I am sure you are indebted to your good lady for your idiomatic command of the language." "I studied it for yeals in Japan--" began Jiro, but in vain, for his very much better half resented the word "idiomatic." "I don't know about that," she snorted.

"He talked a lot of nonsense when we were married, but I've made him drop it, and he is teaching me Japanese." "His task is a pleasant one.

It is the tongue of poetry and love." Again there was a pause.

A minute later Brett was standing in the street trying to determine how best to act.
He was fully persuaded that Jiro had, in the first place, identified the crest as belonging to one of the many Samurai clans.

But the motto was new to him, and its discovery had revealed the particular family which claimed its use.
Why did he refuse to impart his knowledge?
There must be plenty of Japanese in London who would give this information readily.
Again, why did he lie about the type-writer, and endeavour to mislead him as to the make of the machine he used?
To-morrow, for a certainty, Jiro would dispose of the Remington which he now possessed.