internal" href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@39801@[email protected]#suspicions">SUSPICIONS
XX MONSIEUR OBERNAI'S ATTIC
XXI MARKED DOWN
XXII 'RECOMMENDED'

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A FOUL BLOW . . . . . . Frontispiece (see page 52)

"HANDS UP!"

A LONG WAY BACK

THE INTRUDER IN KHAKI

CHAPTER I

A CHANCE MEETING

Mr. Kishimaru smiled, and rubbed his long lean hands gently the one over the other.

"Yes, Mr. Amory, you make great progress," he said, in low smooth tones, and with the careful enunciation of one speaking a foreign tongue. "You will be an artist. Yes, I assure you: jujutsu is a fine art; more than that, it is an application of pure science. I say that, and I know. Compare it with boxing, that which your grandfathers called the noble art. Rapidity of movement, yes; quickness of eye and judgment, yes; but delicacy of touch--ah! jujutsu has it, boxing no. There is nothing brutal about jujutsu."

Kenneth Amory smiled back at the enthusiastic little Japanese, and rubbed his left shoulder.

"Nothing brutal, I agree," he said. "But it has been a dry summer, Mr. Kishimaru."

"A dry summer?" the Japanese repeated, still smiling, but with an air of puzzlement.

"Yes; the turf's uncommonly hard, and I came down a pretty good whack that last time."

"I am sorry. You have not quite recovered your strength yet, or you would not have fallen so heavily. But you do well; it is good exercise, for body and mind too. A little rest, and we will try another throw."

Kenneth Amory was seated on a bench on the lawn where, in summer, Mr. Kishimaru instructed his pupils in the fine art of jujutsu. He wore a loose white belted tunic and shorts: head and legs were bare. Mr. Kishimaru, a wiry little Japanese of about thirty-five, similarly clad, walked up and down, expounding the principles of his art.

A bell rang in the house. The garden door opened, and a tall young fellow of some twenty years came with quick step on to the lawn.

"Hullo, Kishimaru!" he cried. "How do? Have you got a minute?" He glanced towards the figure on the bench, but did not wait for an answer. "Just back from Canada--to enlist. Got to smash the Germans, you know. But look here; just spare a minute to show me the Koshinage, will you? I was in a lumber camp, you know, out west; lumbering's hard work; no cricket or anything else; had to do something; taught 'em jujutsu, odd times, you know. But the Koshinage--I fairly came to grief over that: tried it on a big chap, and came a regular cropper. Made me look pretty small; I'd been explaining that I'd throw any fellow, no matter how big. Somehow it didn't come off: must have forgotten something, I suppose. I've only got a few minutes; have to catch the 4.30 at St. Pancras; just put me through it once or twice, there's a good chap."

Mr. Kishimaru rubbed his hands all through this impetuous address. He was always pleased to see an old pupil, and Harry Randall, voluble, always in a hurry, had been one of his best pupils a year or two before.

"I am delighted to see you, Mr. Randall," he said. "If you will change----"

"No time for that. I'll strip to my shirt, be ready in a winking."

He threw off coat and waistcoat, wrenched off his collar, with some peril to the stud, and knotting his braces about his waist, stood ready. Meanwhile Mr. Kishimaru had stepped to the bench.

"The Koshinage is the exercise we have been practising, Mr. Amory," he said. "Perhaps you will be good enough to go through it with Mr. Randall, an old pupil. I will watch, and criticise if necessary."

Amory sprang up. In the newcomer he had at once recognised a schoolfellow--Randy, they used to call him; a fellow everybody liked; impulsive, generous, easy-going, always in scrapes, always ready to argue with boys or masters. They had left school at the same time, and had not seen each other since.

Mr. Kishimaru explained to Randall that his pupil would practise the exercise with him, and was about to introduce the two formally. But Randall anticipated him.

"Hullo, Amory!" he cried. "It's you. Didn't recognise you. Come on; no time to spare."

Without more ado they took up position for the exercise, holding each other as though they were going to waltz. Then they made one or two rapid steps, Mr. Kishimaru skipping round them, intently watching their movements. With a sudden turning on his toes and bending of the knees, Amory dragged Randall from behind on to his right hip. A jerk of the left arm and the straightening of the knees lifted Randall's feet from the ground, and in another moment he was hoisted over Amory's hip to his left front and deposited on his back.

"Excellent! Excellent!" cried Mr. Kishimaru.

"Just what I tried to do with big Heneky, and came bash to the ground with him on top of me," said Randall. "But it's knack, not strength. I'm heavier than Amory. Show me the trick."

Mr. Kishimaru placed them again in position, showed Randall how to get advantage in the preliminary grip, and left them. In a few seconds Amory was thrown.

"You have it, Mr. Randall," said the Japanese, rubbing his hands with pleasure. "It is like a problem in chess: white to play and mate in three moves. It is inevitable, given the position; it is mathematics, mechanics, applied to the muscular human frame..."

"That's all right, old chap," interrupted Randall. "Knack, I call it. Once more, Amory, then I must be off."

But at the third attempt he