THE portières were pulled aside.  
“Excellency, breakfast is served,” and the servant bowed toward a figure in the bow window. As the announcement reached his ears in the musical language of his native tongue, the Japanese Ambassador turned from the window and hastened into the dining room.
 
A small pile of letters lay beside his plate, and he opened and read them as he ate his breakfast. Tossing aside the last note, he picked up the morning , and his eyes glanced over the page then stopped, arrested by a three-column heading:
 
SENATOR CAREW DEAD
A Mysterious Tragedy
Murder or Suicide?
 
 
The Ambassador pushed aside his plate and read the smaller type with growing interest.
 
“During the cloudburst of last night, when the heavens themselves seemed to threaten Washington, a most mysterious crime was committed in the fashionable Northwest. United States Senator James Carew, of Maryland, one of the most and men in political and official circles, was found dead in his carriage early this morning.
 
“Much mystery surrounds the case. The tragedy was not discovered until the arrival of the carriage at the Carew residence. Miss Carew, whom her uncle was escorting home from a dance, was completely from shock, and had to be carried to her room.
 
“Owing to the lateness of the hour, with the paper already in press, only a few details could be learned by the special representative of the Herald.
 
“Senator Carew was found by his butler, Joshua Daingerfield, in a corner of the back seat of the carriage. Dr. Penfield, the coroner, was hastily summoned, as well as detectives from headquarters. While awaiting their arrival, the policeman on the beat had the horses unharnessed and taken to the stable, and left the carriage under the porte-cochère.
 
 
“On the arrival of the coroner and the detectives the body was removed from the carriage to the Senator’s room in the Carew . Dr. Penfield discovered that death was due to a stab from a small, upright, desk bill file which had been thrust into the body with such force that the heavy, leaded round base was pressed tightly against the clothes. The sharp point had to the heart, and death must have been instantaneous. The weapon in the wound prevented any outward hemorrhage, and Senator Carew bled internally.
 
“These startling details but add interest to what promises to prove a mystery unique in the annals of crime.
 
“Senator Carew and his family have resided here for many years, and have been prominently identified with official and society. The old Carew mansion on Massachusetts Avenue east of Fourteenth Street has been for its hospitality. It was by Senator Carew’s father, General Van Ness Carew, shortly before the commencement of the Civil War, and the foundations and walls were of such unwonted thickness that General Carew was with as to whether he was not building a !
 
“The of the Senator’s household are his widowed sister, Mrs. George Winthrop, her stepson, Philip Winthrop; and her niece, Miss Cynthia Carew, daughter of the late Philip Carew, a younger brother of Senator Carew.
 
“Mrs. Winthrop is well-known in Washington, having kept house for her brother since the death of his wife in 1881. Miss Cynthia Carew made her début last December at a ball which her aunt and uncle gave for her. Since then Miss Carew has received much attention, and is regarded as one of the most popular of the winter’s débutantes.
 
“Philip Winthrop has spent most of his life in Washington, and, since his graduation from Princeton, has been as private secretary for Senator Carew. He is a member of the , the Chevy Chase, and the Riding and Hunt Clubs, and is popular with his associates.
 
“A fearless leader, an upright American, Senator Carew has served his country well, first as representative, then as senator. Possessing the confidence and friendship of the President as he did, it was frequently that he would be the power behind the throne in deciding many of the important issues now confronting the country. His death is therefore a severe blow to many besides his family.
 
“The known facts at present point to murder or suicide. The negro driver, Sam Hamilton, has been arrested a closer examination.”
 
The Ambassador regarded the printed lines long and thoughtfully. Then his foot pressed the electric button in the carpet under the table. The bell had hardly ceased to buzz before the well-trained servant was by his side.
 
“Send for my motor,” came the brief order.
 
“It is already at the door, Excellency.”
 
The Ambassador tossed his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair, and rose. “My hat and coat,” he directed, walking into the hall.
 
In a few minutes he stepped out into the vestibule and filled his lungs with the delicious breeze that fanned his cheeks. No trace of the heavy storm of the night before was in the air. The sky was blue, and the May sunshine lit up the budding trees and . The touch of spring and new-born life was everywhere. The Ambassador snapped off a spray of honeysuckle which grew along the fence protecting his parking from his neighbor’s, and tucked the spray in his buttonhole as he entered the waiting motor. “Drive to the club,” he directed , as the car moved off.