Page:Alien Souls by Achmed Abdullah (1922).djvu/207

And he was a samurai; and he had a weapon, a weapon of Germany's own forging—the formula for the poison gas, safely tucked away in his brain.

They had taught him in good faith. And he had learned. Nor would he be able to forget.

Professor Kreutzer? He did not count. He was a traitor. But his friend, Baron von Eschingen, the Prussian samurai who had worked side by side with him, who had even helped him get away?

Takagawa walked up and down. His labored, sibilant breathing sounded terribly distinct. From the next room there still came excited voices, the clink of beer steins, maudlin singing:

winding up in a tremendous hiccup. But he did not hear. In his brain something seemed to flame upward, illuminating all his thoughts.

They were very clear. He could not stay here, in the land of the enemy, while Nippon was girding her loins. Nor could he go home. For home he was a samurai, entitled to wield the two-handed sword. And he carried that sword in his brain, the formula for the poison gas. He would be forced—forced by himself, forced by his love of country to give it to Nippon, and thus he would break the law of hospitality, his own honor.

He had learned the formula honorably. But there was no way of using it honorably.

A great, tearing sob rose in his throat. Then he heard a voice at his elbow: "O Takamori-san!"

He turned. "Yes, Kaguchi?"—and, suddenly, the