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entirely. He plucked the receiver from the telephone beside him and dialled a number.
    ‘I am here on behalf of Miss Hollander, Mr Twentyman,’ Chiyoko said in an undertone, stepping closer to Sam to ensure he could hear her.
    ‘Malory?’
    ‘She also is free.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘Later I will explain.’
    The man was speaking on the telephone now. Sam heard his name mentioned as ‘ Two-enty-man ’. Then there was a pause.
    ‘What is it you are wearing, Mr Twentyman?’
    ‘Disguise.’
    ‘Is that a bandage under your hat?’
    ‘Yes. But it’s just a scratch.’
    ‘You are very pale.’
    ‘That’ll be the lack of beer.’
    ‘You are trying to be funny?’ She appeared perplexed by the notion.
    ‘Not hard enough, obv—’
    The man with the telephone interrupted with a stream of Japanese, to which Chiyoko responded. ‘Mr Yamanaka’s secretary will come down,’ she explained. ‘Your arrival has made a difference, I think. I expected to wait much longer.’
    ‘Pardon me, miss, but I really don’t understand who you are or what you have to do with Malory.’
    ‘I am a friend. And you both need a friend, yes?’
    ‘You can say that again.’
    ‘So, be glad I am here.’

YAMANAKA FUMIKO WAS a pudgier, older, balder version of his brother, though equipped with an uncannily similar pair of circular steel-framed glasses. He received his visitors in a dark, heavy-marbled office, wearing a morning suit, complete with carnation buttonhole. Apart from the fact that the photograph over the mantelpiece was of the Taisho Emperor rather than King George, Sam might have suspected they were in a ministerial building in London rather than Tokyo.
    But Tokyo it was. And amid his troubles Sam now had two unlikely, though as yet untested, allies. Shimizu Chiyoko, who had so far told Sam only that she was a friend and former pupil of Malory’s; and Yamanaka Fumiko, who looked an improbable saviour to say the least.
    Early signs were encouraging, however. He thanked Sam profusely for helping his brother emerge unscathed from their clash with Count Tomura in Paris and spoke fondly of the late lamented Commissioner Kuroda. ‘I do not believe he drowned accidentally, Mr Twentyman. We live in dark times.’
    Sam’s account of the events of the previous night, supplemented by Chiyoko’s explanation of how Malory had escaped arrest, hardly made the times sound any less dark. Mention of the Kempeitai in particular threw Yamanaka into head-shaking despondency.
    ‘If Kempeitai have your friends, they will be forced to confess to whatever crimes they are accused of. Kempeitai are … yabin-jin .’
    ‘Savages,’ said Chiyoko for Sam’s benefit.
    Yamanaka nodded. ‘Yes, savages. They get what they want. Always.’
    ‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ Sam pleaded.
    ‘For you and Miss Hollander, perhaps. I have an idea.’ Yamanaka pressed a buzzer on his desk. ‘I saw nothing in Asahi Shimbun this morning concerning the arrests you describe, Mr Twentyman, but—’ His secretary looked round the door. There was an exchange between them in Japanese. The secretary withdrew.
    ‘I’ve told you the truth, sir,’ said Sam.
    ‘Please.’ Yamanaka looked appalled at the implication that he doubted Sam’s word. ‘I believe you. Eisaku has vouched for you. Also for Mr Morahan and Miss Hollander. And the gratitude Eisaku owes you I owe you also.’
    Chiyoko asked something then in Japanese, at considerable length, and with head-bowed deference. As far as Sam could judge, the issue was a delicate one. Yamanaka gave his reply after much thought.
    ‘Shimizu-san wishes to know the office I hold here, Mr Twentyman. She wonders if I can use my position to help you.’ Yamanaka smiled, apparently amused by the notion. ‘ Osaraku, osaraku. How would you say that in English, Shimizu-san?’
    ‘Probably. Possibly. Perhaps.’
    ‘Which is it?’ asked Sam.
    ‘We will find out,’ said Yamanaka. ‘The office I hold is less important