Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Along the desolate country road where the deep, dragging roar of waves echoed, we who had been urging our horses onward for nearly an hour finally saw Captain Fukaya’s residence at the cape begin to emerge ahead. At the tip of the long, protruding green cape separated by an azure sea, a cluster of dazzling white plaster buildings stood brilliant under the sunlight. On the left side rose what was presumably the main building, its rooftop terrace constructed conspicuously high like a ship’s bridge. As we advanced, similarly white small cabins resembling ship quarters came into view, beside which stood a slender pole—also painted white—jutting sharply into the blue sky near the sea. Not a single tree surrounded the mansion; only lush green weeds lay thickly carpeted like fine velvet, casting a pleasantly dreamlike harmony over the toy-like white houses. Yet as we drew nearer to the cape, it became apparent this was no wild growth but an impeccably maintained lawn of magnificent quality.

The master of the Fukaya estate had reportedly served until about ten years prior as captain of exemplary ships on European routes for a certain merchant shipping company. Having accumulated considerable wealth, he built this residence on a beautiful coastline far removed from human habitation after retirement, living what might be called a reclusive quiet life—a retired captain in seclusion. Yet whether his long life at sea had become ingrained in him and proved impossible to forget, he constructed this house upon a ship-shaped cape jutting into the ocean—this desolate region resembling either open seas or a remote solitary island—and there spent his days listening to the sound of waves, as though dwelling within a ship’s structure itself. Unfortunately, I had never once met this retired captain; and though I now found myself with an opportunity to visit the Fukaya estate for the first time after receiving Mrs. Fukaya’s urgent summons by telephone, circumstances had arisen that made meeting him impossible. According to the words of this household’s servant—who had come to retrieve medicine from me two or three times in the past—Mr. Fukaya’s peculiar longing for the sea was not satisfied merely by his residence’s maritime architecture and coastal terrain. He incorporated seafaring customs into his daily life down to his clothing and meals, even demanding that everyone from Mrs. Fukaya and the servants to occasional visitors address him as “Captain.” It was a fierce, single-minded obsession—as if determined to drag his maritime lifestyle all the way to the very depths of hell itself. Thus, though he was an old gentleman past sixty with a quiet and gentle disposition, when it came to family matters he was truly cold-hearted; moreover, he possessed one peculiar habit that frequently troubled his household members. To put it simply, it was an extraordinary obsession with yachts—not merely sailing about the nearby seas from dawn till dusk, but wandering across ink-black waters from nightfall, when darkness enveloped the surroundings, until midnight as chillingly dense sea fog rolled in. Even when his family fretted and cautioned him about these nocturnal excursions, he would not heed them in the slightest. Of course, all medicines brought to me were ones used by the master; even seeing they were entirely antipyretics made clear he must have been overexerting himself with late nights. If so, then my warnings conveyed through his servant on those occasions had undoubtedly been disregarded like his family’s cautions. Poor Captain Fukaya—had that stubborn old man brought about an injury severe enough to cost him his own life? For an elderly man to keep such late hours was dangerous enough, but particularly in these waters where night fog thickens and, by all accounts, even vicious sharks prowl. As I recalled Mrs. Fukaya’s frantic summons by telephone, I became increasingly convinced that this premonition of mine had not been mistaken. In any case, we had to hurry.

Before long, we came upon the rocky reddish-brown slope of the beautiful cape. Mr. Saburō Higashiya of the Fisheries Research Institute—who had visited me after a long interval, it being Sunday—had initially been quite disgruntled about having his carefully planned excursion route diverted to this coastal path. Yet after hearing my meager explanations about Captain Fukaya during the journey, and now gazing upon the peculiar Fukaya estate on this cape, his chronic curiosity appeared to have awoken already, for he now began striding ahead of me.

The horses we rode were the finest in the club, and as the cape's slope proved gentler than anticipated, we reached the entrance of the Fukaya residence in less than ten minutes. Through the hands of the servant 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. Fukaya in a bright parlor designed like a ship's cabin.

Mrs. Fukaya, dressed in a plain black kimono with a silver brooch pinned to her chest, retained a youthfulness that suggested she had not yet passed forty by many years. Her large, dark eyes glistening intensely, she spoke in a somber tone about the terrible calamity that had befallen her husband. As I listened to Mrs. Fukaya’s account, I was astonished to find that the premonition I had harbored earlier was proving remarkably accurate. According to Mrs. Fukaya’s account, Captain Fukaya had set out on that peculiar sailing excursion again last night. And by this morning, he had already become a cold corpse, drifting in the nearby sea alongside his beloved yacht. As a doctor fulfilling my duties, I had to immediately urge Mrs. Fukaya and conduct an examination of Mr. Fukaya’s corpse laid out in the separate room.

But there, I had to discover the astonishing first fact that had transformed this incident into such a bizarre and dreadful story.

The corpse of Captain Fukaya was a gruesome and pitiful sight with one leg torn off by a shark, but as I proceeded with the autopsy, I unexpectedly discovered clear evidence of homicide—traces of a blow to part of the skull from a beer bottle-like weapon.

Trembling in shock yet striving to maintain my composure, I quietly asked Mrs. Fukaya: “Was your husband’s corpse inside the yacht?” Then Mrs. Fukaya—perhaps having read my expression—suddenly answered in a suspiciously flustered tone: “No, it was lodged through the stern’s flotation device and became soaked as if being dragged by a rope attached to the ship.” “Who first discovered the yacht?”

I asked again. “It was our manservant Hayakawa.” “When he found the White Shark, he immediately swam out and brought it back for us.” “But Doctor, why would that be?”

“Mrs. Fukaya, this is an extremely serious matter—what time did your husband leave last night?” “Well…” Mrs. Fukaya turned pale and tilted her head slightly with an anxious air. “When did he leave…? I only realized he was gone when I went to his bedroom at seven this morning… And besides, his sailing at night wasn’t so unusual…”

At this moment, Mr. Higashiya interjected from beside us as if unable to contain himself. “Excuse me, but why does your husband go sailing in the middle of the night?”

Then Mrs.Fukaya looked troubled, "...That...was his...obsession." Having said this with a lonely air, she made an expression that hovered between smiling and weeping. "Does your husband always sail alone?"

I asked.

“Yes… but at times he would invite family members, so on such occasions we would have the manservant accompany him.” “But…—” “And last night?”

“He was alone last night, but―”

Just at that moment, two gentlemen entered the room. We fell silent for the time being, our thoughts unfulfilled. Mrs. Fukaya stood up and introduced the two gentlemen to us.

“This is my husband’s friend who is referred to as Mr. Kurozuka. This is my younger brother who goes by Yōkichi. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The man introduced as Captain Fukaya's friend Kurozuka appeared to be a well-built, imposing American-style gentleman not yet past forty-five, while Mrs. Fukaya's biological younger brother Yōkichi was a slight-framed, fair-skinned, and vivacious-looking young man who seemed both younger in age and smaller in stature compared to Mr. Kurozuka. Both men wore matching pure white three-piece suits and possessed an air of effortless elegance.

After exchanging perfunctory greetings, I immediately resumed the previous conversation with Mrs. Fukaya. “Excuse me, but who exactly comprises your household at present?”

“As for family—though I hesitate to call it that—at present, including these gentlemen along with the maid Okimi, the manservant Hayakawa, and we, my husband and myself, there are six of us in total.”

I asked the two gentlemen.

“Excuse me, but have you both been staying here long?”

“Well, no—” Mr. Yōkichi interjected in response. “I’ve been here for quite some time, but Mr. Kurozuka only arrived last night.” “Ah, I see,” I said, turning back to Mrs. Fukaya. “Let me confirm once more—last night, your husband went out sailing alone, correct?” “Yes, without a doubt.” Mrs. Fukaya said that and looked at me with visible impatience. Thereupon, I boldly leaned forward and, “I must inform you all… but it seems my efforts alone are insufficient to be of service here.” “Your husband’s death was not caused by your own mistake.” “For now, we must ask you to please contact the police.”

Then Mrs. Fukaya—who until now had been displaying a strangely restless, anxious demeanor under my persistent questioning—suddenly began trembling faintly without uttering a sound, her eyes fixed on the space before her.

The two gentlemen, with an air that seemed to say "this has become quite a troublesome matter," rubbed their hands together for a while before eventually leaving the room in a rough manner.

An awkwardly strained silence descended among the three of us who remained. However, before long, Mrs. Fukaya raised her face as if she had resolved herself and said to us in a pleading manner.

“...I had been hoping it wouldn’t come to this... but... well... the truth is... since last night, my husband’s behavior had been unusual.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” I involuntarily asked in return. “Yes, well… That would have been… let me see… around when the radio entertainment program started, so I believe it was around seven-thirty or eight in the evening. From that time onward, something must have happened, for my husband suddenly lost his composure and began fidgeting restlessly…” When Mrs. Fukaya paused briefly in her speech, Mr. Higashiya interjected. “Excuse me for asking, but were there any visitors around that time?”

“There were none, but...”

Mrs. Fukaya furrowed her brows. Then Mr. Higashiya gestured toward the door with his chin, “The one referred to as Mr. Kurozuka just now?” “That gentleman arrived around nine o’clock.” “Ah, I see. “Then prior to that—that is, before your husband met his end—there were no visitors who spoke with him, correct?” “Yes, there were not only no visitors, but even no mail yesterday. “Though truth be told, those who visit here are rarely present at any time—”

Mrs. Fukaya said that and showed a glimpse of that forlorn expression from earlier. But she immediately continued. “...But something terribly worrying must certainly have occurred.” “It was less worry—I should rather say terror… In this terribly troubled manner, he secluded himself in the ship cabin study at the annex over there and appeared to be agonizing for some time. But when I, growing concerned, went to check on him in secret, I happened to hear my husband muttering as if frightened by something.”

“What exactly was it?”

I involuntarily leaned forward eagerly.

“Yes, well—what I happened to hear was my husband slamming the desk like this, declaring in a high-pitched voice, ‘Tomorrow afternoon—it must be done by tomorrow afternoon,’ then muttering fearfully in a low tone, ‘It will surely reach here.’ That was all… Then suddenly he stood up as if unable to remain still and came out of the room. When he noticed me standing there, he grew even more displeased and scolded me in a vulgar tone he’d never used before, saying it was none of our business… But Doctor—” “I never could have imagined matters would come to this, and… though I must confess it brings me shame to say so—that man had always been harsh and eccentric, so I thought it best not to oppose him. Reluctantly, I simply retired to my room and went to bed first… And now this morning, it has come to such a state…”

Mrs. Fukaya showed glistening tears at the corners of her eyes for the first time here, then lowered her face as if unable to bear it.

We exchanged glances and decided to leave our seats.

When we stepped into the hallway, I leaned close to Mr. Higashiya and said.

“...I’m shocked... This has turned into quite a mess.”

Then Mr. Higashiya said thoughtfully in a low voice: "The thing Mr.Fukaya feared arrived by tomorrow afternoon—that is,today—no,last night." He then abruptly adopted a formal tone."You realize we still have ample time before the police arrive." "The distant rutted road will take three hours at minimum." "Now—show me the yacht." "That very vessel Mr.Fukaya boarded last night...I find myself growing intensely fascinated with this case."

With that, he placed his hand on my shoulder. Though I never considered myself particularly meddlesome by nature, when thus invited by Mr. Higashiya, my mouth somehow answered "Yeah, okay" before my rationality could catch up.

Thereupon, after informing Mr. Yōkichi who had joined us, we exited through the entrance hall, requested guidance from the servant, descended the cape’s cliffside path, and arrived at the rocky shoreline.

II

It appeared that low tide would persist into the afternoon, with glossy ebbing waves gliding over the rocks in quiet ripples. Captain Fukaya’s yacht, the White Shark, still had its mast and sails attached as it lay upon a black rock beside the boathouse. A state-of-the-art Marconi-sloop type measuring approximately twenty feet in total length, with both mast and hull painted entirely white—a sleek three-seater. The foot of the mainsail—boldly patterned in red and white stripes—slid along the traveler protruding behind the long mast, unfurled like a curtain being drawn open. Both this sail and the jib at the bow remained secured by ropes while maintaining identical angles to the wind. The rudder was fixed about ten degrees to port with a rope tied to a float, green seaweed slightly entangled around the hinges of the rudder plate.

Mr. Higashiya pointed at the float attached to the end of the rope and asked the servant. “Your master’s corpse was passed through this float and tied to the stern, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

The servant answered.

Mr. Higashiya nodded while saying, "He must have meant for the shark to dispose of it... By the way, you didn't accompany your master last night, did you?" "Yes, unless summoned by the Captain, we are not to accompany him."

This rigidly formal yet clear answer from the servant greatly pleased me.

Mr. Higashiya pressed on. “Just what on earth was the Captain doing boarding the yacht in the middle of the night?”

“He would just sail around. That was the Captain’s hobby.”

"That's quite the hobby." Mr. Higashiya laughed sarcastically as he climbed into the yacht. "You really shouldn't touch the crime scene much before the police arrive." Yet he ignored my warnings entirely, frantically searching through every part of the vessel until he reached the mast. There he rubbed a section of the mainsail's edge with his finger while—

“There’s blood here. “As expected—Mr. Fukaya was killed aboard this yacht.” I too found myself drawn by Mr. Higashiya’s words and moved closer to look. Indeed, across the red-and-white striped section lay spatter marks resembling bloodstains. Mr. Higashiya grew increasingly absorbed and began inspecting the yacht’s floorboards, soon retrieving what appeared to be a broken glass bottle from between narrow planks to show me. Then I said, “So the murder weapon was a beer bottle after all.”

Then he tapped my shoulder while, “Come on, Doctor—you can’t go calling this a beer bottle.” “This is an ocean current bottle. Well, it does resemble a beer bottle quite a bit.” “You seal postcards or cards inside this thing, color the outside with enamel like this to make it stand out—see?—then toss it into the ocean as a primitive drifting method to study current direction and speed.”

With that, Mr. Higashiya turned to the servant,

“Of course, there were quite a few ocean current bottles in this estate, weren’t there?”

“Yes.” “It was indeed the Captain’s hobby.” However, Mr. Higashiya did not respond to that, “First—this confirms both the murder weapon and crime scene. Now then, when you swam out to this boat this morning—was there anything else left aboard besides what we’ve found?” “No, there was nothing significant… Save for a single soft chocolate tube from the dining table that had been left behind.” “What did you do with it?” “Since it was empty, I threw it into the sea.”

“You threw it away?” Mr. Higashiya began to disembark from the yacht with a wry smile of exasperation, but upon suddenly noticing a small cabin near the stern, he turned back, opened its lid, and peered inside. However, he soon bent down, thrust his upper body into it, and picked up a single large black shell. “Oh, what an interesting shell.” I said, peering in. “It looks just like a bird in flight seen from the side.” “What do you call this shell?”

“It’s a mabe clam.” “Filthy clams.” Mr.Higashiya said． Then the servant，

“In this vicinity, there are plenty of such things.” However, Mr. Higashiya remained silent for a while, handling the mabe clam, but soon returned it to the ship cabin with apparent disinterest while— “...There’s no doubt about it—Mr. Fukaya was quite the eccentric. Seems he was profoundly connected to the sea...”

As he spoke, he jumped down from the yacht, hooking one hand on the gunwale. And this time, leaning against the white-painted hull's exterior, he lightly tapped and examined the lead surface of the centerboard protruding vertically from the middle of the keel,

“She’s a fine yacht. “The balance seems good too.” While suddenly peering closely at the lower part of the centerboard, “Hey, you—there’s clay stuck here, isn’t there?” The servant and I moved closer to Mr. Higashiya’s side as if in unison and peered in.

Sure enough, on the lower part of the centerboard near the joint between lead and wood, soft clay clung thinly as if scraped. “This White Shark—since being lifted from the water this morning, it hasn’t been relaunched even once, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

The servant answered.

“So this clayey mud is fresh, and this vicinity’s all rock…” Mr. Higashiya remarked with a smile toward me.

“In other words—last night—this White Shark that Mr. Fukaya boarded was moored to a clayey shore at some point.” “And because this centerboard protrudes excessively from the hull, it contacts the clay seabed sooner and more violently than any other part of the keel……”

“Hmm.” “And on that seabed—look—the seaweed clinging to the rudder plate’s hinge, which we call long kelp, must be growing there in abundance. That type of kelp tends to thrive in shallow waters near the shore, you see.”

Both the servant and I could do nothing but marvel at this deduction. When it comes to maritime matters, I’m simply out of my depth.

Mr. Higashiya left the centerboard and clung to the hull of the laid-out White Shark, casting a careful, sharp gaze along the sleek gunwale while peering through gaps and poking with his fingers—then suddenly turned back to us. “Come take a look at this.”

Thereupon, we too moved alongside the hull and cast our eyes on the line Mr. Higashiya was pointing to.

It was nothing. A row of half-dried tea-brown foam formed nothing more than a long line about one shaku below the gunwale, running uniformly along its edge to encircle the entire boat. It was a common phenomenon that could be seen anywhere. For example, on rocks where the tide had receded, or on sand—.

“What’s this… just a line of foam…”

I, who had almost blurted out, quickly grasped what he was trying to convey upon meeting Mr. Higashiya’s meaningful gaze. “Ah, I see—so you’re saying this tea-brown foam was floating on the water’s surface along a shore where clayey mud and long kelp grow on the bottom?” “Hmm, but I noticed an even more remarkable fact.”

Having said that, he now turned toward the servant,

“Around here, the waves are calm, aren’t they?”

“Well, generally speaking...” “And last night?” “With such sea fog present, it would naturally have been perfectly calm.”

“Alright, let’s launch the boat regardless.”

Mr. Higashiya stepped forward.

Though I had initially felt considerable apprehension toward this makeshift detective, I now joined forces with the servant without hesitation to push the White Shark toward the water's edge. Before long, as the yacht rode the calm surf and floated lightly on the water, Mr.Higashiya energetically jumped aboard. And with an air of intense confidence,

“Alright,” “Now, I’ll begin a rather interesting experiment.” “Take your positions evenly to maintain the boat’s balance.” Mr. Higashiya, in high spirits, crouched at the gunwale and peered childishly at the waterline where it met the hull, but suddenly stood up and seized me. “You—how much do you weigh?” “In kilograms? You’re asking about my weight?”

“That’s right.” “I’m not sure, but around fifty kilograms.” “Hmm. Alright.” Having said that, he now turned toward the servant,

“And you?”

"I don’t recall exactly either, but I’m certainly over sixty kilograms." "I see. So I’m approximately fifty-six kilograms… You two—stay exactly as you are, if you would."

Having said that, he restrained us with both hands as if pressing down, then immediately leapt ashore. And soon, laboriously carrying about two large stones, he returned and had them loaded onto the boat.

“Alright, once again—pay attention to your positions to keep the boat level.” “Are we clear?”

Having said that, Mr. Higashiya 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 should be just right— By the way, when I mentioned earlier that I’d made an interesting discovery—this is it. In other words—the combined weight of myself, you, the servant here, and these two stones—or to be more precise, the exact same weight currently aboard this White Shark right now—yes, equivalent to about three adult humans—was aboard this very White Shark last night as it floated on that foamy sea surface. In other words, Mr. Fukaya was not aboard the yacht alone last night. Someone had been aboard with him.”

“I see.”

“And here’s the thing.” “That weight vanished completely from aboard this White Shark on the foamy sea surface.”

“Why?” I instinctively retorted. “Because if that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t be able to make such a discovery now. As the White Shark drifted here from that foamy sea while being battered by the waves, the soft foam should’ve been completely washed away by them.”

“Hmm.” “Absolutely.” “I’ve got it, I’ve got it. “In other words, Mr. Fukaya’s corpse was thrown into the water where the foam was floating and then tied to the stern with a rope.”

“That’s right. “But that’s not all. “Not only was Mr. Fukaya’s corpse thrown overboard—there was another weight besides his own, one that should have been heavier still—equivalent to two adult humans.” “That’s right.” “Mr. Fukaya’s two dear companions—they too disembarked from the ship precisely at that spot.” “In other words, the White Shark had been completely emptied out, you see.” “You understand—even if only Mr. Fukaya’s weight had been removed, the White Shark couldn’t possibly float so lightly.” “For example—”

Mid-sentence, Mr. Higashiya leapt ashore.

“There, look.” “Please pay close attention to the distance between the gunwale’s waterline and what you referred to as that line of foam.” “Even if I were to disembark alone, it wouldn’t create a gap of two inches… Captain Fukaya wouldn’t have differed much from me in weight.” “Therefore, such a narrow interval should have been nearly erased by the waves during the ship’s drifting.” “Particularly since yawls rock more readily when bearing passengers.—Now then, this time, everyone please attempt disembarking.”

And so we promptly leapt onto the rocks.

Then the yacht suddenly floated up lightly, and between the foam line and the waterline, an average gap of about five inches formed. Indeed, with this setup, small waves alone could never wash away all the foam.

Mr. Higashiya resumed. "In other words, Mr. Fukaya's two companions—at that clay-bottomed shore where the foam was floating—tied his corpse to the stern, completely emptied the White Shark, and disembarked themselves." "Now, this tea-brown, viscous foam isn’t ordinary sea or wave foam." "It is composed of more complex elements—dust from the air or water and countless other minute particles." "And this type of foam accumulates not across open sea surfaces, but in special nearshore areas like inlets or curved wind-sheltered coves.—By the way, does this estate have a weighing scale?"

Mr. Higashiya asked the servant. “There is one.” “A large automatic platform scale in the annex storage shed.”

“Excellent, excellent.—Now then, with this, all we need to do is measure the total weight currently aboard this White Shark and Mr. Fukaya’s body weight, and we’ll be able to determine the combined weight of those two companions.” “A simple subtraction will do.”

“This is getting interesting.”

I involuntarily muttered.

Mr. Higashiya said with a laugh,

“No, thank you very much… Well, this should be sufficient.” “Let’s head back.” “Ah, this two-sail rigging—or should I say trim—is set in a fixed direction.” “This was rigged to be pushed automatically by the wind blowing from the starboard bow.” “And the rudder fixed approximately ten degrees to port—*ah, I see*—meaning it was rigged to naturally propel the ship in a wide leftward turn. A technique Mr. Fukaya’s companions devised at that foamy wind-sheltered cove.” “Alright.” “Let’s go.” “You there, take that stone, please.”

III

Mr. Higashiya hefted the larger stone while I carried the smaller one, and we began climbing the cliff path with apparent effort. The sea breeze that had begun to blow lightly pleasantly caressed our cheeks. The servant Hayakawa had been securing the yacht’s stern line to a stake among rocks and taking a sheet from the boat shed to drape over the yacht’s hull, so he ended up far behind us.

When we had climbed about halfway up the cliff path, the Fukaya family maid came running down and informed us that preparations were ready, requesting us to come for lunch.

However, Mr. Higashiya promptly detained her and began his interrogation in a blunt manner. “Your master here—what exactly does he do going out to sea every midnight?”

“Well…” She widened her eyes in apparent surprise,

"But sailing out on the yacht in the middle of the night was the Captain's hobby, you know…" "That's quite an unusual hobby… Have you ever accompanied him?"

“Yes, it was some time ago… There was once… A beautiful moonlit night it was.” “Just sailing around on the sea like this?” “Yes. But it was a splendid sail.”

“Well, if only the moon were out.”

Mr. Higashiya changed the subject. “By the way, were there any visitors from outside yesterday evening?” “In the evening?” “No, there weren’t any.”

“What about Mr. Kurozuka?” “He arrived after nine o’clock.”

“What about the telephone?”

“The telephone? Well, no, it didn’t ring.” “That telephone is practically just for decoration.”

“What was your master so worried about last night?”

“Huh?… Well, I haven’t the slightest idea. He seemed terribly unwell—his complexion was quite pale—but…” She looked at Mr. Higashiya suspiciously. “Then last night, who did he go out on the yacht with?”

“No, the Captain was all by himself.”

“About what time did the Captain leave?”

Mr. Higashiya grew increasingly persistent.

“Well, I don’t know… But since both Mr. Hayakawa and I were permitted to retire early—” “Then how did you come to know that the Captain went out alone?” “That is…” she said with a clearly troubled air, “but this morning, the yacht was found drifting with only the Captain aboard, so…”

Mr. Higashiya took a breath and spoke again.

“The Captain was quite an eccentric person, wasn’t he?” “Yes. "He was quite eccentric." "And everything—'This is my hobby,' he would declare—that was his catchphrase."

Eventually, we reached the top of the cliff path. "So when you say 'the annex with the storage room,' you mean that one over there, I take it?"

Mr. Higashiya continued speaking as he walked toward the ship cabin-style building at the very tip of the cape. “Please keep talking with me a little longer.” “Yes.” She reluctantly followed along. “What kind of person is that Mr. Kurozuka?” “Ah, Mr. Kurozuka?” she replied with slightly renewed energy. “From what I understand, he served as purser on the steamship the Captain used to work aboard, and he comes here to visit during every layover like that.”

“How old is he?” “Hmm, about forty? I think... But since he’s still unmarried and such a cheerful gentleman, he seems closer to Mrs. Fukaya and Mr. Yōkichi than to the Captain…”

“Ah, that Mr. Yōkichi—I hear he’s Mrs. Fukaya’s younger brother.” “Yes, that’s right. He’s quite a modern gentleman who loves chocolate and has been staying here ever since graduating from university this spring.”

“Does he like chocolate?”

I instantly recalled the servant’s earlier words and inadvertently interjected. “So, around what time did Mr. Yōkichi go to bed last night?” “Mr. Yōkichi?” “Last night?... “I don’t know.” “From what I understand, he seemed to have gone for quite a late stroll with Mr. Kurozuka since it had been so long—” At that exact moment, Hayakawa the servant caught up to us. And now, having reached the entrance to the annex storage room, “The scale is here. “Please wait a moment.”

With that, he took out a key from his pocket.

Mr. Higashiya said to the maid. “No, that will be all.” “Thank you.”

There, she turned back toward the main building in a hurry, as if relieved. And before long, we entered the storage room and each began working on the scales.

First came Mr. Higashiya at 56.120 kg; next myself at 55.000 kg; and the servant Hayakawa at 65.200 kg. The two stones combined weighed 14.600 kg. And the total came to 190.920 kg. ——

Mr. Higashiya, while entering the above numbers into his notebook,

“Total 190.920 kg—there we go.” “In other words, this represents the maximum weight loaded onto the White Shark last night.... Well then, shall we go secure ourselves some lunch around here?”

Thereupon, we exited the storage room. However, when Mr. Higashiya saw the sleek ship cabin-style room immediately to the right of the storage room, he abruptly turned to Hayakawa and spoke.

“So this is the Captain’s study, then?”

“Yes, that’s right. “It is the special room we refer to as ‘the ship cabin.’ "Indeed, it was built seven or eight years ago following the Captain’s particular interests, and without his permission, no one is allowed to enter."

“I see. So that means no one can ever enter it now, does it?”

Mr. Higashiya remarked sarcastically as he began to walk.

In the beautiful main building’s dining room that also served as a lounge, at a table set up in a bright spot near the window, Mrs. Fukaya, Kurozuka, and Yōkichi had already begun a peaceful meal despite their grief. Thereupon, we too took our seats and, as if to avoid awkwardness, gazed at the beautiful scenery outside the window while joining the group.

From here, the sea appeared even more magnificent. Far to the left, the pale purple Inusaki—likely connecting to the coast we had traversed—lay stretched out with its hazy shoreline, embracing this vast inland sea. To the right lay a tranquil inland bay area, smooth as if oil had been poured over it. Before numerous overlapping small capes, a strikingly prominent beautiful cape with a mottled bald mountain twisted its body peculiarly and jutted out into the sea. All of the right-side land, abundant with bays, had deep mountains pressing toward the sea like comb teeth, while shore pines spread out like scattered spiderlings across the entire expanse. Apart from this mansion, there were no signs of human habitation; as far as the eye could see, there was only the vast expanse where sea and mountains met. Backed by the blue sea like a blurred watercolor, Mr. Fukaya’s ship cabin glistened stark white, while above the pale pillars—perhaps stirred by wind—swift fragment clouds swarmed eastward across the sky.

When the meal was finished, still holding his teacup and gazing out the window, Mr. Higashiya broke the silence. "What are those pillars used for?" “Ah, those were—as he used to say—to evoke the atmosphere of a steamship.” Mrs. Fukaya answered listlessly. “Those too were my husband’s hobby.” “There’s a peculiar vise hanging near the tip, isn’t there?” “Yes, now that you mention it, we would sometimes light a lamp at that tip… Though only once or twice a year. He said it served as a marker when sailing out farther than usual into offshore waters…”

“Ah.” Mr. Higashiya adjusted his posture, “Well now, that’s quite a splendid view.” “Was it to your liking?” Mr. Yōkichi interjected. “Oh, it’s truly beautiful.” “If this is such a beautiful coast, there probably aren’t places where filthy foam accumulates and pools, would there?”

Then Mr. Yōkichi,

"No. Actually, there is a place like that."

Pointing out the window, he continued, “Look—over there, on this side of the quiet inland bay, you can see that cape twisting so peculiarly, with scattered bald mountains here and there.” “That cape is called Torikui-zaki, but beyond its tip, it curves slightly into a hook shape where there’s a small stagnant area—or perhaps an inlet that’s become a drift accumulation spot.” “In that drift accumulation spot, dark brown foam usually pools… Last summer, I got caught in it while swimming and had quite an eerie experience, so I remember it well.”

“Ah, I see. … By the way, I hear you’re quite fond of chocolate?”

At this blunt question, Mr. Yōkichi clearly appeared surprised; making a complex expression, he looked back at Mr. Higashiya. “Ah, no,” Mr. Higashiya said with a strange self-satisfied nod, “the fact is, this morning there was a tube of chocolate in the yacht, so I thought perhaps you were the one who last night…” “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Mr. Yōkichi flushed and interrupted, as might be expected. “It’s true that I like chocolate. “But that’s leftover from when my sister and I went sailing together yesterday afternoon.” “Last night, I was taking a walk with Mr. Kurozuka in Yamanote until late.” “Ah, I see. So during that walk of yours, you didn’t happen to encounter any suspicious-looking individuals, did you?” “No, I didn’t encounter any.” This time, Mr. Kurozuka, who had been silently smoking a cigar until now, interjected.

“So, you didn’t happen to see the White Shark out at sea, did you?”

Then Mr. Kurozuka, with a faintly pitying smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "Well, it was a moonless night, and to make matters worse there was even some thin fog..."

Thereupon, Mr. Higashiya also laughed and, "You didn’t catch a cold, did you?"

Thereupon, Mr. Higashiya also laughed and—then suddenly turned serious—said, “By the way—though I’m terribly ashamed to make such an impertinent request—might I borrow your person and Mr. Yōkichi’s for a moment?” “Certainly… But what exactly does your esteemed self intend to do?” “I would like you to step onto the scale in that storage room.” “To say that… What exactly could your esteemed reason be for doing such a thing?” “Well, you see… regarding this case, a small theory has come to mind…”

“Hmm? I don’t comprehend this at all… Putting our bodies on a balance—?” “To put it plainly… This is for an experiment regarding my estimation that during the crime, the White Shark had human weight totaling three or more people aboard—to be exact, just over 190 kilograms.”

“H-how could you determine such a thing?” “On the white hull of the White Shark that I examined earlier, there remains a trail of brownish foam along a horizontal line approximately five sun (about 15 cm) above the waterline. Now, this five-sun discrepancy—according to precise calculations—proves that a loaded weight of approximately 190.920 kan (about 716 kilograms) exerted resistance against the White Shark’s buoyancy.”

Then Mr. Kurozuka laughed softly. And, in a cold tone, he interjected.

“Ah, I see. “However, from our perspective as professionals, there are some objections to your theory...” Mr. Higashiya’s face tensed slightly. I, too, found myself drawn in and unintentionally leaned over the table.

“You’ve failed to account for rolling—the side-to-side motion,” Mr. Kurozuka began by saying. “As you are well aware, this rolling inevitably occurs to some extent in any vessel.” “In this case, even if there were a foam line five sun above the waterline on the empty White Shark, I consider it highly premature to directly conclude that approximately ninety kan of weight had been loaded based solely on that.” “To elaborate—even without such weight resistance—if rolling causes the ship to tilt laterally, the waterline along the hull would fluctuate according to the angle of inclination.” “And had foam been floating on the sea surface, it would adhere along the highest level among these fluctuating waterlines.” “In other words, even an empty ship floating level could develop this secondary foam line above its standard waterline through rolling alone—no additional load required.” “Granted, in that sheltered cove behind the cape, there’d be no waves or strong winds to cause pitching.” “But rolling inevitably occurs regardless.” “Therefore, this isn’t like Sima Wengong of China measuring an elephant’s weight by floating a boat in a pond.” “Your 190-kan hypothesis was rather rash, wouldn’t you agree?”

Having said this, Mr. Kurozuka tossed his cigar butt into the silver ashtray with a thud and crossed his arms high.

Indeed, as might be expected of an expert, his argument was thoroughly meticulous. I suddenly grew concerned and tried to assess Mr. Higashiya’s standing. Yet Mr. Higashiya remained utterly composed and, as if reassured, eased his tension before commencing calmly.

“That’s a very compelling theory. But here, allow me to present my layman’s rebuttal. First let me reiterate—the foam line maintains uniform height around the White Shark’s entire hull, from stem to stern. This means the foam line remains perfectly horizontal across all sections—bow, stern, every part—without the slightest variation. Now regarding your rolling theory: by principle, there must be a central axis—in this case, the line connecting bow and stern, what we call the centerline or keel line. If—as you suggest—this foam line resulted from rolling rather than a 190-kan load, then the waterline at the rolling axis (bow/stern) must be lower than those on port/starboard sides. Conversely, foam lines on both sides would rise higher away from the axis ends. Yet as I’ve emphasized repeatedly, the White Shark’s foam line shows no such variation—it maintains perfect uniformity throughout. Should you doubt this, I invite an on-site inspection immediately. Therefore, I must respectfully reject your rolling hypothesis. That said, I don’t claim the yacht never rolled—there was likely minor rolling insufficient to disrupt the existing foam line. But the reason this line survived intact despite drifting through rougher seas? At that eddy where it accumulated, the White Shark had been emptied—suddenly lightened—reducing its draft significantly.”

“……Hmph. A logical argument, I suppose.”

Mr. Kurozuka muttered in frustration.

“Then, I would like you to grant my previous request.”

And so, the two of them finally ended up stepping onto the scale.

First, Mr. Kurozuka: 66.100 kg. Next, Mr. Yōkichi: 44.580 kg. Total: 110.680 kg.

“You’ll need my brother-in-law’s weight too, won’t you?”

Mr. Yōkichi said.

“Mr. Fukaya’s?” “Yes, absolutely.” “Perfect timing.” “There should be monthly records in my sister’s ‘Household Diary’—” Having said this, Mr. Yōkichi turned toward the main building and barked an order at the maid.

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

“Let me see—this is last month… Ah, here we go—the entry from exactly three days ago has been recorded.”

“Ah, 53.340 kg... And this 38.220 kg here—what’s this?” “Ah, that must be Mrs. Fukaya’s.” “No, really—thank you very much.”

As the trailing end of Mr. Higashiya's words faded away abruptly, an instant later, a tense, uncomfortable silence descended.

Mr. Higashiya leaned back nonchalantly as he entered the numbers into his notebook, apparently performing a quick subtraction. I too pretended to look outside and began hurriedly calculating in my head. Subtracting Mr. Fukaya’s 53.340 kg from the original 190.920 kg…137.580 kg—this would be the combined weight of Mr. Fukaya’s two passengers. However, the combined weight of Mr. Kurozuka and Yōkichi was 110.680 kg. It was 26.900 kg less than the passengers’ total weight. The ones who boarded the yacht with Mr. Fukaya last night were not Messrs. Kurozuka and Yōkichi. For some reason, I felt a faint disappointment and looked at Mr. Higashiya. Then he silently put his notebook into his pocket and quietly began walking toward the lawn outside.

The wind grew considerably stronger—the shadow of a lone swift-moving cloud skimmed across the lawn, leaving restless patterns of light and dark in its wake. While maintaining an air of nonchalance, even Mr. Higashiya must have shared my disappointment. But when he finally turned around, his demeanor remained perfectly composed,

“How about it, Mr. Kurozuka? Would you care to inspect the foam marks on the White Shark?” “There’s no need for that now.” “I see.”

“Then, would you be so kind as to lend us the White Shark until the police officers arrive?”

“Be my guest.” Then Mr. Higashiya, tapping my shoulder, said in a loud voice deliberately meant to carry across the distance,

“Hey, let’s head over to Bird-Eating Cape.”

IV

It appeared a low-pressure system was moving in, for the sea’s swells were higher than anticipated. The sudden strong southerly wind, carrying countless small pointed triangular waves upon its gusts, advanced menacingly toward the cape where the Fukaya estate stood. Each time clouds of an unbearably gloomy hue blocked the pallid sunlight, the water’s color transformed strikingly—now deepening, now fading. As a crosswise gust struck, the indigo sea surface—covered in small white-glinting wind waves—shimmered garishly silver across its expanse. Beyond that white and cold sea, Bird-Eating Cape—dark green—stood out vividly, tinged faintly reddish-brown where illuminated by a pinprick beam of sunlight piercing through a break in the clouds at a sharp angle.

The White Shark we boarded continued running arrow-fast through the swells, its port bow receiving a powerful southerly wind. Both I and Mr. Higashiya were well-versed in yacht sailing techniques, and moreover, this sleek Marconi-rigged sloop moved terrifyingly swiftly through the water. Before long, I gently turned the starboard helm. The bow of the White Shark began turning in a wide, gentle arc to starboard. We approached Bird-Eating Cape. As we advanced, the full visage of Bird-Eating Cape—like a colossal beast contorting itself to leap forth from the starboard sea—loomed ever larger, bearing down upon us. Then, beyond that initial point, a mirror-like inner bay came to lie quietly within our field of view. The ship slowly approached the entrance to the inner bay. Before long, we began rounding a small hook-shaped cape said to possess an eerie wind-swept hollow. As we gradually rounded the cape with the inner bay to our left, the gloomy backside of Bird-Eating Cape began coming into view. It was indeed gloomy.

There were no rocks at all along the water’s edge, nor was there anything resembling the sandy shores found on ordinary beaches. Instead, a uniformly black-glistening clay-like bank stretched out, with reedy graminoid plants densely clustered in patches where its rocky texture showed through. From the slightly uneven coastal flatlands to the hills of Bird-Eating Cape behind, thorn-like weeds, contorted shrubs, and reddish ferns proliferated unchecked. And above them, primordial tall trees lay piled upon one another in suffocating density. When the ship entered this gloomy little cove, the wind strangely died away. The White Shark, showing not the slightest roll, glided forward under its own momentum. Just at that moment, the sunlight that had been glaringly reflecting off the sea surface was blocked by the shadow of thick clouds, and suddenly the surroundings grew dark—yet became eerily distinct. I instinctively looked at the water’s surface.

Above this small dead-end cove of the sea swarmed viscous, dense clusters of muddy brown, foul-tinged foam in profusion. And as we progressed further into its depths, their density steadily increased until they transformed entirely into a veritable sea of foam.

“Let’s anchor around here.”

Following Mr. Higashiya’s instructions to prevent the centerboard from touching the seabed, I selected as deep a spot as possible and anchored the boat.

At the exact moment we disembarked onto the damp shore,

“Shh!—”

Mr. Higashiya suddenly restrained me. The surroundings had become frighteningly quiet. Then, shattering that silence, a distant, low sound—like someone trampling tree branches or rustling leaves—a hurried clatter of footsteps brushed past my ears. Someone was rushing through the jungle toward the mountain.

“Who could that be?”

I turned to look at Mr. Higashiya. But he was already unconcerned with the footsteps; standing on the shore about five meters away, he called out to me while pointing at the black clay. “Come take a look.” Thereupon, I walked over to Mr. Higashiya’s side and lowered my eyes to the spot he had pointed to on the ground. From the clayey shore at the water's edge all the way to the grassy area, there were countless strange marks as if something had been scuffed. They were indeed traces of erased footprints.

“These are the footprints of the men who killed Captain Fukaya last night.” “And the man who just fled into the jungle was the one who erased them.” “Let’s chase after and catch him!” I instinctively tensed up.

“It’s no use.” “In these unfamiliar mountains, we’d be at a clear disadvantage.” “Hmph… So the suspicious guy was still lurking around after all.”

I said resentfully.

“That’s obvious.” Then Mr. Higashiya said something unexpected. “Do you think the men who killed Mr. Fukaya came from outside?” Indeed, I—having failed the earlier scale experiment—had been rethinking Mr. Fukaya’s strange mutterings and had just begun to consider that what Mr. Fukaya feared was not Kurozuka but an entirely different man from outside, so Mr. Higashiya’s words now came as no small surprise.

“Well, I too,” Mr. Higashiya said with a laugh, “initially thought Kurozuka and Yōkichi seemed suspicious, just like you did. But after that failed experiment earlier, I’d started thinking the culprit must be some completely different outsider we don’t know about.” “But now it’s different.” “Why? Just look at these erased footprints.” “If the culprit were an outsider, why would they have known we were coming to Bird-Eating Cape so soon? Why bother erasing footprints? ...The culprit is undoubtedly among those currently at the Fukaya residence.”

“I see. So after all, among the people currently at the Fukaya residence, there’s the one Captain Fukaya feared last night?”

“That’s precisely why it becomes thorny,” Higashiya said gravely. “There’s no reason to assume the person Captain Fukaya feared must necessarily be the culprit... Regardless, we should find indentations from where the White Shark’s centerboard gouged into the seabed around here.”

Thereupon, we crouched down at the water’s edge—where the receding tide had left dingy foam along the high-water mark—and began wiping away the viscous sludge with both hands. This task was certainly unpleasant. However, before long, we discovered a narrow depression about one inch wide, submerged about one-third in seawater at the low-tide line. And about a foot away from that depression, where the seabed turned rocky, dark green seaweed—the tips of several long kelp strands—squirmed out in a tangled manner.

“From this we can tell the centerboard depression was made during last night’s high tide.” “Speaking of last night’s high tide, that would’ve been exactly around midnight.” “There—that settles it.” “Now let’s examine the footprints’ trajectory.”

We began walking toward the grassy area, tracing the scuffed-away footprints. It seemed they had made about two round trips between the coast and grassy area, leaving numerous erased footprints that spread outward and overlapped in abundance. And for the first time, we noticed wide lines—as if a heavy solid object had been dragged—lightly imprinted here and there along the left side of the footprint trail, overlapping them in places.

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

I called out to Mr. Higashiya.

“Hmm, but if that’s the case… then my theory—that Captain Fukaya was killed aboard the yacht, tied to the stern with rope, and thrown into the sea—would be overturned…” Mr. Higashiya came to the grassy area while deep in thought. The traces of erased footprints had vanished from there. Last night, when it had been trampled and a heavy object dragged through, the grass must have been thoroughly flattened. But with time having passed, they had already sprung back up with fresh vitality.

Eventually, threading our way through shrubs that grew thickly here and there as we wandered about the grassy area, we discovered a small pond within the shade of an especially tall and densely clustered thicket. And on the shore covered with fine grass lay a single large acetylene lamp. What drew our attention even more were drag marks—identical to those we had seen earlier on the coastal soil—that appeared to emerge from the pond, wetting the shore’s pebbles as they trailed through the grass 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 away mere minutes prior, with the grass remaining flattened and thoroughly soaked across its entire expanse.

We began silently following the trail with bated breath. Eventually, the slender grassland came to an end, and ahead where the jungle blocked our path—along the extension of the strange trail we were now following—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 dredging net for shellfish collection, packed to bursting with mabe clams—counterparts identical to those Mr. Higashiya had discovered earlier during the White Shark’s buoyancy experiment at the Fukaya residence. The mouth of the net had been securely tied to prevent its contents from spilling out. We froze in our tracks.

“……So it wasn’t Mr. Fukaya’s corpse after all—it was these.” "But what on earth is this?" “What could they possibly intend to do with so many of these clams?” “And above all—why didn’t the person who fled through this grove earlier want us to see these things?……”

Mr. Higashiya remained silent for a while, lost in thought. But when he finally lifted his face as if compelled, he continued in a suddenly listless tone, “...It seems I’ve been making a terrible mistake all this time.”

“Meaning?”

“No… I’ll explain later. “In any case, we’ve seen enough here already. Let’s pull it up,” he said, bending over the dredging net crammed with mabe clams. “Apologies for the trouble, but do assist me. This constitutes vital evidence.”

Though I didn't quite understand what this was about, I obliged him for the time being. Eventually, struggling to carry the extremely heavy load between us, we came out onto the shore of the small pond we had visited earlier. There, we added the acetylene lamp to our load and soon reached the original coastline.

After loading the heavy cargo onto the White Shark, we—finding no wind in this cove—pulled the yacht’s stern rope along the shore until reaching the mouth of the inlet where the wind caught. “It was here that last night’s perpetrator also fixed the sails and rudder in position before setting the White Shark adrift.” “Look.” “Just as I thought—the erased footprints continue all the way here.” It was only when Mr. Higashiya said this that I noticed them for the first time. These footprints appeared to have been erased prior to those near the initial landing site, their removal executed with far greater care.

“Alright.” “Let’s set sail from around here.” “The wind’s gotten quite strong.”

We boarded the ship. The large mainsail snapped and flapped noisily for a while, but once its position was adjusted to the wind direction, the White Shark began gliding quietly.

Mr. Higashiya lit a hand-rolled cigarette, then addressed me at the helm. "I knew it." "I've been making a grave error all this time." "When I conducted that buoyancy experiment earlier, I'd concluded three people—including Mr. Fukaya—were aboard the White Shark last night." "That was the fundamental mistake." "Of course, the total weight being approximately 190 kilograms isn't incorrect." "It's about the headcount." "I'm saying there weren't three people." "Then how many?" "Two." "Naturally, 190 kilograms would be far too heavy for two people." "That's where we should recall this." "The weight of these mabe clams and acetylene lamps." "Anyone should understand these items were aboard last night alongside Mr. Fukaya and the perpetrator." "Meaning the culprit isn't two people—it's one." "In thirty minutes, I'll determine the culprit's approximate weight." "Subtract Mr. Fukaya's 53.340 kilograms and this cargo's weight from 190.920 kilograms—the remainder gives the culprit's body weight."

“That makes sense—logical,” I said, leaning forward. “So if we just put this load on the scales now, we’ll be done and dusted?”

“No, you see—this case isn’t something that can be neatly wrapped up with that.” “We’ll identify the culprit soon.” “But that isn’t the climax of this case.” “For instance—first, recall that ‘Tomorrow afternoon..." “Recall those terrified mutterings of Mr. Fukaya’s—‘By tomorrow afternoon… It will surely reach here.’” “What on earth was Mr. Fukaya so desperately dreading?……Here, we must consider his peculiar daily life.” “And again—what could he possibly intend by gathering so many of these clams with a dredging net?……I mean, even Mr. Fukaya couldn’t seriously claim, ‘This is just my hobby,’ could he?…”

With those words, Mr. Higashiya bitterly hurled his cigarette butt into the sea.

The White Shark, catching a strong tailwind at its stern, rounded Bird-Eating Cape as swiftly as an arrow.

Gloomy clouds loomed oppressively across the entire sky, not a glimpse of the sun remaining visible. Before long, we returned to the Fukaya estate and climbed the cliff path bearing heavy luggage.

It appeared that the advance police officers had arrived during our absence, for when we reached the top of the cliff path, the familiar-faced judicial officer approached from the direction of the main building with a smile.

“Well, Professor. To go yachting during a murder investigation—I must say, that’s quite something.” There, I succinctly outlined the remarkable progress Mr. Higashiya had made in his investigation of the case. Then the judicial officer,

“We’ve been preempted, I see.” “No need.” “Well then, allow me to observe that weighing experiment.”

So we promptly made our way to the storage room in the annex.

The thought that we might identify the culprit right here and now made me inwardly stiffen somewhat. However, Mr. Higashiya was quite indifferent; he promptly had me help and placed both pieces of luggage onto the scale platform.

The measuring needle began swinging wildly—tick, tick, TICK—its large oscillations swiftly diminishing until it quivered nervously... then snapped to a stop. 71.480 kg! Instantly, Mr. Higashiya closed his eyes to begin mental calculations—then abruptly dropped the notebook he'd been holding with a heavy thud.

Surprise flooded his eyes and face with swift intensity. That astonishment was instantly veiled by profound, anguished bewilderment……yet moments later, a fragile hope emerged. Then gradually—brightening, strengthening, swelling with conviction……

“Have you arrived at a conclusion?”

The judicial officer said. “I’ve figured it out.” “Who is the culprit?” “The culprit is—”

Mr. Higashiya started to say—

“Please wait a moment.” Then he tapped my shoulder with a laugh— “Did you figure it out?” “Yeah—uh—I’m calculating right now.”

I answered flusteredly. Then, Mr. Higashiya smiled again and,

“Hey Professor, I challenge you! Now then—tell me who the culprit is. Do you already know how much every person involved in this case weighs? And how do we determine the culprit’s weight? No, it’s not just that—you should already possess all the necessary materials to at least deduce the culprit yourself. Go on—make a brilliant deduction for me.”

With those words, Mr. Higashiya picked up the notebook for me.

“If you’d already figured it out, you should’ve told us straightaway.”

It was the judicial officer.

“Just a moment, please.”

This time, I cut in—now that it had come to this, I had to calculate it out of sheer stubbornness. To avoid mistakes... First, I subtracted Mr. Fukaya’s 53.340 kg from the problematic 190.920 kg… That left 137.580 kg. Now, this time, I needed to subtract the 71.480 kg of these mabe clams and the lamp... Let me see... That made 66.100 kg. 66.100 kg! …Hmm, this number seemed familiar somehow. I hurriedly traced the symbols in my notebook…… Ah, exactly—Mr. Kurozuka was 66.100 kg!

So I promptly turned to Mr. Higashiya, "I've got it." “What did you figure out?”

Mr. Higashiya stared intently at my face while, “Did you think this through properly?” “Don’t mock me!” “Then go ahead and say it.” “The culprit is Kurozuka!” “Wrong!”

Five “Wrong?……This isn’t a joke!” I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“This is absolutely no joke!”

And Mr. Higashiya was dead serious.

At that, I became somewhat miffed, “You’re the one who miscalculated.” “Why?” “But look… If you subtract Mr. Fukaya’s weight and this cargo’s weight from 190.920 kg, you get 66.100 kg, don’t you?” “And this is precisely Mr. Kurozuka’s weight.” “Moreover, it’s an exact match…” “That’s exactly why you’re wrong.” retorted Mr. Higashiya. “What the hell?”

“It’s nothing,” Mr. Higashiya began. “In other words—it’s precisely because they match perfectly that you’re wrong.” “Do you understand?…… Indeed, there’s no mistake in your arithmetic.” “But you’ve jumbled arithmetic and reality together.” “That’s exactly why it’s wrong.” “Now, think it through.” “We didn’t weigh the White Shark’s entire contents exactly as they were during last night’s crime.” “It’s a calculation patched together today from scattered fragments here and there.” “Moreover, even our buoyancy experiments couldn’t avoid some inaccuracy when strictly examined—we also overlooked minor factors like changes in clothing.” “So while these numbers—190.920 kg, Mr. Fukaya’s weight, this cargo—are essential for deduction through subtraction, they remain approximations! Calculations from approximations should never produce an exact real-world match!” “……That’s why I was stunned when subtracting them gave Mr. Kurozuka’s exact weight.” “A magnificent coincidence.” “Too magnificent—that trap ensnared you.”

“Then who on earth is the culprit?”

The judicial officer said.

Mr. Higashiya took the notebook from my hands, “It’s Hayakawa the manservant at 65.200 kg.” Then the Judicial Officer perched forward, “Manservant?—I messed up. He apparently went out to the town post office before we arrived.”

“Post office?”

This time, Mr. Higashiya leaned forward. “Don’t be absurd.—Please establish a police cordon spanning the entire southwest coastline from this cape.” “The mountains, the groves, Bird-Eating Cape… That guy’s ‘post office’ is somewhere around there.” and glanced briefly in my direction, “In fact, we just heard Mr. Hayakawa’s footsteps at the edge of Bird-Eating Cape earlier.”

The Judicial Officer immediately dashed out.

Mr. Higashiya also stood up.

“Well, things are heating up now!” Before long, Mr. Higashiya arrived at the main entrance of the principal building. There, while observing the officers who had suddenly begun commotion, he apprehended Mrs. Fukaya—who had been pacing restlessly with the maid—and promptly launched into his explanation.

“Mrs. Fukaya. “The heinous criminal has been identified. “It’s Hayakawa, the manservant,” he stated plainly, then turned with renewed formality to Mrs. Fukaya—still reeling from the revelation—and added, “Now, I must apologize for the imposition, but I would like to request permission to briefly inspect your husband’s ship cabin—” “Ah, you mean the study?”

Mrs. Fukaya showed a moment's hesitation but immediately— "Understood."

With that, she went into the back. But she soon returned and handed a small silver key to Mr. Higashiya, “Please feel free to investigate as you wish.”

When we arrived again in front of the annex, Mr. Higashiya grabbed two or three mabe clams from the cargo net placed on the weighing platform in the shed and entered Captain Fukaya’s ship cabin. However, that room was merely designed in the style of a ship cabin; its interior proved relatively ordinary. Beside the large round window with its latticed sash that opened wide to the sea stood an imposing bookshelf packed tightly with volumes. Most were academic tomes with sober bindings. Flanking the bookshelf stood a large glass-doored cabinet crammed with an assortment of incomprehensible tools and objects, though it was a single large hanging lamp fitted with yellow glass that caught my eye. In the room’s center stood a solitary office desk ill-suited to the space, its top corner occupied by a small document cabinet.

After surveying the room once over, Mr. Higashiya placed the mabe clams on the desk, settled into the chair, and sat absorbed in thought for some time. Eventually, he approached the bookshelf and—twitching his nostrils like a horse’s—began vigorously searching through the volumes for something. I abruptly remembered the horses we had ridden here. When we arrived at this estate, I had tied them in the shade and hadn’t given them water even once—so, suddenly worried, I hurriedly left the ship cabin.

While giving the horses cold water to drink, I noticed the weather had severely deteriorated. The surroundings grew increasingly dark as menacing black clouds swirled densely across the entire sky, hanging deep and low. From beneath the cliffs at the edge of the cape came the echoing roar of waves growing ever higher—a sound that seemed to make the ground tremble beneath my feet. I chose the area beneath the long projecting eaves beside the entrance and led the horses there. When I had finally completed these tasks—which took considerable time and effort—Mr. Higashiya arrived.

“You—I assume this house’s telephone is a long-distance line? Excuse me, but would you kindly contact the telephone exchange for me? And I need to call Mie Prefecture, but I don’t know the number. I think Toba’s Mikiyama Fisheries Division would probably work, but well, would you kindly try inquiring by stating that? And hurry up and get through to them.” Mr. Higashiya entered the hall just as he was. I inquired with the telephone exchange in the hallway phone room as ordered. After requesting that call and leaving the phone room, I made my way along the hallway toward the hall.

There, Mr. Higashiya was questioning Mrs. Fukaya and Kurozuka about something. “So your husband retired from Nippon Shōsen ten years ago and immediately moved here, correct?” “That is correct.”

Mrs. Fukaya answered.

“And how many years ago did you employ the manservant Hayakawa?” “It was exactly around that time.” “Before your household employed him, do you know where Hayakawa was?” “Regarding the employment of that man, it was entirely my husband’s decision, so I know nothing at all about it—”

“Ah, I see,” Mr. Higashiya said with a nod. “By the way—your husband didn’t often hang a lamp from the tip of that white pillar in front of the ship cabin, did he?” “Yes, that was no more than once or twice a year.” “Now, another question—this may seem strange—but last night at your household, did you leave the radio on during the news?” “Yes, that is always left on.”

“Thank you very much.”

Mr. Higashiya lit a cigarette and leaned against the sofa’s armrest.

Just then, the bell rang from the direction of the phone room, and soon the maid arrived. “Did anyone place a call to Toba?” “Ah, that was me. “Thank you.”

Mr. Higashiya stood up and hurriedly left the hall.

Because we had no idea what was going on, we remained sitting in the hall in bewilderment, barely able to speak as we waited for Mr. Higashiya’s return.

However, after about ten minutes, Mr. Higashiya returned, bringing along the police chief—who was an acquaintance of mine—as it appeared the following officers had now arrived. And with a gentle smile spread across his entire face, “Well, “With this, it seems we’ve managed to resolve this case.” “I will now proceed to give an explanation.” “Please proceed to the annex’s ship cabin.” “Since various materials are gathered over there—”

Thereupon, we left the hall.

Mrs. Fukaya remained at the main building due to a headache, while the five of us—Mr. Higashiya, myself, both Mr. Kurozuka and Mr. Yōkichi, along with the police chief—crossed the courtyard battered by fierce winds and dashed into the annex's ship cabin: Captain Fukaya's secret chamber.

VI

At last, the storm arrived. Shortly after we entered Mr. Fukaya’s ship cabin, large raindrops began pelting against the glass doors of the round sea-facing windows with a violent clamor, driven sideways by the wind.

The howling wind—now high, now low—echoed against the roaring surf that crashed upon the cliff walls just below our eyes, ceaselessly shaking the air with terrifying force. Seated in a chair before us, Mr. Higashiya began recounting the truth of the case in a calm tone, his words threading through the storm’s intermittent lulls. “First, allow me to outline the crime’s circumstances as I’ve pieced them together. Around midnight last night—precisely at high tide—the White Shark reached that eerie sheltered inlet of Bird-Eating Cape, bearing Captain Fukaya’s corpse bludgeoned with an ocean current bottle, the perpetrator Hayakawa, and that peculiar cargo.” “The keel’s centerboard made contact with the clayey seabed, long seaweed tangled slightly in the rudder’s hinges, while a uniform layer of faintly grimy foam adhered to the hull’s waterline.” “Now unaware of these traces, the servant Hayakawa threw the cargo ashore, dumped Mr. Fukaya’s corpse into the sea, and tied it to the stern with rope.” “Then he hauled the White Shark along the shore to the inlet’s mouth, fixed both sails and rudder in position, and set the vessel adrift leftward toward open sea.” “Hayakawa then returned to his starting point, dragged the luggage into the grassy field.” “After placing an acetylene lamp on the bank of a small inner pond and submerging mabe clams packed in a frame net into its waters, the perpetrator slipped back along the shore to Fukaya Estate.” “Meanwhile, the White Shark—still towing Mr. Fukaya’s corpse—initially headed seaward. But as you know, last night’s calm left it at the mercy of a Kuroshio Current branch that bends backward from Inuzaki, drifting it all the way to this cape’s vicinity—”

At this point, Mr. Higashiya paused briefly.

The storm outside grew increasingly violent. In the distance, the gray sea’s horizon—turbulently churning as if clawed and torn—began to swell strangely, tracing a sinister convex line. The eye of the typhoon must surely have been passing through those offshore waters. Mr. Higashiya resumed his explanation.

“As I’ve just explained, I believe you’ve now grasped the general course of the crime.” “However, several strange and difficult-to-comprehend mysteries should still remain before you all.” “And these mysteries are precisely what initially complicated this relatively straightforward murder case during its resolution.” “For example, first and foremost—the obscure motive behind this case.” “Then there was Mr. Fukaya’s strange behavior that suddenly changed around the start of last night’s radio entertainment program—moreover, Mrs. Fukaya overheard his fearful muttering.” “What could Mr. Fukaya have been both dreading and awaiting by ‘tomorrow afternoon’—that is, this very afternoon today?” “And then there were the mabe clams packed into the frame net—moreover, Hayakawa had been terribly afraid of us seeing them.” “Furthermore, Captain Fukaya’s peculiar habit of sailing the yacht at midnight.” “And that sullen, brusque manner of his—harsh yet utterly obsessed with the sea—his peculiar way of life.” “The signal lamp at the tip of the white pillar—and so on.” “So to solve these mysteries—following the most logical sequence, as this was the sole tangible clue and the item that most intrigued me—I began studying these mabe clams.” “For someone in my field to only now begin studying mabe clams—it’s truly quite embarrassing.” “However, while tinkering with various possibilities, I suddenly recalled that these clams have recently begun being used in cultured pearl production.” “This is because mabe clams yield larger pearls compared to ordinary pearl oysters—akoya oysters—and so, spurred by a sudden inspiration, I promptly smashed one of these clams.” “My premonition proved correct.” “Please look at this.”

With that, Mr. Higashiya took out a single large, beautiful pearl from his pocket. And while gently rolling it onto the desk before our astonished eyes, he continued speaking.

“As you can see, this is an excellent cultured pearl.” “However, as you are all aware, cultured pearl production is patented.” “The patent rights are held by Mr. Mikiyama of Mie Prefecture.” “Therefore, this pearl was illegally produced in violation of the patent.” “And at the same time, that illegal manufacturer must have stolen the cultivation techniques from the patent holder.” “Now, who is that illegal manufacturer?” “Mr. Fukaya?” “The servant Hayakawa?” “Or was it collusion between two people?” “From their size alone, I had almost intuitively known it was collusion between Mr. Fukaya and Hayakawa.” “And I tried inquiring by phone whether Hayakawa had any connection to Mikiyama Farm in Mie Prefecture ten years ago.” “And sure enough, the reply came that they had indeed dismissed Hayakawa ten years prior.” “Now then, please take a look at this.”

Mr. Higashiya was taking out several sheets of formally formatted commercial-looking documents while,

“This is something I borrowed from the document safe in this cabinet.” “It’s a rather informal type of goods receipt.” “It’s in a European language.” “Now, in the product section here, there are entries like ‘blue lantern’ and ‘red lantern’—but of course these actually indicate pearls.” “And here below, written as T.W.W.—this is the consignee’s signature.” “Do you understand?” “In other words, Mr. Fukaya colluded with Hayakawa to illegally manufacture and sell pearls to foreigners.” “And if Mrs. Fukaya were to trace back the dates on these seven documents, she would surely recall that on each of those late nights, a yellow signal lamp had been raised atop that white pillar.” “And precisely at that moment, you can imagine the silhouette of a suspicious steamship far out in this sea’s dark offshore waters—”

Mr. Higashiya took a breath.

Before anyone knew it, the violent storm vanished as if collapsing into itself, the wind and rain receded as if forgotten, and gradually, the former quiet began to revive.

Soon, Mr. Higashiya,

“Finally, I will address Captain Fukaya’s strange, fearful muttering—”

Just then—

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

“Oh!… What on earth is happening?” “The sea’s color… it’s just like blood…”

In surprise, we pushed open the glass-paned window door with all our might.

And—the sea’s color, which until now had been a gray or leaden hue so sharp it seemed to pierce the skin, had vanished without a trace. Beneath the gloomy overcast sky, a thick, turbid brown sea—nauseating in its murkiness—now stretched endlessly across the horizon, glistening with an eerie luster. And before our eyes, that color began undergoing an abnormal transformation. At first, the sea had been merely a deep brown, but in the blink of an eye, it transformed into a sinister crimson sea resembling congealed blood.

Suddenly, Mr. Higashiya began in a powerful voice.

“This is it! This terrifying red tide. This is what Mr. Fukaya feared. You’ve all heard about it too, haven’t you? Last night’s radio news reported an unusually large red tide riding the Kuroshio Current had appeared off Kyushu and begun stubbornly moving northward. And how coastal fisheries—especially shellfish beds—are suffering catastrophic losses because of it. Mr. Fukaya heard that broadcast too. And he remembered how these red tides—swarms of countless reddish-brown floating microbes—are the mortal enemy of pearl cultivation. So he calculated the Kuroshio’s average speed between Kyushu’s offshore waters and here—50 to 80 nautical miles per day—and estimated the red tide would arrive by this afternoon. From yesterday’s perspective, that meant he had until ‘tomorrow afternoon’ to relocate the pearl oysters. That’s why he made preparations and secretly sailed from the estate with his servant—or rather, his accomplice Hayakawa. Then, after completing what must have been their hundredth such task, a terrible ambition must have flared up in Hayakawa’s heart. Their workshop was undoubtedly beyond Bird-Eating Cape—in that beautiful, calm inner bay smooth as a mirror. But now? Every last mabe clam from Captain Fukaya’s secret cultured pearl farm has been utterly destroyed—”

Mr. Higashiya finished speaking and deeply inhaled a breath of cigarette smoke.

We all looked with deep emotion at the blood-like sea of Bird-Eating Cape. Above the mottled bald mountain, a flock of crows—as if startled by something—fluttered up frantically in the midday sun, while beyond that cape’s offshore waters, a dark gray shark spanning over a fathom, likely the creature that had torn off Mr. Fukaya’s leg, raced violently through the waves, its wet back glinting sharply as it kicked up fierce sprays of foam.

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