William began, almost cross-eyed with rage, "in half an hour I'll need you to translate a reply for me, extremely bloody accurately indeed."

"Yes sir, by the way s--"