Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Along the desolate country road where thick, dragging waves roared, after keeping our horse moving forward for nearly an hour, Captain Fukatani's estate finally came into view before us on the cape. At the tip of the long-jutting green cape separated by sapphire seas, a cluster of dazzling chalk-white buildings glittered brilliantly under the midday sun. To the left rose what was likely the main building, its rooftop terrace constructed conspicuously higher like a ship's bridge. As we progressed, identical white cabin-like huts began appearing one after another, beside which stood a slender white-painted pole that jutted sharply into the azure sky near the sea. Not a single tree surrounded the estate - only beautiful green weeds lay thickly carpeted like fine velvet, casting a dreamlike harmony over the toy-like white houses. Yet as we drew nearer to the cape, it became clear this was no wild growth but rather an immaculately maintained lawn of splendid perfection.

The master of the Fukatani estate had until about ten years prior served as captain of a distinguished European route vessel for a certain shipping company. Having apparently accumulated considerable wealth, he built this estate upon retiring along a beautiful coastline far removed from human habitation, living what might be called a reclusive retired captain's quiet life. Yet whether his long years at sea had become too ingrained to forget, he constructed this house - as if it were a structure aboard a ship - upon a ship-shaped cape jutting into the sea in this desolate region that resembled either open ocean or some isolated isle at world's end, spending his days listening ceaselessly to the sound of waves. Unfortunately, I had never made this retired captain's acquaintance; and though I now found myself with this opportunity to visit the Fukatani estate after receiving Mrs. Fukatani's urgent telephone summons, circumstances had reached such a pass that meeting him was no longer possible. According to the words of this mansion's manservant - who had come two or three times to my clinic to fetch medicine - Mr. Fukatani's strange longing for the sea proved insufficiently satisfied through his dwelling's maritime architecture and location alone. He had incorporated seafaring ways into every aspect of daily life from clothing to meals, even compelling everyone from Mrs. Fukatani and servants to occasional visitors to address him as "Captain." It was a fierce, single-minded obsession as though determined to drag his oceanic lifestyle all the way to hell's brink. Thus he was already a gentleman past sixty who, while being a quiet and gentle person in disposition, proved thoroughly cold when it came to family matters; moreover, he possessed one peculiar habit that often troubled his household. To put it simply, he was an extraordinary yacht fanatic - not merely someone who sailed nearby waters from dawn till dusk as if he owned the place, but one who would wander God knows where across the inky-black sea from nightfall when darkness enveloped the surroundings through midnight hours when pale sea mist rose chillingly thick, paying no heed whatsoever to his family's anxious warnings. Of course, all the medicines that had been brought to me were for the master’s use, and seeing that they were all a type of antipyretic, it was clear he must have been keeping extraordinarily late hours. If that were the case, then the warnings I had conveyed to the servant on those occasions had likely been dismissed just like the family’s admonitions. Poor stubborn old Captain Fukatani - might he not have brought about some injury that would cost him his very life? For an elderly man to keep such late hours was dangerous enough already, but particularly in these waters where night fogs gather thickly and, by all accounts, vicious great sharks prowl. While recalling Mrs. Fukatani’s frantic summoning call, I felt certain this premonition of mine wasn’t mistaken. In any case, we had to hurry.

Before long, we came to a beautiful stony ochre-colored slope of the cape. Mr. Toya Saburo from the Fisheries Experiment Station—who had visited me after a long absence on this Sunday—had initially been quite displeased about having his carefully planned long ride diverted to this coastal route; yet upon hearing my meager explanations about Captain Fukatani during our journey and now beholding this strange Fukatani estate upon the cape, it seemed his habitual curiosity had already stirred within him—for he now began striding ahead of me.

The horse we rode was the finest in the club, and the cape’s slope proved more gradual than anticipated, so in less than ten minutes, we reached the entrance of the Fukatani estate. Through the hands of the manservant who had been waiting for us, our horses were soon tethered in a cool shaded area of the building, and before long we were able to meet Mrs. Fukatani, the captain's wife, in a bright ship-cabin-style parlor.

Mrs. Fukatani, wearing a plain black dress with a silver brooch pinned to her chest, appeared far younger than her years - not yet having reached forty by any significant margin. Her large dark eyes glistening with intense moisture, she spoke in a somber tone about the dreadful calamity that had befallen her husband. As I listened to Mrs.Fukatani's account, I was astonished to find that my earlier premonition had struck true with uncanny precision. According to her testimony, Captain Fukatani had once again embarked on one of his peculiar midnight sails last night. By morning he had become a cold corpse adrift in nearby waters alongside his cherished yacht. Fulfilling my duty as a physician, I promptly urged Mrs.Fukatani to let me examine the captain's remains laid out in another room. Yet there I discovered the astonishing first fact that would transform this incident into such an uncanny and dreadful tale.

The corpse of Captain Fukatani—a gruesome sight with one leg torn off by a shark—revealed through progressing autopsy clear evidence of homicide: traces of a blow to part of the skull from a beer-bottle-shaped weapon. Trembling with shock yet striving to maintain composure, I quietly asked Mrs. Fukatani: “Was your husband’s corpse found inside the yacht?”

Then Mrs. Fukatani, perhaps having read my expression, suddenly answered in a suspiciously faltering tone. "No, it was caught on the stern float as if impaled, submerged while being dragged by the yacht's rope." "Who first discovered the yacht?"

I asked again. "It was the manservant Hayakawa." "When he found the White Shark, he immediately swam out and brought it back." "But Doctor—why do you ask?" "Mrs., this is an extremely grave matter—around what time did your husband go out last night?" "Well..." Mrs. Fukatani turned pale, tilting her head with uneasy hesitation, "When he left... You see, I only realized he'd gone when I went to his bedroom at seven this morning... And his sailing at midnight—well, that wasn't so unusual for him..."

At this moment, Mr. Toya interjected from beside us as though unable to contain himself any longer.

"If I may ask, why does your husband go sailing in the middle of the night?" Then Mrs. Fukatani looked troubled, “...That... that was his... indulgence.”

With that, she made a forlorn expression that could have been either a laugh or a sob.

“Does your husband always go sailing alone?”

I asked. "Yes... but sometimes he invites family members, so on such occasions we had the manservant accompany him. But—" "And last night?" "He was alone last night—"

Just at that moment, two gentlemen entered the room. We fell silent for the moment, our questions left unspoken.

Mrs. Fukatani stood up and introduced the two gentlemen to us.

“This is my husband’s friend, Mr. Kurotsuka.” “This is my younger brother Yokichi.” “Please treat them kindly.” Captain Fukatani’s friend Kurotsuka appeared not yet past forty-five years of age—a well-built, imposing American-style gentleman—while Mrs. Fukatani’s younger brother Yokichi was a fair-skinned, youthful-looking young man who seemed smaller in build and younger in years compared to Mr. Kurotsuka. Both wore matching pure white three-piece suits and somehow possessed an air of refined elegance.

After exchanging perfunctory greetings, I promptly resumed my previous line of questioning with Mrs. Fukatani. “May I ask about the current family members here?” “To call us a family might be presumptuous, but currently there are six of us including these gentlemen—the maid Okimi, the manservant Hayakawa, and my husband and myself.” I asked the two gentlemen.

“Excuse my asking, but have you both been staying here long?” “Yes, well—” Mr. Yokichi interjected in response. “I’ve been here for quite some time, but Mr. Kurotsuka only arrived last night.” “Last night... Ah, I see,” I now addressed Mrs. Fukatani again. “Then let me ask once more—did your husband go out sailing alone last night?” “Yes, absolutely.” Mrs. Fukatani said this and looked at me impatiently.

Thereupon, I resolutely leaned forward and, "I must inform you all... The truth is, this matter has now exceeded my ability to handle alone." "Your husband’s death was not caused by his own error." "We must formally ask you to contact the police." Then Mrs. Fukatani, who had been showing an oddly restless and uneasy demeanor in response to my persistent questioning until now, suddenly began trembling faintly without uttering a sound, her eyes fixed intently on the empty space before her.

The two gentlemen, with an air that seemed to say "what a troublesome situation this had become," wrung their hands together for some time before abruptly leaving the room.

An oddly uncomfortable silence descended among the three of us who remained. However, before long Mrs. Fukatani raised her face as if resolving herself and addressed us. “I had been thinking... if only it hadn’t come to this... The truth is... well... since last night... my husband’s behavior had been different from usual,” she said. “What do you mean by that?” I instinctively pressed further. “Yes, well... That was... Let me see... It must have been around 7:30 or 8 in the early evening when the radio variety shows start. From that time onward, something must have happened because my husband suddenly lost his composure and began fidgeting terribly...”

When Mrs. Fukatani paused briefly, Mr. Toya interjected. "If I may ask, were there any visitors around that time?" "There were none, but..."

Mrs. Fukatani frowned. Then Mr. Toya gestured toward the door with his chin, "What about this Mr. Kurotsuka you mentioned earlier?" "That gentleman took his leave around nine o'clock." "Ah, I see. Then prior to that—that is, before your husband became that way—were there any visitors who spoke with him?" "Yes, there were no visitors to speak of, nor any mail yesterday. Though in truth, those who come to visit here are rarely ever present to begin with—"

Mrs. Fukatani said this and flashed that lonely expression for an instant. But she immediately continued.

"But something terribly worrying must indeed have occurred." “It was less worry than—I should say terror… He shut himself away in the ship cabin study of the annex over there, looking terribly troubled, and seemed to be agonizing for some time. But when I grew concerned and went to check on him secretly, I heard my husband muttering to himself as if frightened by something.”

“What was it?”

I inadvertently leaned forward urgently. “Yes, well—what I happened to hear was my husband pounding the desk like this with a shrill voice saying ‘Tomorrow afternoon—it must be done by tomorrow afternoon,’ then in a low voice trembling with fear, ‘They’ll surely come this far.’ That was all... Then suddenly my husband stood up as though unable to remain still any longer and came out of the room. When he noticed me standing there by chance, he grew even more displeased and scolded me in such a vulgar tone as he had never used before—as if to say you people have no business knowing... But Doctor—” “I never imagined things would come to this... Though I feel ashamed to admit it... given that he was always such a harsh, peculiar man... I thought it best not to oppose him... So against my better judgment... I simply retreated to my room and went to sleep first... And now... by morning... it has come to this...”

Mrs. Fukatani showed tears glistening at the corners of her eyes for the first time there, then buried her face as if unable to endure any longer. We exchanged glances and decided to leave our seats.

When we stepped out into the hallway, I leaned close to Mr. Toya and said, "...This is shocking... Things have taken a dreadful turn."

Then Mr. Toya said thoughtfully in a low voice, “So what Mr. Fukatani feared—meant for tomorrow afternoon, meaning today—actually arrived last night.” He abruptly shifted his tone. “You—we still have ample time before the police arrive. “It’s a long bumpy road—three hours should suffice. “Now—show me the yacht. “That very yacht Mr. Fukatani boarded last night... Somehow I’ve grown intensely interested in this case.”

Having said that, he placed his hand on my shoulder.

Ordinarily, I don’t consider myself much of a meddler, but when Mr. Toya invited me like this, somehow my mouth answered “Yeah, sure” before my reason could catch up.

Thereupon, after informing Mr. Yokichi—who had joined us—and exiting through the entrance hall, we requested the manservant to guide us down the cape’s cliffside path until we alighted upon a rocky stretch of shoreline.

II

It appeared to be just entering low tide as afternoon approached, and glossy ebb-tide waves were washing over the rocks with a quiet sound.

Captain Fukatani's yacht, the White Shark, still had its mast and sails attached, lying on the black rocks beside the boat shed. A latest-model Marconi sloop-type, approximately twenty feet in overall length with mast and hull entirely painted white—a smart three-seater. The edge of the gaudy crimson-and-white striped mainsail slid down the traveler protruding behind the long mast, spread taut like an unfurled curtain while maintaining matching angles with the jib sail at the bow—all secured by ropes. The rudder was secured by a rope tied to the float at a position about ten degrees to port, with green seaweed slightly entangled around the hinges of the rudder plate.

Mr. Toya pointed to the float at the end of the rope and asked the manservant. “Was your master’s corpse threaded through this float and fastened to the stern?” “Yes, that’s correct.” The manservant answered. Mr. Toya nodded while remarking, “He must have meant for the sharks to dispose of it... Now then—you didn’t accompany your master last night?” “No indeed. Unless expressly summoned by the Captain, accompanying him was never part of my duties.”

This rigidly precise answer from the manservant greatly pleased me. Mr. Toya continued further. “Just what reason did the Captain have for going out on the yacht in the middle of the night?” “He merely sails around. That is the Captain’s hobby.” “That’s quite the hobby.” Mr. Toya smiled sarcastically and this time boarded the yacht. “You’d do well not to meddle with the crime scene before the police arrive.”

However, he paid no heed to my warnings and was frantically scrutinizing various parts of the boat, but soon approached the mast and began rubbing part of the mainsail's hem with his finger while—

“There’s blood on this.” “As I thought, Mr. Fukatani was killed aboard this yacht.”

I too, compelled by Mr. Toya’s words, approached to look. Sure enough, there were traces of what appeared to be blood spatter on the red and white striped section. Mr. Toya grew even more engrossed and began examining the yacht’s floor, but soon this time, he picked up what appeared to be a broken glass bottle from between the narrow planks and showed it to me. And I,

“So the murder weapon must be a beer bottle after all.” Then, while tapping my shoulder, he— “That won’t do, Doctor—calling this a beer bottle. This is a current bottle—well, it does resemble a beer bottle though. You seal postcards or cards inside this thing—and to make it stand out, see, you paint the exterior with enamel like this—then toss it into the ocean to track current direction and speed. It’s a primitive drifting device.” Having said that, Mr. Toya now turned to the manservant,

“There must have been several current bottles at this estate, of course?” “Yes. It was also the Captain’s hobby.”

But Mr. Toya did not respond to that, “First, this establishes both the murder weapon and crime scene. Now then—when you swam out to this yacht this morning—was there anything else remaining aboard besides these?”

“Nothing in particular, but... there was a tube of soft chocolate for table use that had fallen there.” “What did you do with that?” “As it was empty, I discarded it into the sea.”

“You threw it away?” Mr. Toya stepped down from the yacht with a disbelieving smirk, but suddenly noticing the small sternside cabin, he turned back and lifted its hatch to peer inside. Then bending low, he lunged his upper body into the compartment and retrieved a single large black shellfish. “My, what an unusual specimen.” I remarked while leaning closer. “The shape looks exactly like a bird in mid-flight when viewed from the side. What’s this shellfish called?”

“It’s a Mabe shellfish. A filthy shellfish.”

Mr. Toya said. Then came Hayakawa’s voice: “There are plenty of those in this vicinity.” However, Mr. Toya remained silent for a while as he fiddled with the Mabe shellfish, but soon began putting the shellfish back into the locker with apparent disinterest while— “...Indeed, Mr. Fukatani was quite the eccentric. He seems profoundly connected to the sea...” As he spoke, he jumped down from the yacht, placing one hand on the gunwale. And this time, leaning against the white-painted hull’s exterior, he lightly tapped the lead surface of the keel protruding vertically from the middle of the ship’s bottom with his palm while examining it,

“What a fine yacht. The balance seems good too.”

and then suddenly peered carefully at the lower part of the keel, “Look here—there’s clay stuck to this, isn’t there?”

The manservant and I approached Mr. Toya as if moving in unison and peered in.

Sure enough, on the lower part of the keel, near where the lead met the wood, soft clay clung thinly as if scraped on.

“This White Shark was hauled out of the water this morning and still hasn’t been lowered back in even once, is that correct?” “Yes, that’s correct.”

The manservant answered.

“So this clay sediment is fresh, and this vicinity is all rocks…” Mr. Toya said with a laugh toward me,

“So last night—this White Shark that Mr. Fukatani boarded—it was moored at some clayey shore once.” “And because this keel protrudes excessively from the ship’s bottom, it makes contact with the clayey seabed sooner and more violently than any other part of the hull……” “Hmm.” “And on that seabed—look—the seaweed clinging to the hinges of that rudder plate—it’s called nagakaime seaweed—that must be growing in abundance all over.” “That type of seaweed tends to proliferate abundantly in shallow waters near the shore.”

Both I and the manservant could do nothing but be awestruck by this deduction. When it came to matters of the sea, someone like me was utterly outmatched. After stepping away from the keel, Mr. Toya pressed close to the hull of the beached White Shark. He cast a keen gaze along its sleek gunwale, alternately peering intently and running his fingers across the surface, before abruptly turning to face us.

“Come take a look at this.”

We also drew close to the hull and lowered our eyes to the line Mr. Toya was pointing at. It was nothing remarkable. A row of half-dried brownish bubbles had formed nothing more than a long line encircling the ship uniformly along the gunwale, about one foot below it on average. It was an ordinary phenomenon that could be seen anywhere. For example, on rocks where the tide had receded, or on sand—

“Huh... It’s nothing but a line of bubbles...”

I had nearly blurted out reflexively when meeting Mr. Toya’s meaningful gaze but immediately grasped what he meant to convey. “Ah! So you mean these brownish bubbles were floating over waters along a shore where clay sediment lies beneath and nagakaime seaweed grows?” “Hmm—but I’ve discovered an even more remarkable fact.”

Having said that, he now turned to the manservant,

“Are the waves around here generally calm?”

“Well, generally...” “Last night?” “With there having been sea fog, it would naturally have been perfectly calm.” “Right—let’s launch the boat regardless.”

Mr. Toya stepped forward. Even I, who had initially felt no small apprehension toward this makeshift detective, now pushed the White Shark toward the water’s edge together with the manservant without any hesitation. Before long, as the yacht rode the quiet shorebreak and floated lightly on the water, Mr. Toya energetically leaped aboard. And with an air of intense confidence,

“Alright. “I’ll now begin a rather interesting experiment. “Please arrange your positions evenly to keep the boat balanced.” Mr. Toya crouched cheerfully at the gunwale, peering childishly at the waterline where the sea met the hull, then suddenly stood up and seized me firmly. “You—how many kan do you weigh?” “What? You mean my weight?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t recall exactly, but around fifty kilograms.” “Hmm. Good.” And now he turned to the manservant,

“And you?” “I don’t recall precisely either, but I should certainly weigh over sixty kilograms.”

“I see. So I’m about fifty-six kilograms and… You two, stay exactly as you are for now.”

After saying this, he restrained us with both hands as if to pin us down, then immediately leapt ashore. However, he soon returned carrying two large stones with apparent effort and made us load them onto the ship. "Now, to keep the vessel level once more, mind your positions carefully." "Are we clear?"

Having said that, Mr. Toya crouched down again in the same manner as before and peered at the gunwale, but soon stood up with a smile and spoke. “Alright. This makes it perfectly balanced—” “Now, what I mentioned earlier about making a fascinating discovery—this is what I meant.” “In other words, the combined weight of myself, you, the manservant, and these two stones—to be precise, the total weight currently aboard the White Shark—is equivalent to—yes—the weight of about three adults that had been aboard this same White Shark floating on these bubbled waters last night.” “In other words, Mr. Fukatani did not board the yacht alone last night.” “Someone else must have been aboard with him.”

“I see.”

“And here’s the thing—that weight vanished from aboard this White Shark upon the bubbled sea surface.” “Why?” I reflexively asked back. “Because if that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t be able to make this discovery here and now. As the White Shark drifted here from that sea of bubbles while being lashed by the waves, those delicate bubbles should have been completely washed away by now.” “Hmm. Exactly. I’ve got it, I’ve got it. In other words, Mr.Fukatani’s corpse was thrown into the water where those bubbles were floating and tied to the stern with a rope.”

“That’s right. But that’s not all. Not only was Mr. Fukatani’s corpse thrown overboard—there was another weight besides him that should have been far heavier than Mr. Fukatani himself—equivalent to two adult humans. That’s right. Mr. Fukatani’s two dear companions—they too had disembarked from the ship precisely at that location. In other words, the White Shark had been completely emptied out. Now listen carefully—even if only Mr. Fukatani’s weight had been removed, the White Shark wouldn’t have floated up so lightly. For instance—”

Mid-sentence, Mr. Toya leapt ashore. “Look at this. “Please pay close attention to the interval between the waterline along the gunwale and what you call that line of bubbles. “Even if I alone disembark, the interval wouldn’t increase by more than two inches… And Captain Fukatani’s weight shouldn’t differ much from mine either. “Therefore, that very interval should have been almost entirely washed away by the waves while the ship was drifting. “Especially since yachts tend to rock more when people are aboard.—Now then, this time, everyone please try disembarking.”

So we promptly leapt onto the rocks. Then the yacht suddenly rose up lightly, and an average interval of about five inches had formed between the bubble line and the waterline. Indeed, under these circumstances, small waves could never erase all the bubbles. Mr. Toya resumed. "In other words, Mr. Fukatani's two companions tied his corpse to the stern at that clay-sediment-bottomed shore where the bubbles floated, completely emptied the White Shark, and disembarked themselves." "Now, these tea-brown viscous bubbles are not ordinary sea or wave foam." "They are composed of more complex elements—dust in the air or water along with countless other minute particles." “And these types of bubbles tend to accumulate not on open sea surfaces, but in special near-shore areas like inlets or curved wind-sheltered coves.—By the way, does this estate have a scale?”

Mr. Toya asked the manservant.

“There is.” “A large automatic platform scale is in the storage shed of the annex.” “Excellent, excellent.—Now then, once we measure both the total weight currently aboard this White Shark and Mr. Fukatani’s body weight, we’ll be able to determine the combined weight of the two companions through a simple calculation.” “Basic subtraction will suffice.” “Well now, this is getting interesting.”

I involuntarily muttered. Mr. Toya laughed and,

“Ah, thank you… This should suffice for now.” “Let’s conclude here.” “Ah—this two-sail rigging, or rather its trim, remains fixed in position.” “It’s arranged to be pushed automatically by winds blowing from forward of the starboard side.” “And the rudder fixed ten degrees portside—aha! Meaning it was designed to naturally steer the ship in a broad leftward turn—a technique Mr. Fukatani’s companions engineered at that bubble-filled sheltered cove.” “Good.” “Now let’s proceed.” “You there—take that stone.”

III

Mr. Toya carried the larger stone, and I carried the smaller one; we began climbing the cliff path, each struggling under our respective loads. The sea breeze that had begun blowing lightly gently caressed our cheeks. The manservant Hayakawa lagged far behind us, as he was occupied with tasks such as securing the yacht's stern line to a post between the rocks and covering the hull with a sheet retrieved from the boat shed.

When we had climbed about halfway up the cliff path, the Fukatani family's maid came running down and informed us that preparations were ready, so we should come for lunch.

However, Mr. Toya promptly detained her and began his questioning in a straightforward manner. “What exactly does your master do when he goes out to sea every night?” “Well…” she widened her eyes in surprise and, “But sailing out on the yacht at night was the Captain’s cherished pastime, you see…”

"That's quite an unusual hobby... Have you ever accompanied him?" "Yes, once... some time ago... It was a beautiful moonlit night." "Just sailing around on the sea like that?"

“Yes.” “But it was a wonderful sail.” “It would be different if the moon were out.” Mr. Toya changed the subject. “By the way, were there any visitors from elsewhere yesterday evening?”

“In the evening?” “No, there were none.” “What about Mr. Kurotsuka?” “That person arrived after nine o’clock.” “And the telephone?” “The telephone? No, there were no calls.” “That telephone is almost purely decorative.” “What was your master worried about last night when he appeared?”

“Huh?... Well, I haven’t the slightest idea.” “Though it must have been something dreadful—the Captain’s complexion was truly awful, but—” She regarded Mr. Toya with evident suspicion.

“Then last night, who boarded the yacht with him?” “No, the Captain was entirely alone.” “Around what time did he depart?” Mr. Toya grew increasingly insistent.

"Well, I don't know... But since Mr. Hayakawa and I each went to bed early—" “Then how did you know the Captain went out alone?” “That’s…” She hesitated with evident discomfort. “But this morning, the yacht was adrift with only the Captain aboard.” After pausing, Mr. Toya pressed anew. “The Captain had become quite a different man, hadn’t he?”

“Yes… He was quite eccentric… And no matter what it was，he would always declare ‘This is my hobby’—it was his catchphrase.”

At last, we reached the top of the cliff path. “When you say ‘the annex with the storage room,’ you mean that one over there?” Mr. Toya continued speaking as he walked toward the ship’s bridge-style building at the cape’s outermost tip. “Please talk with me a little longer.”

“Yes.” She reluctantly followed. “What kind of person is that Mr. Kurotsuka?” “Ah, Mr. Kurotsuka?” she said with somewhat revived spirits. “They say he previously served as purser aboard the Captain’s steamship, and every time there’s a suspension of service, he comes here to visit like that.” “And his age?”

“Well… Around forty? I think… But he’s still unmarried and quite cheerful, so he seems closer to Madam and Mr. Yokichi than to the Captain…” “Ah, that Mr. Yokichi is Madam’s younger brother, I hear.” “Yes, that’s correct. He’s quite modern and fond of chocolate, and after graduating from university this spring, he’s been staying here ever since.” “He likes chocolate?” The instant I recalled the manservant’s earlier words, I unintentionally interjected. “So, around what time did Mr. Yokichi go to sleep last night? Mr. Yokichi?”

“Last night? I don’t know. It seems Mr. Yokichi went for a walk with Mr. Kurotsuka until quite late since it had been so long, so—”

At that very moment, Hayakawa, the manservant, caught up to us. And by then, we had already reached the entrance to the annex storage room— “The scale is right here. Just a moment, please.” So saying, he took out a key from his pocket. Mr. Toya said to the maid. “No, that’s quite alright. Thank you.”

With that, she hurried back toward the main building as if relieved.

And before long, we entered the storage room and each began using the scale. First, Mr. Toya weighed 56.120 kg; next, I weighed 55.000 kg; and the manservant Hayakawa weighed 65.200 kg. The two stones combined weighed 14.600 kg. And the total came to 190.920 kg. ——

Mr. Toya, while entering the above numbers into his notebook, "The total comes to 190.920 kg. There we go." "In other words, this represents the maximum weight borne by the White Shark last night.... Well then, shall we get some lunch around now?"

There, we exited the storage room. But when Mr. Toya saw the sleek ship cabin-style room immediately adjacent to the storage room on its right, he abruptly turned to Hayakawa and said—

“So this is the Captain’s study, then?” “Yes, that’s correct. It is a special room they call a ‘ship cabin’—a ship cabin. As expected, following the Captain’s particular tastes, it was built seven or eight years ago, and without his permission, no one was allowed to enter.” “I see. So no one can ever enter it now, right?”

Mr. Toya started walking while remarking sarcastically.

In the beautiful main building’s dining room that also served as a lounge, a table had been set up in a bright spot near the window where Mrs.Fukatani, Kurotsuka, and Yokichi—despite their grief—had already begun a peaceful meal. So we too took our seats and, as if to avoid the awkwardness, gazed at the beautiful scenery outside the window while joining the company of others. From here, the sea appeared even more magnificent. Far to the left, the lavender-hued Inusaki—likely continuing toward the coast we had traversed—lay stretched out along the hazy shoreline, embracing this vast inland sea. To the right lay a tranquil inland bay area, smooth as spilled oil. In front of many small overlapping capes, a beautiful cape with a strikingly mottled bald mountain twisted its form strangely and jutted out into the sea. All the land on the right side, abundant with bays, had deep mountains crowding toward the sea like the teeth of a comb while shore pines spread thickly across the entire area as if spiderlings had been scattered. Apart from this mansion, there were no dwellings to speak of; as far as the eye could see stretched only the boundless meeting of sea and mountains. Against the blue sea resembling a blurred painting, Mr.Fukatani’s ship cabin shone whitely, and whether because wind had risen or not, swarms of swift-moving cloud fragments flew eastward through the sky above white pillars.

When the meal concluded, still holding his teacup and gazing out the window, Mr. Toya began to speak. “What is that pillar used for?” “Ah, that was… they say to evoke the atmosphere of a steamship.”

Mrs. Fukatani answered listlessly. "That too was my husband's... hobby."

"There's an unusual clamp fastened near the tip, isn't there?" "Yes, now that you mention it, we would occasionally light a lantern there... Though only once or twice a year. It was meant to serve as a marker when sailing further offshore than usual..." "Ah." Mr. Toya straightened his posture and remarked, "Well, this is rather an exceptional vista." "Did it meet your approval?"

Mr.Yokichi interjected. "Well now—it’s truly beautiful. With such a beautiful coast，there wouldn’t be any places where filthy foam has collected and floated up，would there？"

Then Mr. Yokichi, “No—there actually is such a place.” Pointing out the window, he continued: “Look, over there—on this side of the tranquil inland bay—can you see that cape with its bizarrely twisted form, dotted here and there with bald mountains? That cape is called Torikui-zaki, but beyond its tip—which bends slightly hook-shaped—there’s a small stagnant pool, or rather, a wind-swept inlet that’s formed there. In that wind-swept inlet, thick dark brown foam normally accumulates... Last summer, while swimming, I got caught in there and had a rather unpleasant experience, so I remember it well.”

“Ah, I see... By the way, I hear you’re quite fond of chocolate?” At this abrupt question, Mr. Yokichi clearly appeared startled; he assumed a complicated expression and stared back at Mr. Toya. “Ah, no—” Mr. Toya said with an odd air of self-assurance, “Actually, I heard there was a tube of chocolate in the yacht this morning, so I thought perhaps you last night—” “Don’t be absurd!” Mr. Yokichi finally flushed and interrupted him. “It’s true that I do like chocolate. But that’s leftover from when my sister and I went sailing yesterday afternoon. Last night, I was taking a walk with Mr. Kurotsuka in the hill district until late.”

“Ah, I see. Then during your walk, did you happen to encounter any suspicious-looking persons?” “We didn’t meet anyone.” This time, Mr. Kurotsuka, who had until now been silently smoldering rolled tobacco, leaned forward. “Then, didn’t you see the White Shark out at sea?”

Then Mr. Kurotsuka, with a faintly pitying smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “It was a dark night, and unfortunately there was even a thin mist...” At this, Mr. Toya laughed as well and,

“Did you catch a cold?” Then suddenly turning serious, he said, “Now, I must apologize for this impertinent request, but might I ask both you and Mr. Yokichi to step onto the scale in that storage room for a moment?” “Certainly… but what exactly do you intend to do?” “I would like you to stand on the scale in that storage room.” “If I may ask… what possible reason could there be for such a thing?” “Well… regarding this case, a humble theory has occurred to me, so…”

“Well…? I can’t make heads or tails of this… You want to put our bodies on the scale—?” “In other words… this experiment is to verify my estimation that during the time of the crime, the White Shark had three or more people aboard—to be precise, a total weight exceeding approximately 190 kilograms.”

“H-how could you have concluded such a thing?” “On the white hull of the White Shark that I observed earlier, there remains a tea-brown trace of bubbles along a horizontal line approximately five inches uniformly above the waterline. And according to precise calculations, this five-inch gap proves a load weight resistance of approximately 190.920 kilograms—resistance against the White Shark’s buoyancy.”

Then Mr. Kurotsuka let out a light laugh. And then, in a cold tone, he interjected.

“I see. “However, from our perspective as professionals, we must take some issue with your theory...” Mr. Toya’s face tensed slightly. I too found myself drawn in and unintentionally leaned forward over the table.

“You have neglected to account for rolling—that is, the lateral sway,” Mr. Kurotsuka began. “As you know, this rolling inevitably affects any vessel to some degree.” “In this case, even if there were a line of bubbles five inches above the waterline on the empty White Shark, I consider it exceedingly rash to conclude from that alone that over ninety kilograms had been loaded.” “The reasoning is thus—even without such weight resistance, when a ship rolls and tilts laterally, the waterline along its hull fluctuates according to the angle of inclination.” “And had bubbles been floating on the sea, they would adhere along the highest level among these fluctuating waterlines.” “In other words, that second distinct bubble line you observed—positioned above the standard waterline of an empty ship at rest—could form through rolling alone, without any additional load.” “True enough—in that sheltered inlet, there are no waves, and being leeward of the cape means scant wind, so there would be no pitching.” “Yet rolling inevitably occurs to some extent.” “So it’s not like measuring an elephant’s weight by floating a boat in a pond, as Sima Guang of China did.” “Your 190-kilogram theory was rather precipitate, wouldn’t you agree?”

Having said that, Mr. Kurotsuka plopped his cigar butt into the silver ashtray and crossed his arms high.

Indeed, as one would expect from a true specialist, his reasoning was remarkably thorough. I suddenly grew concerned and tried to assess Mr. Toya's standing. Yet Mr. Toya remained utterly composed. As though relieved, he eased his tension and quietly commenced speaking.

“That is a very compelling theory. But here, allow me to present my amateurish rebuttal. I must reiterate once more before proceeding—that bubble waterline maintains the same height uniformly across the entire hull of the White Shark, spanning all sides. In other words, the bubble waterline remains uniformly horizontal at both bow and stern without the slightest variation in height anywhere along its length.—Now, according to my analysis, the rolling effect you just mentioned would fundamentally require a central axis—or rather in this case, a line connecting the White Shark’s bow and stern, what we call the fore-and-aft line or keel line—there must necessarily exist such an axis. Now if, as you stated, that bubble waterline was formed not by the resistance of a loaded weight approximating 190 kilograms but rather by rolling above the standard waterline, then the waterlines at the bow and stern—being the axis of that rolling—must necessarily sit lower compared to the waterlines along both sides of the hull. Conversely speaking, the bubble waterlines on both sides of the hull would become higher as they move away from the bow and stern at both ends of the axis. However, as I have repeatedly stated, the White Shark’s waterline shows no variation in height across any part of the hull, maintaining uniform levelness throughout. If that is the case, I would like to request an on-site inspection now. Therefore, based on this point of contention—if I may be so bold—I must reject your theory that the trace of bubbles was formed by rolling. Of course, I do not mean to suggest that the White Shark never rolled at all. There must have been some rolling that didn’t destroy the remaining bubble line. However, the reason the bubble line remained almost entirely intact despite rolling while drifting into these relatively rough waters was that in that wind-swept inlet, the White Shark had become completely empty—suddenly lighter with a shallower draft.”

“Hmph… That’s logical, I suppose.”

Mr. Kurotsuka muttered in vexation.

“Then, I would like you to grant my earlier request.” At last, the two men stepped onto the scale.

First, Mr. Kurotsuka: 66.100 kg. Next, Mr. Yokichi: 44.580 kg. Total: 110.680 kg. "You'll need to know my brother-in-law's weight as well, won't you?" Mr. Yokichi said.

“Mr. Fukatani’s?” “Yes, absolutely.” “The timing’s perfect. “My sister’s Household Diary should have monthly records.” Having said that, Mr. Yokichi turned toward the main building and called out orders to the maid.

Before long, an elegantly bound diary was delivered. Mr. Yokichi promptly flipped through the pages.

“Let me see, this is last month’s… Ah, here we go—there’s an entry from exactly three days ago.” “Ah, 53.340 kg... And this 38.220 kg here refers to?” “Ah, that’s Mrs. Fukatani’s, then.” "No—thank you very much." As the end of Mr. Toya’s words trailed off, a tense, awkward silence instantly descended. Mr. Toya casually leaned back while entering numbers into his notebook, apparently performing swift subtraction. I too pretended to look outdoors and began hurriedly calculating mentally. Subtracting Mr. Fukatani's 53.340 kilograms from the established 190.920 kilograms...137.580 kilograms—this represented the combined weight of the two passengers who had boarded the yacht with Mr. Fukatani. Yet the total weight of Mr. Kurotsuka and Mr. Yokichi came to 110.680 kilograms. This fell short of the passengers' weight by 26.900 kilograms. The ones who had boarded the yacht with Mr. Fukatani last night were not Mr. Kurotsuka and Mr. Yokichi. For some reason feeling faint disappointment, I looked at Mr. Toya. Then he wordlessly put away the notebook into his pocket and quietly started walking toward the lawn outside.

The wind had grown considerably stronger, and shadows from swift-moving fragmented clouds continued to streak across the lawn, leaving frantic patterns of light and shadow in their wake. Though maintaining an air of nonchalance, Mr. Toya must have been just as disappointed as I was. Yet when he eventually turned around, his demeanor remained perfectly composed. "How about it, Mr. Kurotsuka? Would you care to inspect the White Shark's bubble line?" "There's no need for that now." "I see. Then would you kindly lend us the White Shark until the police arrive?"

“By all means.”

Then Mr. Toya tapped my shoulder and said in an intentionally loud voice that carried across,

“Hey, let’s go check out Torikamizaki.”

IV

It seemed a low-pressure system was approaching, and the sea’s swells rose higher than anticipated. A sudden southerly wind bore countless small triangular waves with needle-like tips, surging toward the cape where the Fukatani estate stood. Each time clouds of unbearable gloominess intercepted the pallid sunlight, the water’s hue shifted dramatically between depth and translucence. When a lateral gust struck, the indigo sea became cloaked in white-crested ripples that glittered with a venomous silver sheen. Beyond that cold white expanse, dark green Torikamizaki emerged in stark relief—its form now tinged russet under piercing sunlight that stabbed through a cloud gap at a sharp angle.

The White Shark carrying us continued racing forward with arrow-like speed, cutting through the swells as it received the powerful southerly wind striking from its port bow. Both Mr. Toya and I were well-versed in yacht sailing techniques, and moreover, this chic Marconi-rigged sloop was astonishingly nimble. Before long, I lightly turned the starboard helm. The bow of the White Shark began turning sharply to starboard, tracing a gentle arc. We drew near Torikamizaki. As we advanced, the full visage of Torikamizaki—like a colossal beast twisting its body to leap forth into the starboard sea—loomed ever closer, bearing down upon us with immense weight. Then, having passed that headland, a mirror-like inlet quietly came into view within our sight. The yacht slowly approached the entrance to that inlet. Before long, we began rounding a small hook-shaped cape said to harbor an eerie wind-swept hollow. As we gradually rounded the cape with the inlet on our left, the gloomy backside of Torikamizaki began to come into view. It was indeed gloomy.

The water's edge held not a single rock, nor could one find even the barest semblance of sandy shores common to beaches elsewhere. Instead, a shoreline of glossy black clay resembling stone stretched uninterrupted, its surface pocked with clusters of reed-like grass family plants growing thick and tall. From the uneven coastal plain to the hills of Torikamizaki beyond, thorny underbrush, gnarled shrubs, and reddish ferns proliferated unchecked. And above them, primordial tall trees layered themselves thickly to an oppressive degree. When the ship entered this gloomy little inlet, the wind had strangely died away. The White Shark showed not even a slight roll as it moved forward under its own momentum, gliding smoothly. Just at that moment, the sunlight that had been glaringly reflecting off the sea surface was blocked by deep cloud shadows, abruptly plunging the surroundings into darkness—yet rendering them eerily distinct. I instinctively looked at the water’s surface.

Over this small marine dead end floated thick, viscous clusters of tea-brown foam, slightly foul and countless. And as we moved deeper into the inlet, its density steadily increased until it ultimately transformed into an entire sea of foam.

“Let’s moor around here.” Following Mr. Toya’s instructions to prevent the centerboard from touching the sea bottom, I chose a spot in the deepest water possible and moored the yacht.

Just as we disembarked onto the damp shore,

“Shh!—”

Suddenly, Mr. Toya restrained me. The area fell terrifyingly silent. And then, shattering that silence, a distant, low, frantic sound—like the crunching of branches underfoot or the rustling of leaves—swept past my ears. It was someone running in haste into the mountains through the dense jungle.

"Who could that be?"

I turned to look back at Mr. Toya. But he no longer paid any heed to the footsteps; standing on the shore about five meters away, he pointed at the black clay and called out to me.

“Come take a look.” I walked over to Mr. Toya’s side and lowered my eyes to the ground he had indicated. From the clay sediment at the water’s edge toward the grassy area stretched countless strange marks like dragged traces. They were unmistakably erased footprints. “These are the footprints of the men who killed Captain Fukatani last night.” “The man who just fled into the jungle erased them.” “Let’s chase him down!” I instinctively lunged forward.

“It’s no use. In these mountains we don’t know our way around, we’re bound to lose.” “Hmph… So that suspicious fellow was still prowling about here after all.”

I said frustratedly.

“That’s obvious.” Then Mr. Toya said something unexpected. “Do you think the men who killed Mr. Fukatani came from outside?” Indeed, ever since failing the earlier scale experiment, I had been reconsidering Mr. Fukatani’s strange mutterings and had just begun thinking that what Mr. Fukatani feared was not Kurotsuka but an entirely different man from outside—which made Mr. Toya’s current words startle me considerably.

“Well, I too,” said Mr. Toya with a laugh, “thought Kurotsuka and Yokichi seemed suspicious, just like you. But after that failed experiment earlier, I’d come to think the culprit was likely an entirely different outsider unknown to us.” “But now it’s different.” “Why? Take a look at these erased footprints.” “If the culprit were an outsider, why would they already know we were coming to Torikamizaki and go to the trouble of erasing their footprints? …The culprit is without a doubt among those currently present in the Fukatani household.”

“I see. So after all, the one Mr. Fukatani feared last night is among those currently at the Fukatani household?” “That’s why thinking that way complicates things.” “There’s no guarantee that the one Mr. Fukatani feared was necessarily the culprit,” Mr. Toya said solemnly, “...Anyway, around here there should be marks where the White Shark’s keel dug in.” Thereupon, we crouched down at the water’s edge—where the receding tide had left faintly foul foam along the high-water mark—and began wiping away the viscous foam with both hands. This task felt distinctly unpleasant. But before long, we discovered a narrow depression about an inch wide, one-third submerged in the low-tide seawater. About a foot from that depression, where the seabed turned rocky, three or four strands of deep green seaweed—long kelp tips tangled together—squirmed outward in tangled trails.

“Looking at this, this keel depression was made during last night’s high tide.” “Speaking of last night’s high tide, that would have been exactly around twelve o’clock.” “There, that settles it.” “Now let’s try tracing the direction of the footprints.” We followed the erased footprints and started walking toward the grassy area. It appeared they had made about two round trips between the coast and grassy area, leaving numerous erased footprints that overlapped and strayed outward. And for the first time, we noticed that on the left side of the trail of footprints, there was a faint, broad line—appearing here and there over the footprints—as if a heavy solid object had been dragged.

“What could this be? Could it be traces from transporting Mr. Fukatani’s corpse?”

I addressed Mr. Toya. “Hmm, but if that’s the case, then my theory that Mr. Fukatani was killed aboard the ship and immediately tied to the stern with a rope before being thrown into the sea would be overturned…” Mr. Toya came to the grassy area while deep in thought. The traces of the erased footprints had vanished from that point onward. When it was trampled and a heavy object was dragged over it last night, the grass must have been thoroughly flattened. However, due to the passage of time, the blades of grass had all sprung back up vividly.

Eventually threading our way through lush shrubs that grew thickly here and there across the grassy area, we discovered a small pond within an exceptionally tall and dense thicket. And on the bank covered with fine grass lay one large acetylene lamp. What drew our attention even more was that marks identical to those we had seen earlier on the coastal soil—resembling where a heavy object had been dragged—appeared to emerge from the pond, wetting the pebbles on its bank as they extended into the grassy area toward the mountains, directly opposite from the coastal direction we had come. The heavy object appeared to have been hauled up from the pond and dragged mere minutes earlier, and the grass lay flattened and thoroughly soaked across the entire area.

We began following the traces in excited silence. Eventually, the narrow grassy area ended, and ahead where a dense forest blocked our path—along the extension of the strange trail we were tracking—an inexplicable object, about the size of a large crouching black dog, came into view. With hearts racing, we hurriedly rushed over. But what astonished us once more was that this black object turned out to be a small trawl net for collecting shellfish, crammed full of the same Mabe shellfish Mr. Toya had discovered during the White Shark's buoyancy experiment earlier at the Fukatani residence. The net's opening was tied to prevent its contents from spilling out. We stood frozen.

“So it wasn’t Mr. Fukatani’s corpse after all—it was these things.” “But what on earth could this mean?” “Why would anyone gather such quantities of shellfish? What purpose could this serve?” “And above all—why wouldn’t whoever fled through these trees want us finding this?……” Mr. Toya fell silent, absorbed in thought. Then, as if struck by a realization, he lifted his face and continued in a drained voice—

"...It seems I've been terribly mistaken all along."

“How so?” “No… I’ll explain later.” “Anyway, we’ve seen enough here.” “Let’s head back,” he said as he bent over the trawl net crammed with Mabe shellfish and— “Apologies, but lend me your hands.” “This is vital evidence.”

I complied with his request promptly, though I didn't fully grasp what it entailed. Eventually carrying that extremely heavy load between the two of us with great effort, we emerged at the edge of the small pond we had visited earlier. There we added the acetylene lamp to our cargo as well, and before long returned to the original coastline.

After loading the heavy cargo onto the White Shark, we pulled its stern line along the shoreline—since there was no wind in this cove—until reaching the mouth of the inlet where wind was present.

“It was here that last night’s perpetrator fixed the sails’ and rudder’s positions before setting the White Shark adrift.” “Look.” “See—the erased footprints continue all along here.”

It was only when Mr. Toya said this that I noticed it for the first time. These footprints appeared to have been erased earlier than those near our initial landing point, their removal executed with far greater care.

“Well,

“Let’s set sail from around here.” “The wind has grown considerably stronger.”

We boarded the ship. The large mainsail flapped noisily for a while, but when its position was adjusted to match the wind direction, the White Shark began moving quietly. Mr. Toya lit a cigarette and addressed me, the helmsman.

“Just as I thought. I’ve been making a grave mistake all along. In other words, when I conducted that buoyancy experiment earlier, I concluded there were three people aboard the White Shark last night including Mr. Fukatani. That was the fundamental error. Of course, the total weight of just over 190 kilograms isn’t incorrect. It’s just the number of people. What I mean is there weren’t three people. Then how many? Two. Of course, 190 kilograms would be excessively heavy for two people. So we should recall this cargo—the weight of these Mabe shellfish and acetylene lamps and such. Undoubtedly, anyone would now understand these items were aboard the White Shark last night along with Mr. Fukatani and the perpetrator. In other words, the culprit isn’t two people but one. And now, within half an hour or so, I’ll be able to determine the culprit’s approximate weight. That is—subtracting Mr. Fukatani’s 53.340 kilograms and this cargo’s weight from 190.920 kilograms gives us the culprit’s weight.”

“That makes sense—it’s logical,” I said, leaning forward. “So if we just weigh this cargo on the scale, that’ll wrap it up?”

“Ah, but this case isn’t something that can be wrapped up so neatly just like that. The culprit will be known soon enough—but that is not the climax of this case. For instance, first recall Mr. Fukatani’s trembling soliloquy: ‘Tomorrow afternoon... It must arrive here by tomorrow afternoon.’ What on earth was he so dreadfully awaiting? Here we must consider his peculiar daily life as well. And then again—what could he have intended by gathering so many of these shellfish with a trawl net? After all, even Mr. Fukatani couldn’t possibly say ‘This too is my hobby,’ could he……?”

Mr. Toya said this and threw the cigarette butt into the sea with bitter force.

The White Shark, struck by a fierce wind at its stern, swiftly rounded Torikui-zaki like an arrow. Gloomy clouds pressed down oppressively across the entire sky, leaving no trace of the sun visible. Before long, we arrived back at the Fukatani estate; carrying the heavy cargo, we began climbing the cliff path.

As it appeared that the advance police officers had arrived during our absence, when we reached the top of the cliff path, the familiar-faced judicial officer came walking over from the direction of the main building, laughing.

“Ah, Doctor. To think you went yachting despite this being a murder case—I must say, that’s quite something.” There, I briefly outlined the unusual developments in Mr. Toya’s investigation of the case. Then the judicial officer,

“We’ve been preempted, I see. “No—that’s quite alright.” “In that case, please allow me to witness that scale experiment.” So we immediately made our way to the storage shed in the annex. The thought that we might identify the culprit here and now made me stiffen inwardly quite a bit. However, Mr. Toya was quite coldly indifferent; having me assist, he promptly placed the two pieces of cargo onto the scale platform.

The measuring needle began swinging wildly—flick, flick, FLICK. And its amplitude rapidly diminished, quivering nervously before snapping to a halt. 71.480 kg!

Instantly, Mr. Toya closed his eyes and began mental calculations. Then, suddenly—for some reason—the notebook he had been holding fell to the floor with a thud.

In his eyes, across his face, surprise visibly began to well up. And that look of surprise was immediately shrouded in grave, anguished, and bewildered shadows……yet soon, a faint hope surfaced. And steadily brighter, stronger, filled with confidence…… “Did you figure it out?”

The judicial officer said.

“I’ve figured it out.” “Who is the culprit?”

“The culprit is…” Mr. Toya began to say, “Please wait a moment.” With that, he tapped my shoulder and laughed, “Did’ya figure it out?” “Yeah, I’m… working on that calculation right now.” I answered flusteredly. Then Mr. Toya smiled again and, “Hey Doctor, I’m challenging you. Now then, kindly tell me who the culprit is. By now, you must know each person’s weight among those involved in this case? And how do you determine the culprit’s weight? No, it’s not just that—at the very least, you must have grasped all the necessary materials to deduce the culprit yourself. Now then—make your deduction splendidly!”

Mr. Toya said this and picked up the notebook for me. "If you had figured it out, you should’ve just said so already."

It was the judicial officer.

“Please wait a moment.” This time I cut in—Now that things had come to this, I had to calculate it out of sheer stubbornness. I mustn’t make a mistake… First, subtract Mr. Fukatani’s 53.340 kg from the problematic 190.920 kg… That leaves 137.580 kg. Now then, subtract these Mabe shellfish and lamps’ combined weight—71.480 kg—from that… Let’s see… That leaves 66.100 kg. 66.100 kg! ...Wait, this number seemed familiar. I hurriedly traced the symbols in the notebook… Ah—exactly Mr. Kurotsuka’s 66.100 kg!

Then I promptly turned to Mr. Toya and— “I’ve got it.” “What did you figure out?” As he said this, Mr. Toya stared intently at my face,

“Have you properly thought this through?” “Don’t look down on me.” “Then say it outright.” “The culprit is Kurotsuka!”

“Wrong!”

V

“Wrong?……This is no joke.” I involuntarily burst out laughing. “This is absolutely no joke!” Mr. Toya was deadly serious.

At that, I bristled slightly, "You're the one miscalculating." "Why?"

"But look... If you subtract Mr. Fukatani's weight and this cargo from 190.920 kg, you get 66.100 kg, right? And this exactly matches Mr. Kurotsuka's weight. It fits perfectly..." "That's exactly why you're wrong!" It was Mr. Toya. "What do you mean?"

“It’s nothing,” Mr. Toya began. “In other words, precisely because it matches perfectly, it’s wrong.” “Do you see?…Indeed, there’s no error in your arithmetic.” “But you’ve jumbled arithmetic and reality together.” “That’s precisely why it doesn’t work.” “Now, just think about it.” “We didn’t exactly weigh the White Shark’s entire contents as they were during last night’s crime.” “It’s a calculation we’ve only pieced together today—a hodgepodge of scattered elements.” “Moreover, even in our buoyancy experiments—strictly speaking—there must inevitably have been some degree of inaccuracy, and we’ve overlooked minor variations like passengers’ clothing.” “Therefore, while this 190.920 kg figure—no, both Mr. Fukatani’s weight and this cargo—are essential for deduction through subtraction, they remain approximate! Calculations from approximations could never produce real-world results matching exactly!” “…So when the subtraction matched Mr. Kurotsuka’s weight perfectly just now, I was utterly astonished.” “A truly remarkable coincidence.” “Too remarkable—that’s precisely why you fell into the trap.”

“Then who on earth is the culprit?”

The judicial officer said. Mr. Toya took the notebook from my hand and— “It’s the manservant Hayakawa at 65.200 kg.” Then the judicial officer sprang to his feet, “The manservant?—We’ve blundered. He apparently went to the town post office before we arrived.” “The post office?” This time, Mr. Toya leaned forward. “Don’t be absurd!—Set up a cordon across the entire southwest coastline from this cape. The mountains, the groves, and Torikui Point... That’s where his ‘post office’ is around here.”

and glanced briefly in my direction, “In fact, we had heard Mr. Hayakawa’s footsteps just moments ago at the very tip of Torikui Point.” The judicial officer immediately rushed out. Mr. Toya also stood up. “Well, things were getting hectic.”

Before long, Mr. Toya arrived at the main building’s entrance and, while watching the policemen who had suddenly begun making a commotion, apprehended Mrs. Fukatani—who was pacing restlessly with the maid—and promptly launched into his questioning. “Mrs.,” “The vicious culprit has been identified.” “It’s the manservant Hayakawa,” he declared, then turned politely to the astonished Mrs. Fukatani. “Now, if I may trouble you—might I briefly inspect your husband’s cabin?”

“Ah, do you mean the study?” Mrs. Fukatani showed a moment of hesitation, but immediately— “As you wish.” With that, she went inside. However, she soon returned and, handing a small silver key to Mr. Toya, “Please feel free to investigate as you see fit.” When we arrived again in front of the annex, Mr. Toya grabbed two or three Mabe shellfish from the cargo net placed on the scale platform in the storage room and entered Captain Fukatani’s cabin.

However, that room was merely constructed in the style of a ship’s cabin; its interior was relatively ordinary. Beside the large round window framed with lattices that opened widely toward the sea stood a splendid bookshelf, packed tightly with volumes. Most were academic volumes with sober bindings. Next to the bookshelf stood a large glass cabinet filled with an assortment of inexplicable tools and objects, but it was a sizable hanging lamp fitted with yellow glass that caught my eye. In the center of the room stood an office desk that seemed incongruous in such a space, and on its corner rested a small document cabinet.

After surveying the room once over, Mr. Toya placed the Mabe shellfish on the desk, sat down in the chair, and remained deep in thought for some time. Then, approaching the bookshelf while twitching his nostrils like a horse, he began fervently combing through the volumes. I suddenly remembered the horses we had ridden here. When we arrived at this mansion, I had tied them in the shade and left them as they were—and hadn’t given them water even once. Suddenly worried, I hastily exited the cabin.

While letting the horses drink cold water, I noticed the weather had deteriorated terribly. The surroundings grew increasingly darker; black clouds with a menacing aspect swirled deep and low across the entire sky, while from beneath the cliffs at the cape's edge came the progressively swelling roar of waves, vibrating through the ground underfoot.

I chose a spot beneath the long, overhanging eaves beside the entrance and led the horses around. When I had finally managed to complete all these tasks after considerable difficulty, Mr. Toya arrived. “You there—I take it this house’s telephone is a long-distance line? “Be so kind as to contact the exchange office. “And I need to call Mie Prefecture, but I don’t know the number. “The Mikisan Fisheries Department in Toba should suffice—would you kindly make an inquiry along those lines? “And hurry to get them on the line.”

Mr. Toya proceeded straight into the hall. I contacted the exchange office from the corridor telephone room as instructed. After requesting the call and leaving the telephone room, I came along the corridor toward the hall. There, Mr. Toya was questioning Mrs. Fukatani and Kurotsuka.

“So your husband retired from Nippon Shosen ten years ago and immediately moved here, correct?” “That is correct.” Mrs. Fukatani answered. “And how many years ago did you employ the manservant Hayakawa?” “It was precisely around that time that we employed him.” “Are you aware where Hayakawa was before your household employed him?” “As for that man’s employment, it was entirely my husband’s sole discretion, so I am not privy to any details whatsoever—”

“Ah, I see,” Mr. Toya said, nodding. “By the way, your husband didn’t frequently hang a lamp on the tip of that white pillar in front of the cabin, did he?”

"Yes, that was truly no more than once or twice a year."

“Now, one more thing—this may seem odd—but last night at your household, did you have the radio on during the news hour?” “Yes, that was always kept on.”

“Thank you very much.” Mr. Toya lit a cigarette and leaned against the sofa armrest. Just at that moment, the telephone bell rang in the telephone room, and soon after, the maid arrived. “Did someone place a call to Toba?”

“Ah, that was me. Thank you.” Mr. Toya stood up and hurriedly left the hall. Because we had no idea what was going on, we remained sitting blankly in the hall, barely able to converse as we waited for Mr. Toya’s return. However, after about ten minutes, Mr. Toya arrived, bringing along the police chief—an acquaintance of mine—as it appeared that the subsequent police officers had coincidentally arrived at that moment. And with a light, gentle smile spread across his entire face,

“Well. With this, it appears the case has been resolved. I shall now offer an explanation. Please proceed to the annex cabin. We have various evidentiary materials assembled there—”

Thereupon, we left the hall.

Mrs. Fukatani remained in the main building complaining of a headache, while the five of us—Mr. Toya, myself, Mr. Kurotsuka and Mr. Yokichi, along with the police chief—crossed the courtyard battered by fierce gusts and rushed into the annex cabin: Captain Fukatani’s secret chamber.

VI

At last, the storm arrived.

Shortly after we entered Mr. Fukatani's cabin, large raindrops began striking the glass door of the round sea-facing window with a fierce clamor, driven sideways by the wind. The wind's howl, now high, now low, echoed with the roaring surf crashing against rocky walls from the cliff directly below us, terrifyingly shaking the air without cease.

Seated in a chair before us, Mr. Toya began recounting the truth of the case in a composed tone, punctuated by the storm’s splitting roar. “First, allow me to outline the circumstances of the crime’s commission based largely on my deductions. Around midnight last night—precisely at high tide—the White Shark arrived at that eerie windbreak cove of Torikui Point, bearing Captain Fukatani’s corpse bludgeoned with a current bottle, the perpetrator Hayakawa, and that peculiar cargo.” “The keel’s centerboard made contact with the clay seabed, long strands of seaweed became slightly entangled in the rudder’s hinges, and a uniform layer of faintly grimy bubbles adhered to the hull’s waterline.” “Now, unaware of such matters, Hayakawa the manservant threw the cargo ashore, then cast Mr. Fukatani’s corpse into the sea and tied it to the stern with rope.” “Then, after towing the White Shark along the shore to the mouth of the inlet, he secured the sails and rudder and set the ship adrift leftward toward the open sea.” “Then Hayakawa returned to the original spot, dragged the luggage, and entered the grassy area.” After placing an acetylene lamp on the edge of a small pond deep in the grassy area and submerging Mabe shellfish packed in a frame net into the water, the culprit then stealthily returned along the shore to the Fukatani residence. “Meanwhile, the White Shark—which had been towing Mr. Fukatani’s corpse—initially headed out to sea. However, as you know, last night was dead calm. Pushed by a branch of the Kuroshio Current that bends back against the flow from Inuzaki, it drifted all the way to the vicinity of this cape—”

Here, Mr. Toya paused briefly.

Outside, the storm grew increasingly violent. Far off, the gray sea's horizon—churned as if clawed frantically—began swelling strangely, forming a sinister convex line. The eye of the typhoon was likely passing through that offshore area.

Mr. Toya resumed speaking. "As I've just explained, I believe you now understand the general sequence of events." "However, several strange mysteries that defy easy comprehension must still remain before you all." "And precisely these mysteries made what was actually a relatively simple murder case appear exceedingly complex when we first began investigating." "For instance—first and foremost—the unclear motive behind this crime." "Then last night around when the radio's entertainment program began, Mr.ukatani's behavior changed abruptly—moreover, Mrs.ukatani overheard him muttering fearfully to himself." "What exactly had Mr.ukatani been dreading would arrive by 'tomorrow afternoon'—that is, by this very afternoon?" "And those frame nets crammed full of Mabe shellfish—which Hayakawa desperately tried to prevent us from seeing—." "Furthermore, Captain Fukatani's peculiar habit of boarding the yacht at midnight." "And his sullenly brusque—yet profoundly sea-obsessed—unusual lifestyle." "The signal lamp atop the white pillar—and so forth." "To solve these mysteries through logical progression—focusing on the sole tangible clue that most intrigued me—I began studying these Mabe shellfish." "As someone working in this field, it's frankly embarrassing that I only now started researching Mabe shellfish." "However, while turning over various possibilities, I suddenly recalled how these shellfish have recently begun being used for cultivating artificial pearls." "This is because Mabe oysters yield larger pearls compared to regular pearl oysters—Akoya oysters—but then, following a faint intuition, I immediately smashed open one of these Mabe shellfish." "My hunch proved correct." "Please examine this."

Having said that, Mr. Toya took out a single large, beautiful pearl from his pocket. And, still speaking, he gently rolled it across the desk before our astonished eyes. "As you can see, this is a splendid artificial pearl." "However, as you all know, the cultivation of artificial pearls is patented." "Mr. Mikiyama of Mie Prefecture holds the patent rights." "Therefore, this pearl was illicitly manufactured in patent violation." "Moreover, this means the illicit manufacturer stole cultivation technology from the patent holder." "So who is this illicit manufacturer?" "Mr. Fukatani?" "The manservant Hayakawa?" "Or a conspiracy between both?"

From their size alone, I had almost intuitively realized it was a conspiracy between Mr. Fukatani and Hayakawa. And I telephoned Mikiyama Farm in Mie Prefecture to inquire whether Hayakawa had any connection with them ten years ago. Then indeed came the reply that they had dismissed Hayakawa ten years prior. "Now then, please take a look at this." Mr. Toya took out several stiffly formatted commercial document-like sheets of paper while

“This is something I borrowed from this cabinet’s document safe.” “It’s a rather simplified form of what might be called a goods receipt.” “Written in Western script.” “In the product section here, items are listed as ‘Blue Lantern’ or ‘Red Lantern’—of course these refer to pearls.” “And here below marked as T.W.W.—this is the consignee’s signature.” “Do you understand?” “In short, Mr. Fukatani colluded with Hayakawa to illicitly manufacture pearls and secretly sell them to foreign buyers.” “Were Mrs. Fukatani to trace each date on these seven documents, Madam would surely recall that late on every corresponding night, a yellow signal lamp had been lit atop that white pillar.” “And at that very moment, you can all imagine the silhouette of a suspicious steamship far out on the dark open sea—”

Mr. Toya took a breath.

Before anyone knew it, the violent storm that had seemed ready to crumble everything vanished. The wind and rain receded as if forgotten, and gradually, the original tranquility began to return.

Before long, Mr. Toya— “Finally, I will address Captain Fukatani’s strange, fearful soliloquy regarding—”

And then came that moment.

From the direction of the main building's terrace, the maid's sorrowful, sharp, despairing scream suddenly reached our ears.

“Oh!... What on earth has happened?” “The color of the sea… it’s just like blood……” We, startled, pushed open the window’s glass door with all our strength.

And—the sea's color that until now had been gray or leaden—that stinging, agonizing hue—had vanished without notice. Beneath a gloomy overcast sky, a nauseatingly thick, murky brown sea now stretched endlessly across the horizon, bearing an ominous sheen. And before our eyes, that color began to undergo an abnormal transformation. At first, the sea had been merely a deep brown, but in the blink of an eye, it transformed into a lurid crimson sea resembling dark blood.

Suddenly, Mr. Toya began in a powerful voice.

“This is it! This terrible red tide! It was this that Mr. Fukatani feared. You’ve all heard it, haven’t you? Last night’s radio news reported an unusually large red tide riding the Kuroshio Current had appeared off Kyushu and begun its relentless northward advance. And how coastal fisheries—shellfish beds especially—were facing catastrophic losses because of it. Mr. Fukatani heard that broadcast too. He remembered how these swarms of reddish-brown floating microorganisms become death itself to pearl cultivation. So he calculated—taking the Kuroshio’s average speed between Kyushu and here as fifty to eighty nautical miles per day—that this crimson plague would arrive by this afternoon. From yesterday’s perspective—‘by tomorrow afternoon’—they absolutely had to move those pearl oysters. That’s why Mr. Fukatawan made his preparations and slipped out with that manservant—his partner in crime Hayakawa—under cover of night. But when they’d finished God knows how many of these operations... that’s when Hayakawa’s monstrous ambition finally ignited. Their workshop had to be in that mirror-calm cove beyond Torikui-zaki—so tranquil, so perfect for their schemes... But now? Every last Mabe shellfish in Captain Fukatani’s secret pearl farm—utterly destroyed.”

Mr. Toya finished speaking and took a deep, forceful drag on his cigarette. We all looked upon the blood-like sea of Torikui-zaki with deep emotion. Above the mottled bald mountain, a flock of crows—startled by something—frantically fluttered upward in the sudden sunlight, while beyond that cape's distant offshore waters, the dark gray giant shark spanning several meters—likely the one that had torn off Mr. Fukatani's leg—occasionally flashed its wet back sharply as it raced through the waves, kicking up terrifying spray.

(From "Shin Seinen" July 1933 issue, retitled and revised from "The White Shark Murder Case")