As he had been there several times, the interior he knew. There were no rooms for guests downstairs. Meals were served on the second and third floors, but the latter was only used on the few occasions when there were too many diners. He felt certain he would find the two of them either in the dining hall on the left near the landing or in the one to the right farther down. If they were not in either of these rooms, he would even dare to open the door of the long and narrow room in front. With such thoughts in mind as he was about to head upstairs, he saw a waiter in a white uniform standing at the foot of the stairway, ready to show him into a dining room.
Since Keitaro was still carrying his walking stick when he arrived at the top of the stairs, the waiter took it from him before showing him to his seat. "This way please," said the waiter, leading him into the dining room on the right. Keitaro watched where the waiter was putting the cane. Hanging in the same place was the black fedora he had noticed some time ago, and there as well were what looked to be a salt-and-pepper cloak and an overcoat the same color as the woman's. As the waiter pushed the bottom of the coat aside to put in the bamboo stick, the coat's silk lining with its large patterns caught Keitaro's eye. When the head of the snake had vanished behind the coat, Keitaro allowed his eyes to drift to its owner.
Fortunately, her back was toward the entrance as she faced the man she was sitting with. Realizing that a woman who hears a newcomer enter a room may feel like turning around except that the fear of losing her dignity will keep her from doing so (unless the action is absolutely necessary), Keitaro felt momentarily relieved as he observed her back. And exactly as he had calculated, the woman did not turn. He proceeded near her table and was about to sit in the row next to theirs, right behind her, back to back. At that moment the man lifted his face and looked at Keitaro, who had not yet turned to seat himself. The man's table was decorated with a bonsai, a pine and a plum tree in a Chinese-style pot. A dish of soup was before the man. Without lifting his soup spoon from the dish, he exchanged a glance with the newcomer. The distance between the two of them, less than six feet, was lit up by electric lamps whose brilliance was further heightened by the white tablecloths all around them. Under such favorable conditions, Keitaro looked at the man's face to his heart's content. He recognized exactly as Taguchi had described to him the large mole between the man's eyebrows.
Except for the mole, Keitaro noticed nothing remarkable in any of the man's features. The eyes, nose, and mouth, when seen separately, were each common enough, yet when these were put together, each occupying its position on the man's longish face, it was evident to anyone that the face possessed the dignity of a gentleman. When the man's eyes met Keitaro's and he stopped the movement of the spoon in his dish, Keitaro was given the impression that there was something noble in the other's bearing. After he sat down with his back to the man, he thus began to reflect upon what was usually meant by the word "spy." It seemed to him that there was nothing in this gentleman's manner or physiognomy that justified his being spied upon. When each of his features were taken into account individually, Keitaro felt them too commonplace to conceal any secrets. By the time he had settled down in his seat at the table, he felt disappointed, as if a third of the interest in this task entrusted to him by Taguchi had evaporated. He began to have renewed doubts about whether it was morally right to have accepted such a job.
After giving his order, Keitaro looked as if he were in a daze, his hands not even touching the bread before him. The man and woman had stopped speaking for a while, perhaps in modest consideration of the new guest seated near them. But by the time a white dish warmed for serving soup was set before Keitaro, they seemed to have recovered their mood, and Keitaro heard their resumed dialogue.
"No, I can't tonight. I've got something to do."
"What?"
"Well, something important. It's not something you can easily talk about."
"Then don't. I know exactly what it is. As if keeping a person waiting so rudely wasn't enough!" She seemed to be pouting.
The man, perhaps conscious of the people around them, broke into a low laugh, and their conversation subsided.
The male voice then said fitfully, "Anyway, it's too late now. Let's go some other time."
"It's not late at all. We can get there soon enough by streetcar."
That the woman was urging and the man hesitating were obvious to Keitaro, but of where they were arguing about going, the place in question, he had no idea.
Keitaro kept staring at his knife and at a piece of reddish carrot beside it which he had left on his plate, hoping perhaps to be able to locate the place by listening to them a little longer. The woman continued to urge the man to go. Although he warded off each of her attacks with some excuse or other, he was invariably tender in his attitude toward her, careful not to make her angry.
By the time Keitaro's next dish, meat and green peas, was set before him, the woman began to yield. Keitaro had been secretly wanting her to insist on having her own way or the man to eventually give in. To his disappointment, Keitaro found her not resolute enough.
He wished for the chance to at least catch the name of the place they were speaking about — it hadn't been mentioned yet — but now that they were not to go, the subject had to change, and for the time being, he had to resign himself to not knowing.
"Then we don't have to go," the woman began again, "but let me have it instead."
"'It?' What do you mean by 'it'?"
"You know. That thing from the other day."
"I don't have the slightest idea—"
"You really are rude! You know very well!"
Keitaro wanted to turn slightly just to glance at them. At that moment, though, loud footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and a few guests came noisily in. One was a soldier in khaki and long boots. As he walked across the floor, the saber hanging from his belt rattled. The group was shown into the room on the left. Their noise had interrupted the conversation between the man and woman, and Keitaro's curiosity had accordingly been suspended until the light from the glittering sword had subsided.
"You showed it to me the other day. Remember?"
The man did not say whether he had or hadn't. Keitaro of course had no idea what they were talking about. He regretted that the woman had not come out directly with the name of the object she desired to have. Somehow he himself was anxious to know what it was.
"How could I have brought such a thing here with me now?" the man asked.
"No one ever said you had it on you. I'm only asking you to give it to me. The next time."
"If you want it so much, you can have it. But—"
"Wonderful!"
Again Keitaro wanted to look back, wanted to look at the woman's face. And at the same time he wanted to catch a glimpse of the face of the man. But considering that he was sitting in a direct line back to back with her, he had to restrain himself from that rash an act. He merely stared blankly ahead, like a person too embarrassed to know where to turn his eyes. Soon a waiter came up from the kitchen with two white plates, set them before the couple, and took the old ones away.