Pathway to Japanese Literature

Prologue: Exegesis of the Furuya Clan On the tenth day—when rumors began circulating that the St. Alexei Church murder case might go unsolved due to Housui’s withheld resolution—the investigative authorities found themselves compelled to abandon their pursuit of Lazarev’s killer from that day forth. This stemmed from a poisoner like a pitch-black wind having suddenly begun haunting the Furuya mansion, that sacred family dwelling persisting since four hundred years past through the era of the Usuki Jesuit seminary. As for that mansion—colloquially dubbed Kuroshikikan—whispers had long insisted such mysterious terror was fated to eventually unfold within its walls. Undoubtedly, the Furuya family’s structure—reputed as unique east of the Bosphorus—served as a principal catalyst for such conjecture. Even today, when accustomed to the imposing Celto-Renaissance castle’s grandeur, the uncanny sensation from its clustered spires and watchtowers—like beholding an antique Mackay geography tome’s illustration—remains undiminished by time. Yet the resplendent dazzlement that once inspired Kawanabe Kyōsai and Ochiai Yoshiiku to adorn its completion with Dragon Palace princesses during its Meiji 18 construction had faded like dimming starlight. Now neither edifice nor inhabitants linger as fragments of such naive fantasy. Much as natural discoloration gnaws stone surfaces into desolate patches, a mist-like shroud had imperceptibly begun enveloping this mansion. Thus it soon appeared but a nebulous mass of secrets—though this spectral aura truly resided in enigmas amassed within, not those Provence-style ramparts encircling it. Indeed, three motiveless deaths since construction—sinister chains defying reason—combined with four foreigners forming an insular quartet sequestered forty years since infancy (all kin save heir Hatatarou). When such tales grew rumor’s fins and tails, they congealed before Kuroshikikan’s essence—a wall of leaden steam. Truly, both people and structure had decayed utterly, their rot perhaps manifest as some colossal cancer. Hence viewing this historically venerated lineage genetically might reveal a grotesque fungal form; while through late Dr. Furuya Sakutetsu’s mystique, current aberrant kinships now evoke some eerie derelict temple. Of course, each vision likely sprang from conjecture—yet among them lingered undeniably an unstable air threatening to rupture clandestine harmony. This pestilential atmosphere first festered after Meiji 35’s second mysterious death, then fissured further when Dr. Sakutetsu’s bizarre suicide ten months prior—compounded by seventeen-year-old Hatatarou’s succession and their pillar’s loss—seemed to deepen the rift. Were demons indeed nested in human hearts, folk increasingly feared this crevice might birth some unthinkable self-destruction dragging survivors into crime’s abyss. Yet contrary to expectation, no marsh-gas bubbles breached the Furuya clan’s surface—perhaps that miasma hadn’t yet saturated. No—beneath still waters, a cataract already poured into subterranean darkness. What festered there abruptly became a raging storm seeking to still each Holy Family member’s pulse. Moreover, this case’s astounding depth compelled Housui Rintarou to battle not merely a cunning killer but those already departed life’s realm.

Now, at the commencement of the case, this author had to record the astonishing investigative materials concerning Kuroshikikan that had been amassed in Housui’s possession. It was initiated by his eccentric hobbies concerning medieval instruments, gospel manuscripts, and ancient clocks, but the compilation—which likely represented the utmost efforts conceivable from outside—left even the prosecutor involuntarily gasping in awe and rendered speechless, and understandably so. Moreover, considering his spartan efforts, it became clear that Housui himself had already been one who heeded the roar from the depths.

That day—the morning of January 28th. Housui Rintarou—who had never been in robust health—still hadn’t fully recovered from the fatigue of that incident which had occurred on the sleet-laden dawn. Thus, when Prosecutor Hasekura—who had come to visit—mentioned murder, Housui made a face that seemed to say _Not again…,_ but— “But Mr. Housui, it’s the Furuya family.” “And not only that—the first violinist, Madam Gretä Dannenberg, was poisoned.” No sooner had he spoken these words than a spark of not entirely displeased radiance suddenly appeared upon Housui’s face reflected in the prosecutor’s eyes. However, upon hearing this, Housui abruptly rose and entered the study, but soon returned carrying an armful of books and thudded down into his seat.

“Let’s take our time, Hasekura. If a murder has occurred within that most mysterious family in Japan, we’ll inevitably need to spend an hour or two on preliminary knowledge. Generally speaking, in the Kennel Murder Case—there, the ancient Chinese pottery was merely decorative. However, this time it concerns artifacts from the Carolingian dynasty that Dr. Sakutetsu has kept hidden away. Among them, there may well be a Borgia jar. However, gospel manuscripts aren’t something one can recognize at a glance…” he said, moving aside the *1414 Excavation Record of St. Gall Abbey* and two other books before thrusting forward a gorgeously bound volume with diagonally inlaid rinzu silk and shōbu-treated leather.

“Heraldry?!” the prosecutor exclaimed incredulously. “Right, Terado Yoshimichi’s *Secret Records of Heraldry*.” “It’s already a rare book, you know.” “By the way, have you ever seen such a peculiar crest before?” Housui prodded with a fingertip at a bizarre design—the four characters **FRCO** encircled by a twenty-eight-leaf olive wreath. “This is the Furuya family crest, originating from one of the Tenshō embassy envoys to Europe—Chijiwa Seizaemon Naokazu.” “Why would they place Ōtomo Sōrin’s monogram—the Lord of Bungo known as François Xavier Kou Shishi and Kyūan—at the center, only to have it encircled by a fragment of Florence’s municipal standard?” “Just read the annotation below.”

“—‘Memoirs of Claudio Acquaviva (Jesuit Superior General)’” A letter within [the text] sent from Don Michael (Chijiwa) to Gennaro Colbalta (a Venetian glassworker). (Omitted) On that day when Father Verelio of Battaria Monastery had invited me to attend Mass yet failed to appear—just as suspicion began to arise—the door burst open and a towering knight appeared before me. Bearing the seal of the Knights of Barossa Temple, his thunderous eyes wide, he proclaimed: “Her Grace Bianca Cappello, Grand Duchess of Francesco, did secretly give birth to your offspring within the House of Medici in Pisa.” “‘Have a black wet nurse attend to the girl-child and wait beyond the clipped hedge—then you may receive her.’” —So [he declared]. Though astonished yet conscious of my own guilt, I accepted his terms and dismissed the knight. Thereafter, though I performed penance and received a letter of indulgence before departing the monastery, on the return voyage the black wet nurse died in Goa, and the infant—named Suguse—became the foundation of the Furuya house. Yet after returning to my homeland, delusions scattered through my heart, and I perceived not that the Lord had destroyed the obstacles of temptation that accused me. (The rest is omitted.)

“In other words, the Furuya bloodline begins with Bianca Cappello—said to be the secret child of Caterina de’ Medici—but both mother and child are known to have been horrifically sadistic criminals.” “Caterina was a notorious kin-slayer who orchestrated the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, while her daughter emerged a century after Lucrezia Borgia—the infamous poisoner—and became renowned as the longsword assassin.” “However, when it reached the thirteenth generation, a grotesque figure named Sakutetsu appeared,” declared Housui as he extracted from the book’s end a single photograph and a newspaper clipping. Meanwhile, Prosecutor Hasekura repeatedly checked his watch.

“Thanks to that, the matter of the Tenshō embassy envoys has become much clearer.” “But what connection could possibly exist between a murder four hundred years later and ancestral blood?” “While it’s true that history shares common ground with forensic medicine and genetics regarding immorality...” “I suppose lawyers do love appending clauses to poetry,” Housui responded with a pained smile to the prosecutor’s sarcasm. “But examples aren’t entirely lacking.” “Charcot’s essays record an incident in Cologne where a younger brother—merely because his elder jokingly claimed their ancestor was Saint George the dragon-slayer—murdered a maidservant who had spoken ill of a nun.” “Furthermore, after learning of Philip III’s act of burning all lepers in Paris, Bertrand—a destitute man six generations later—reportedly attempted to do the same to those afflicted with venereal disease.” “Charcot defined this as delusions of imperial grandeur arising from bloodline consciousness,” he declared, fixing the prosecutor with a gaze that seemed to demand he behold the evidence before them.

The photograph appeared to be of Dr. Sakutetsu from a suicide article—an elderly man with a melancholic countenance, his long white beard cascading down to conceal the lowest button of his waistcoat, as though the torment of his soul smoldered deep within his heart—but from the very beginning, the prosecutor’s gaze had been captured by another newspaper clipping. It was nothing more than a brief article from a York correspondent in the June 4, 1872 issue of the *Manchester Post*, under the headline: “Expelled from the St. Luke Sanatorium for Japanese Medical Students”—. However, its contents contained something that made one’s eyes widen involuntarily.

――Furuya Koiyoshi (Sakutetsu’s former name), a Japanese medical student entrusted by Braunschweig Medical School—who had already attracted notice through his associations with Richard Burton and company—found himself remanded to his home institution today after defaming the Bishop of Exeter Diocese and forging close ties with Ronald Quincie, a sorcerer currently embroiled in debates over his sanity. However, Quincie—suspiciously found in possession of a vast sum of gold coins—confessed under investigation that he had relinquished to Furuya his treasured collection: a Boullay-copied Witchgus Spell Codex; Waldemar I’s Tactile Healing Incantations; a Hebrew manuscript of Judaic Esoteric Exegesis (including Notariqon and Temurah as mystical numerology); Henry Crummell’s Spirit Handwriting Method; an anonymous Latin manuscript on Chaldean pentagram evocation arts; and a Hand of Glory (the desiccated, vinegar-pickled palm of an executed convict).

To the prosecutor who had finished reading, Housui hurled his words in a feverish tone.

“So that leaves only me,” Housui declared. “Through obtaining this, I alone understand Dr. Sakutetsu’s ties to ancient sorcery. No—this is a truly dreadful matter. Should the Witchgus Spell Codex remain hidden somewhere in Kuroshikikan, we would acquire another adversary beyond the culprit.” “Why ever would that be?” Prosecutor Hasekura retorted. “What connection could that spellbook possibly have with Furuya?” “The Witchgus Spell Codex represents what is termed technical sorcery—said to cloak modern exact sciences in vestments of curses and wickedness,” Housui explained. “Originally, Witchgus numbered among Sylvester II’s thirteen disciples who systematized Arabian and Greek sciences. Yet his faction recklessly launched an enlightenment movement against the Roman Church. Ultimately, twelve perished in heretical pyres, but Witchgus alone escaped clandestinely to complete this grand grimoire of technical sorcery.” His voice intensified. “In later eras, it allegedly underpinned Boccaneigro’s fortifications, Vauban’s siegecraft, Dee and Crowshaw’s mirror magic, Cagliostro’s alchemy, Böttger’s porcelain techniques, even Hohenheim and Graham’s medicinal practices—is this not astonishing? While four hundred twenty ciphers may derive from the Judaic Esoteric Exegesis, the remainder constitutes pure sorcery—utterly preposterous artifacts.” Leaning forward, he concluded: “Therefore, Mr. Hasekura, we may assert that the Witchgus Spell Codex alone merits our true dread.”

Indeed, although this prediction would later materialize in subsequent events, at that moment it had yet to deeply unsettle Prosecutor Hasekura; while Housui stepped into the adjoining room to change clothes, he picked up another volume and opened it to a dog-eared page. It was a satirical essay titled “Dr. Reihōkure of Our Times” by Tajima Shōji (Suita Dōshi—author of *Stories from the Red-Light District* and other works) in issue 413 of *Tokyo Shinshi*, published on February 9, 1886.

――Now then, regarding this tumultuous reverse-handed journey—you wouldn’t believe it even if you heard! (Following dozens of formulaic lines, the following classical Chinese text was inserted:) Recently, what drew sightseers along the Ōyama Highway was the appearance in Kaganuma, Kamakura District, Kanagawa Prefecture, of a Western-style castle akin to the Dragon Palace. That edifice pertained to Nagasaki’s wealthy landowner Furuya Koiyoshi’s construction; now, let us recount its origins. Earlier, Koiyoshi had received guidance from Dutch military surgeon Meerdelhorst at Kojima-go Sanatorium; when his family relocated to Tokyo in Meiji 3 (1870), he journeyed to Germany, first studying at Braunschweig Medical School before transferring to Berlin University. After eight years of rigorous study, he obtained two degrees and was scheduled to return to Japan early that year. However, preceding this, two years prior he had dispatched British engineer Claude Digsby to commence construction on what was said to be an unprecedented Western-style structure in the aforementioned location. It was declared that this served in part as a farewell gift presented to Thérèse Signoret—a woman from Besançon, France, whom he had married in that land. Namely, the region had been modeled after the Sarlat Valley, and the main building replicated the château of Thérèse’s ancestral home, Trévilloux Manor—all to sever any lingering nostalgia. Be that as it may, it remained pitiable indeed that Thérèse had perished from relapsing fever during the return voyage aboard the *Rangō*; yet equally absurd was how the sarcastic Dr. Ōtori derisively dubbed this mansion “Kuroshikikan”—mocking its imitation of Provincia’s encircling walls by spreading rumors that medieval plague victims had been stuffed beneath its tower’s very roof―.

When Prosecutor Hasekura finished reading, Housui Rintarou reappeared, having changed into his outdoor clothes. But he sank deeply into his chair once more and frowned at the telephone that had been ringing incessantly all the while.

“That’s likely Inspector Kumashiro’s doing, pressing us again.” “The corpse isn’t going anywhere, so let’s take our time first.” “So, let me tell you about the three mysterious death incidents that occurred afterward and the still-unfathomable enigma surrounding Dr. Sakutetsu’s conduct.” “After returning to Japan, Dr. Sakutetsu earned two degrees in neuropsychiatry and pharmacology from Japanese universities; however, he did not pursue an academic career, instead embarking on a quiet, reclusive bachelor’s life.” “What we must focus on above all there is not only that Dr. Sakutetsu never resided in Kuroshikikan for even a single day, but also that in Meiji 23 [1890]—a mere five years after its construction—he conducted major renovations to the mansion’s interior, fundamentally altering Digsby’s original design.” “Thus, he established a residence behind Kan’ei-ji Temple and had his younger brother Denjirou and wife reside in Kuroshikikan; thereafter, it could be said that the doctor spent the over forty years until his suicide in near-total tranquility.” Even his writings were limited to a single essay titled *A Study on Syphilis and Crime in the Tudor Family.* “Limited to a single essay, it would not be an exaggeration to say that his entire presence in academic circles culminated in that famous debate with Dr. Yagisawa.” “It goes like this.” In Meiji 21 [1888], when Dr. Yagisawa proposed his theory of hereditary criminal predisposition in individuals with deformities of the skull’s squamous part and temporal fossa, Dr. Sakutetsu raised a counterargument, sparking a year-long grand debate that ultimately culminated in the extreme conclusion of experimental eugenics involving human cultivation—a development that left the academic world holding its breath at the precipice of its implications. “Strangely enough, it was as though some tacit agreement had formed between the two men—their opposition abruptly vanished in a manner most unnatural.” “However—though unrelated to this dispute—a succession of bizarre mysterious death incidents occurred in Kuroshikikan during Dr. Sakutetsu’s absence.” “The first occurred in Meiji 29 [1896]. On the very night Denjirou brought in his mistress Kamitori Misaho while his legal wife was hospitalized, he had his carotid artery severed by her with a paper cutter, and Misaho herself committed suicide on the spot.” “Then, six years later in Meiji 35 [1902], Madame Fumiko—the Doctor’s cousin and now a widow—was likewise strangled by her beloved Kamigata actor Arashi Taijuro, who then hanged himself on the spot without leaving the scene.” “And so, these two murder cases lacked any discernible motives—indeed, only contradictory theories accumulated—resulting in them being reluctantly buried as crimes of impulse.” Now, in Kuroshikikan—which had lost its master—they temporarily placed Tsutako, Sakutetsu’s half-niece (as you know, she is now the wife of Dr. Oshigane, director of Tokyo Shinkei Hospital, but was once a celebrated modern theater actress in the late Taisho period), as its mistress despite her being merely three years old at the time. Then, in Taisho 4 [1915], an unexpected boy was conceived by Sakutetsu’s mistress, Iwatomi Tomie. “That is none other than the current master, Hatatarou.” “And so, last March—after thirty-some uneventful years had passed—a third mysterious death incident with no discernible motive occurred.” “This time, Dr. Sakutetsu ended up committing suicide,” he said, pulling over the nearby bundle of documents and searching through the autopsy reports—which the authorities sent for every notable case—to find records pertaining to the doctor’s suicide.

“Now listen—”

――The wound was a dagger stab wound with standard morphology, penetrating between the fifth and sixth left ribs into the left ventricle. Dr. Sakutetsu lay supine at the room’s center, gripping the hilt tightly, his feet toward the door and head facing the rear drapery. The countenance exhibited a dementia-like slackness tinged with mournful anguish, while the scene was a twilit chamber with armored doors shut tight; the family reported hearing no disturbances, nor were there signs of struggle among objects present. Furthermore, beyond these findings existed no other injuries—and it is stated as fact that this incident occurred less than ten minutes after he had entered said chamber clutching a Western-style female doll. The doll was a life-sized figure clad in a ruffed gown with a standing collar from the late Louis era, positioned on a bed behind the drapery; the suicide dagger was presumed to be that talismanic blade itself. Moreover, within Dr. Sakutetsu’s circumstances lay an utterly inscrutable motive—how could a dedicated scholar nearing his natural lifespan have committed such folly? This point must be said to present an exceedingly perplexing conundrum―

“What do you think, Mr. Hasekura? Even with over thirty years separating us from the second mysterious death incident—even with the cause of death being clearly estimable—the absence of motive... this point is undeniably common to all.” “So, don’t you think that the invisible presence lurking there has manifested itself in Mrs. Dannenberg this time?” “That’s a bit too speculative,” Prosecutor Hasekura retorted, “In the second incident, all contextual continuity was completely severed.” “That so-called Kamigata actor—isn’t he someone outside the Furuya clan?”

“Is that truly the case?” “How much trouble must you go through,” Housui replied with theatrical eye-rolling, “but speaking of which, Mr. Hasekura—there’s an eccentric detective novelist who recently surfaced named Kojiro Gyotaro. His latest work, *Considerations on Modern Labyrinthine Cases*, analyzes the famous *Collapse of the Cudaby Family Records*.” “The House of Cudaby, which thrived during late Victorian times, met annihilation in precisely the same pattern as the three Furuya incidents.” “The first occurred on the morning Lord Cudaby—Chief Court Reciter of Poetry and Prose—was preparing to attend court.” “When Anne, his wife then notorious for infidelity rumors, tried to kiss him farewell by draping her arm over his shoulder, the lord suddenly drew his dagger and stabbed it into the drapery behind him.” “Yet it was his eldest son Walter who fell drenched in crimson—whereupon the horrified lord pierced his own heart in return.” “Seven years later came the second act: the suicide of Kent, the second son.” “Though challenged to a duel after a friend hurled a wine cup at his right cheek, he kept an impassive face—which drew mockery and supposedly drove him to death from societal shame.” “Two years thereafter, fate revisited Georgia—the sole remaining daughter.” “On her wedding night with her betrothed—for reasons unknown—she insulted him, provoking such fury that he strangled her upon their nuptial bed.” “Thus concluded the Cudaby lineage.” Yet Kojiro Gyotaro had discerned a scientific framework within those three incidents long deemed explicable only through fatalism— and posited this definitive conclusion: “The verdict attributes it solely to hereditary Gubler’s palsy—a neural condition causing sudden numbness across the right facial hemisphere.” “Meaning: when his wife’s touch failed to register on his numb cheek during that farewell kiss, Lord Cudaby mistakenly believed she reached for a lover hidden behind the drapery—hence slaying Walter instead of an adulterer.” “By this logic,” Housui continued, “Kent’s suicide needs no elaboration—and Georgia’s complaints about inadequate caresses would stem from that same hereditary numbness.” “Naturally, this reeks of detective writers’ self-indulgent fantasies.” “Yet it undeniably hints at connective threads between our three Furuya cases.” “More crucially—it’s pried open a narrow investigative aperture.” “But this transcends mere genetics’ confined sphere.” “Within that colossal entity lies horrors beyond imagination—this I know with certainty.”

“Hmm, if the heir had been killed, that would make sense... But in Dannenberg’s case—” Prosecutor Hasekura tilted his head slightly before countering, “By the way, what is this ‘doll’ mentioned in the current records?” “That is Madame Thérèse’s memorial embodiment,” Housui replied. “A life-sized automaton Dr. Furuya supposedly commissioned from the Kopetskii family—Bohemian master puppeteers. However, what remains most inexplicable is the string quartet’s four members. Dr. Sakutetsu brought them from overseas as nursing infants and, for over forty years, never once permitted them to breathe air outside the mansion’s walls, you see.”

“Hmm, isn’t it said that only a few critics ever see their faces at that annual concert?” “That’s correct.” “They must have eerily waxen skin,” Housui fixed his gaze and said, “but why would Dr. Furuya force those four to live such an uncanny existence? And how did they submit to it without protest? However, in Japan’s mainland, people merely regarded it as a curiosity—no one conducted an in-depth investigation. But I happened to discover an enthusiast in the United States who had investigated everything from the four’s birthplaces to their social statuses.” “I think it’s safe to say this is probably the only existing material concerning those four.”

And what he picked up was the February 1901 issue of *The Hartford Gospel Evangelist*—the last remaining item on the desk.

“Let’s read it,” Housui said. “The author is someone named Fallow—it’s in the church music section.” That such purely medieval-style mystic musicians should exist in Japan—of all places—could only be described as a marvel among rarities. Even when surveying music history, one finds only a single comparable precedent: Elector Karl Theodor of Mannheim cultivating six masked musicians at Schwetzingen Palace Gardens long ago. Drawn by these intriguing rumors, I devised various stratagems to investigate, through which I at last managed to ascertain solely the four members’ identities. Gretä Dannenberg—first violinist—was the third daughter of Ulrich, supervisor of Marienberg Village’s hunting district in Tyrol Prefecture, Austria. Galibalda Serena—second violinist—was the sixth daughter of Galicarini, a metal caster in Brindisi City, Italy. Olga Krivov—violist—was the fourth daughter of Murgochi, a landowner in Tagantziisk Village, Caucasus Province, Russia. Ottokar Levez—cellist—was the second son of Dr. Hadnack of Kontaltza Town, Hungary. All hailed from distinguished regional lineages. However, whether Dr. Furuya Sakutetsu—the ensemble’s proprietor—ever studied Karl Theodor’s opulent Rococo tastes must remain entirely uncertain.

Housui’s materials concerning the Furuya family were now exhausted, but their exceedingly complex contents served only to further confound the prosecutor’s mind. However, the single word he had uttered with a look of terror—Witchgus Spell Codex—lingered on his retina like a white flower from a dream. Moreover, how could anyone have predicted at that time that even Housui would find awaiting him a corpse so bizarre it could be called unprecedented in the annals of murder?

Part One: The Corpse and the Two Doors Encircling

I. Miraculous Halo

When the private railway T Line reached its terminal, that place was already within Kanagawa Prefecture. Between there and the hill overlooking Kuroshikikan stretched oak windbreak forests and bamboo groves—up to that point, an utterly unremarkable Northern Sagami landscape—but once one ascended the hill, the panoramic view transformed entirely in character. It could be said to resemble exactly northern Scotland—where Macbeth’s domain of Cawdor once stood. There were no trees or grasses—by the time one reached that point, even the sea breeze had been drained of moisture, leaving the parched soil surface weathered to a gray hue that resembled rock salt, while at the base of the undulating gentle slope lay what appeared to be an ink-black lake—a desolate landscape akin to this stretched all the way to the mortar-shaped depression’s enclosing walls. The cause of that reddish-brown soil and sand lay in the fact that the high-latitude plants said to have been transplanted during its construction had perished in the blink of an eye. However, up to the main gate stretched a well-maintained motor road, and beneath the main building’s protruding cut stone wall—referred to as hakyō teihōshi—stood an iron door adorned with thistle and grape leaf patterns. That day, following the previous night's freezing rain, thick-layered clouds hung oppressively low—perhaps due to barometric disturbances—while an unnervingly human-like warmth permeated the air. Occasional faint lightning flickered, and muttering-like thunder rumbled languidly in the distance. Amidst such a gloomy sky, Kuroshikikan’s massive two-story structure—particularly the central chapel’s spire and the turrets flanking it—was smeared into a pale ink wash as if brushed in a single stroke, the whole forming a resinous monochrome tableau.

Housui stopped the car at the main gate and began walking through the front garden. Behind the wall enclosure stood a low red-lattice fence entwined with roses, beyond which lay a geometrically arranged Le Nôtre-style flower garden. The garden paths crisscrossing the beds were dotted at intervals with colonnaded pavilions and statues of water deities, sphinxes, or grotesque animal figures. The central avenue—laid diagonally with red bricks and edged with azure-glazed tiles—constituted what is termed arrow-feather paving. The main building was encircled by a clipped yew hedge, while around the wall enclosure stood symbolic Japanese cypress and cedar trees sculpted into hedge-like shapes of various animals and initials. Before this trimmed hedge stood a fountain adorned with statues from Mount Parnassus, which abruptly emitted an eerie sound and began spraying mist as Housui approached.

“Prosecutor Hasekura, this is what’s called the Fountain of Astonishment.” “That sound and the water spraying like bullets—they’re all powered by hydraulic pressure,” Housui remarked casually while dodging the spray, yet the prosecutor could not help sensing an ominous premonition emanating from this Baroque contraption. Then Housui stood before the trimmed hedge and began surveying the main building. The central portion of the main building—constructed in an elongated rectangle—protruded semicircularly, flanked by two projecting rooms on either side. Only these sections’ outer walls adopted a crude pre-Romanesque style of the ninth century, their rose-hued small cut stones bound together with mortar. Of course, that part was undoubtedly the chapel. However, while the projecting rooms’ windows had rose windows embedded within arched lattices, and the central mural featured a stained-glass rosette depicting the zodiac signs, these stylistic contradictions likely captured Housui’s interest. Yet the other parts were constructed of basalt cut stone masonry, with windows consisting of two-tiered armored doors reaching a height of ten shaku. The entrance was located to the left of the chapel, and had they not spotted the plainclothes officers by the large door with its knocker ring, Housui’s dream-like propensity for analysis might never have awakened. Still, what made Prosecutor Hasekura persistently sense a prickling at Housui’s nerves was this: after beginning with the central high tower resembling a bell tower, surveying the steep roofs spanning from the area dense with oddly shaped dormers and chimneys to the left and right turrets, then lowering his gaze to repeatedly nod toward the wall surface—and repeating this behavior several times—his demeanor somehow evoked the impression of someone conducting mathematical comparisons. Sure enough, this prediction proved accurate. Even though he hadn’t seen the corpse from the start, Housui was already probing the mansion’s atmosphere, extracting crystal-like insights from within it.

At the end of the entrance was a hall where an elderly servant who had been waiting there stepped forward and guided them to the grand staircase hall on the right. The floor there bore an inlaid pattern of lilac and dark-red cloisonné, and its contrast with the murals winding along the circular corridor near the ceiling—heightened by the plain, undecorated wall between them—created hues that defied description. Upon reaching the top of the horseshoe-shaped staircase with its splayed legs, they found themselves in what might be termed a staircase hall. From there, another short staircase extended upward toward the space they had just vacated, leading to the upper floor. On the three walls of the staircase hall, high upon their surfaces, hung Gabriel Max’s *Dissection Diagram* at the center, flanked by Gérard David’s *The Flaying of Sisamnes* on the left wall and Jean-François de Troy’s *The 1720 Marseille Plague* on the right wall. All were replica paintings enlarged to over seven shaku in height and ten shaku in width, leaving one to wonder why only such macabre subjects had been selected. Yet what Housui’s eyes swiftly seized upon were the two medieval armored samurai statues standing rigidly aligned before the *Dissection Diagram*. Both gripped banner flagstaffs in their hands, with two distinct tapestries descending from the spearpoints to intertwine at the upper edge of the scene. The right-hand tapestry depicted an Anglo-Dutch landowner in Quaker attire unfurling an estate map while holding a surveyor’s chain; the left showed a Roman Catholic Mass. Since both were merely conventional symbols of wealth and piety among aristocratic households, one might have expected Housui to overlook them—yet contrary to expectation, he instead beckoned a servant to make inquiries.

“Are these armored samurai statues always kept here?”

“Oh, no—they’ve been here since last night.” “Before seven, they had been placed at both bases of the stairs, but after eight, they had been moved up here.” “Who on earth could have done this?”

“That’s right. One need only examine the Château de Clagny of the Marquise de Montespan to understand.” Housui nodded casually while replying to the servant, then turned to the prosecutor. “It’s standard practice to place them at both bases of the stairs. Mr. Hasekura, try lifting one.” He watched as the prosecutor complied before continuing, “What do you think? Relatively light, isn’t it? Of course they aren’t meant for practical use.” His tone shifted to didactic precision. “Armor from the sixteenth century onward became purely decorative. When the Louis era began, relief carving techniques grew more delicate—requiring thicker metalwork until they became too heavy to wear while walking.” His finger tapped the armor’s breastplate thoughtfully. “So judging by weight alone, this must predate Donatello... perhaps Massagglia or Sansovino?”

“Well now, when did you turn into Philo Vance?” “You could sum it up in a word—‘not heavy enough to prevent being carried upstairs,’” Prosecutor Hasekura delivered his scathing sarcasm before continuing, “But was it absolutely necessary that these armored samurai statues not remain downstairs? “Or was it necessary for them to be upstairs?” “Of course, they were necessary there.” “In any case, observe the three paintings.” “Plague, punishment, dissection—that’s what they depict.” “And there’s one more thing the criminal has added—that is murder.”

“Don’t be absurd.” As Prosecutor Hasekura involuntarily widened his eyes, Housui also spoke in a voice tinged with some excitement.

“In other words, this symbolizes the current Furuya Case.” “The criminal hoists this grand standard to declare slaughter through insidious implication.” “Or perhaps it manifests a will to challenge us.” “Generally speaking, Mr. Hasekura—the right armored samurai grips its banner staff in the right hand, the left one in its left.” “But considering their original placement at the stair base, wouldn’t standard composition require the right statue to hold it in its left hand and vice versa?” “Thus their current arrangement constitutes a deliberate reversal.” “Starting from the left—the Acre banner signifying worldly wealth and the Mass banner representing spiritual faith—their inversion… Here emerges the criminal’s dreadful intent.”

“What?” “It’s Mass and acre,” said Housui. “Read them together consecutively.” He observed Prosecutor Hasekura’s dumbfounded expression as he continued, “Faith and nobility transform into ‘Massacre’—slaughter. But I suspect that’s not the full meaning.” “From these armored samurai statues’ positions,” Housui declared, “I intend to unearth something far more concrete in time.” He then turned to the servant. “Now—did anyone witness anything regarding these statues between seven and eight last night?”

“There were none—unfortunately, as that hour coincided with our mealtime.”

Then Housui dismantled the armored samurai statues one by one, examining their surroundings—from the niche-shaped wall lamps between the paintings to the area above the *Dissection Diagram* where the banners cast shadows—but found nothing of significance. That part of the scene was nothing more than a jumble of multicolored stripes haphazardly arranged near the edge of the background. Then, leaving the staircase hall and ascending to the upper staircase—but at that moment, as if struck by some realization, Housui suddenly began making bizarre movements. He turned back midway and stood at the summit of the grand staircase he had originally come from. Then, taking out a grid-patterned notebook from his pocket, he counted the number of stairs and seemed to sketch some sort of jagged, lightning-like lines within it. Even Prosecutor Hasekura could not help but turn back at this.

“Oh, it’s nothing—just conducting a bit of psychological analysis,” Housui answered in a low voice, mindful of the servant upstairs, to the prosecutor’s question. “Once I’ve attained certainty, I’ll speak—but at present, there isn’t a single piece of material here to interpret.” “I think I can only say this much.” “When we were coming up the stairs earlier, wasn’t there an engine roar like that of a police car near the entrance?” At that moment, that servant managed to hear a faint sound that should have been drowned out by that deafening noise. “Listen well, Mr. Hasekura—it’s a sound that could never be heard under normal circumstances, I tell you.”

How had Housui come to know of such a glaringly contradictory phenomenon? Yet he added—while asserting that the servant bore not an ounce of suspicion—that he never even inquired about the servant’s name, naturally rendering any conclusive judgment nebulous and leaving this matter as an enigma he himself had introduced.

At the front of the ascended staircase, beyond a corridor, loomed a chamber fortified with rock-mounted bulwarks. Behind the iron-barred gate were several tiers of stone steps, and beyond them, black lacquer—likely that of a vault door—glistened. However, upon learning that this chamber was the ancient clock room, Housui—who understood the astonishing value of its collection—found himself able to nod in comprehension at what initially seemed like the foolish whimsy of the collector’s mentality. The corridor branched left and right from that point. Because there were doors at each interval, the spaces between them were tunnel-dark, and even during the day, the niche lamps remained lit. The left and right wall surfaces were adorned solely with vermilion earthenware lines—their only decoration. After taking the dead end to his right and turning left, then emerging on the opposite side of the corridor they had come from, there appeared at Housui’s flank a short arched corridor—its colonnade shadows lined with Japanese-style armor pieces. The entrance to the arched corridor opened onto the circular gallery beneath the domed ceiling of the grand staircase hall, and at its far end loomed a new passageway. Gazing at the hexafoil wall lamps flanking the entrance, Housui froze mid-step as he was about to enter the arched corridor—struck rigid by whatever he saw.

“There’s another one here as well,” he said, pointing at the frontmost piece in the row of displayed armor (those positioned atop armor chests) on the left side. What peculiarity could exist in this crimson-laced armor crowned with a black-furred helmet bearing a triple-tiered antler crest? Prosecutor Hasekura countered with a half-dumbfounded expression.

“The helmets have been swapped,” Housui stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Those on the far side are all suspended armor—hung in midair—but examine the shikoro neck guard on the second piece, the tanned leather cuirass of simple armor, and it’ll become clear.” “That is what’s called a lion-biting North Star crested helmet with side hoe-shaped ornaments—worn by high-ranking young warriors.” “Meanwhile, this one here—a menacing black-furred antler-crested piece—rests atop elegant crimson-laced armor.” “Now, Mr. Hasekura—they say all disharmonious things harbor malicious intent,” Housui remarked before confirming this detail with the servant, who could not help but betray a look of astonishment.

“Yes, that is correct.” “Yes, that was indeed the case until last evening,” he answered without hesitation.

Then, passing through the numerous suits of armor lining both sides, they emerged into the corridor beyond—a dead-end cul-de-sac—where to the left stood a door leading to the terrace of the spiral staircase adjoining the main building’s side. Counting to the right, the fifth door marked the crime scene room. On both faces of the thick door, a sacred relief carving depicted Jesus healing a hunchback in an archaic, primal composition. Beyond that single door lay the corpse of Gretä Dannenberg.

When the door opened, Chief Inspector Kumashiro stood before a woman in her mid-twenties with her back turned, grimacing bitterly as he gnawed on his pencil's rubber. When he saw their faces, he narrowed his eyes as if reproaching their tardiness,

“Mr. Housui, the body’s behind that velvet curtain,” Kumashiro brusquely declared before halting his interrogation of the woman. Yet considering how he had abandoned his duties the moment Housui arrived—and how a shadow of dull slackness akin to stupefaction occasionally passed across his expression—it required little imagination to gauge what shock the corpse behind that curtain must have dealt him.

Housui first turned his attention to the woman present there. She had a round face with an endearing double chin—not exactly what one would call a beauty—but her large, round eyes, eye sockets that appeared translucent like celadon porcelain, and taut, wheat-colored skin that seemed ready to burst were wonderfully charming. She wore a grape-colored afternoon dress and introduced herself as Kamiya Nobuko, former secretary to the late Dr. Furuya Sakutetsu, but in stark contrast to her beautiful voice, her face was suffused with terror and had turned an earthenware hue. When she left, Housui began silently pacing the room. The room was spacious yet dimly lit, and due to the lack of furnishings, it felt hollow and desolate. In the center of the floor lay a Coptic textile rug patterned with a stylized depiction of Jonah within the great fish, and that section of flooring formed a wheel-patterned inlay of colored marble and hazel wood pieces arranged alternately. Sandwiched between them, both sides from floor to wall consisted of walnut and oak parquetry, inlaid here and there with decorative motifs that radiated subdued medieval hues. And from the high ceiling seeped stains of age, blackened to the point where the wood grain became indistinguishable, while from that very space descended a macabre air—one might even call it ghostly—settling downward in a quiet stagnation. There was only one entrance door—the one they had just come through—while to the left stood two two-tiered armored windows opening onto a side garden, and on the right wall loomed a large fireplace carved with the Furuya family crest at its center, constructed from dozens of stacked stone blocks. Directly ahead hung a lead-heavy drape of black velvet, while along the wall between the door and fireplace stood a platform about three shaku high. Upon it, a nude hunchback statue and a famed legislator (an Egyptian carving) sat back-to-back in meditation postures. Near the window, a tall screen partitioned off an area where a settee and two or three occasional tables with chairs had been placed. When moving to the corner and distancing oneself from the crowd, a musty, moldering odor assaulted the nostrils. On the mantelpiece, dust had accumulated to about five bu thick, and when the velvet curtain was touched, choking fine powder flew out from the weave of the velvet, glittering silver as it cascaded down like spray. At a glance, it became clear that this room had not been used for many years. At last, Housui parted the velvet curtain and peered inside—but in that instant, all expression froze on his face. Unaware of the prosecutor’s hand reflexively seizing his shoulder from behind, unfeeling of the undulating tremor that followed, his ears rang and his face burned like fire. It seemed as though the entire world beyond the astonishing sight before his eyes had swiftly vanished into oblivion.

Behold! From the corpse of Madame Dannenberg lying there, a sacred radiance was brilliantly emanating. As if enveloped in a mist of light, a clear bluish-white glow flowed across the space about an inch above her surface, snugly wrapping her entire body and causing it to emerge hazily from the surrounding gloom. The light possessed a cold, crystalline piousness, yet within it swirled a milky-white haze—could this be some unfathomable divine revelation from the abyss? The shadows of her grotesque death mask softened into dignified features under this radiance; an indescribably serene atmosphere enveloped her form. From within that phantasmal solemnity, one might almost hear angels sounding their trumpets. As the sonorous peal of sacred bells seemed poised to reverberate—as though that holy light might transform into golden threads and radiate outward—ah, could it be that Madame Dannenberg, extolled for her chastity, had been welcomed as a saint in her final ecstasy? Such involuntary sighs escaped until they became utterly inescapable. Yet simultaneously, that light illuminated three stupefied faces standing rigidly nearby. Housui finally regained his composure and began his investigation, but when he opened the armored window, the glow faded until it was scarcely visible. The corpse’s entire body had stiffened rock-hard, with rigor mortis indicating at least ten hours since death—yet Housui remained unshaken, never relinquishing scientific rigor. After confirming luminescence within the oral cavity, he turned the body face down and drove his scalpel decisively into the vivid crimson lividity on its back. When he tilted the corpse slightly, sluggishly oozing blood instantly formed a crimson-tinged wall around the cadaverous glow. This barrier then split like fractured mist, revealing a gap where shadows of blood crept forward in sinuous trails. Neither Prosecutor Hasekura nor Inspector Kumashiro could endure looking directly upon this macabre spectacle.

“There’s no light in the blood,” Housui muttered disdainfully as he withdrew his hands from the corpse. “At this point, it can be called nothing short of a miracle. That it isn’t emitted from an external source has long been clear—there’s no phosphorous odor; if it were a radium compound, it would cause skin necrosis; and there are no such marks on the clothing. It’s undoubtedly being emitted from the skin. And this light has neither heat nor odor. What’s called cold light.”

“So, can this still be considered poisoning?” Prosecutor Hasekura asked Housui, which Inspector Kumashiro then picked up on. “Yeah—you can tell by the color of the blood and the lividity.” “It’s clearly cyanide poisoning.” “But Mr. Housui, how were these strange tattoo-like wound patterns created?” “This is precisely your domain—indulging in anomalies and mutations,” he said, emitting a self-mocking laugh uncharacteristic of his obstinate demeanor. Indeed, following the grotesque glory, there was yet another corpse phenomenon that left Housui wide-eyed. The bed on which Madame Dannenberg lay was positioned just inside the velvet curtain; it was a Louis-style peach blossom wood construction, featuring a pinecone-shaped finial as its crowning ornament and pillars supporting a lace canopy. The corpse lay prone near the far right edge, its right hand twisted backward to rest the dorsum upon the buttocks, while the left hand dangled limply from the bed. This woman—her silver hair carelessly tied back, clad in a black figured satin single-layer garment, the tip of her nose drooping down to her upper lip in what might be called a Jewish-style physiognomy—had died with her face twisted into an S-shape, forming a truly comical expression. But what was strange were the patterned incisions that had appeared on both temples. They resembled tattoo stencils—shallow wounds as if drawn with a slender, sharp needle in one swift stroke, skillfully shaving only the epidermis. On both sides, they formed nearly circular patterns approximately one sun in diameter, around which clustered short lines arranged like centipede legs. The wound oozed only yellowish serum, but what crawled across this menopausal woman’s ravaged skin evoked not so much macabre beauty as desiccated pinworm corpses—or perhaps the long fecal strands excreted by uncanny flagellates. And whether the cause originated internally or externally—the conundrum had reached such complexity that even making such an estimation proved exceedingly difficult. However, Housui’s eyes—pulled away from those gruesome microscopic patterns—inadvertently met the prosecutor’s gaze. And in silent agreement, they had to discuss something horrifying. For the shape of those wounds was none other than the twenty-eight-leaf olive crown from the Florentine city emblem—a component that formed part of the Furuya family crest.

II. Thérèse has killed me. "No matter how I look at it, I can’t see it any other way," Prosecutor Hasekura stammered repeatedly after explaining the Furuya family crest to Inspector Kumashiro. "Why wasn’t it enough for the killer to merely snuff out her life? Why did they have to perform such unfathomable actions?" "But you see, Prosecutor Hasekura," Housui said as he finally placed a cigarette between his lips, "what stuns me more is my own discovery. This corpse died mere seconds after being carved. That is to say—it occurred neither postmortem nor before ingesting poison."

“This is no joke,” Kumashiro blurted with an exasperated look, his irritation flaring. “If this wasn’t instant death, then by all means—enlighten us with your explanation.” Housui responded in the tone of one admonishing a petulant child: “Well, the culprit in this case is both swiftly insidious and utterly heinous.” “However, my reasoning is remarkably simple.” “It’s largely because you’re overestimating the effects of severe cyanide poisoning.” “While the respiratory muscles will likely paralyze instantly, it can be reasonably assumed that at least nearly two minutes will pass before the heart completely stops.” “However, postmortem phenomena appearing on the skin’s surface manifest simultaneously with the decline of cardiac function.” He paused briefly, staring intently at his audience. “If you grasp that, I doubt there will be any objections to my theory.” “Now, this wound has been skillfully incised only through the epidermis.” “This fact is evident from the serum oozing out alone—but if inflicted on a living body, subcutaneous hemorrhage would occur and both sides of the wound would swell. Yet this wound distinctly exhibits those very signs.” “However, examining the peeled edges reveals no scab formation.” “It appears as nothing more than transparent tissue paper.” “But this one constitutes a clear postmortem phenomenon.” “Yet if that holds true, these two phenomena create an immense contradiction—rendering any explanation of the physiological state during wound infliction utterly impossible.” “Therefore, shouldn’t this conclusion naturally lead us to consider at what stage the nails and epidermis would have died?”

Housui’s meticulous observations had, if anything, deepened the mystery of the wound patterns, so the prosecutor’s voice completely lost its composure from this new horror.

“We’ll have to wait for the autopsy results.” “Even so—to not be content with conjuring a supernatural phenomenon like corpse-luminance, then go so far as to brand it with the Furuya crest…” “To me, this holy light has come to feel violently obscene.”

“Ah, the culprit has absolutely no desire for spectators.” “It’s demanding the kind of psychological obstacle you’re now experiencing.” “Why would that bastard possess such a pathological personality?” “Moreover, it’s utterly creative.” “But if we were to let Heilbronner speak on this,” Housui darkly smiled, “he’d say the most perversely inventive things belong to children.” Then, shifting to a businesslike tone, he asked, “Now, Inspector Kumashiro—when did the corpse’s luminescence begin?”

“At first, it went unnoticed because the desk lamp was on.” “However—it was around ten o’clock—after we’d completed a preliminary examination of the corpse and finished investigating this area, closed the armored door, and turned off the desk lamp…” Kumashiro gulped audibly before continuing, “So not only the household but even some officials were left unaware of it.” “By the way, let me fill you in on the facts I’ve gathered so far,” he began, outlining the general course of events.

“Last night, the household held a gathering where Madame Dannenberg collapsed—precisely at nine o’clock.” “We then decided to care for her in this room, with librarian Kamiya Nobuko and head steward Kawanabe Ekusuke keeping vigil through the night. But around midnight, potassium cyanide had been laced into the Western orange the victim ate.” “A significant quantity was indeed found in the masticated pulp remnants in her mouth—most perplexingly concentrated in the very first segment she consumed.” “Thus, I can only conclude the culprit hit the lethal mark with their first attempt by sheer luck.” “The other segments remain intact like this, yet show no traces of the drug whatsoever.”

“So it was in the Western orange⁉” Housui muttered, slightly shaking the canopy pillar. “That means yet another mystery has been added to the pile.” “This would indicate the culprit possesses absolutely no knowledge of toxicology, I tell you.”

“However, there’s no one particularly suspicious among the servants.” “Both Kamiya Nobuko and Ekusuke insist Madame Dannenberg herself chose it from the fruit plate.” “Moreover, this room was locked around eleven-thirty—the glass windows and armored doors caked with rust like mold—so naturally there’s no trace of outside intrusion.” “But here’s the oddity—the pears on that same plate were apparently far more to Madame Dannenberg’s taste.”

“What? The lock?” Prosecutor Hasekura appeared aghast at the contradiction between that and the wound patterns, but Housui continued staring fixedly at Kumashiro and snapped. “I’m absolutely not implying anything of the sort.” “Precisely because they’ve masked cyanide with this Western orange’s veil of folly—that very act reveals the culprit’s horrifying brilliance.” “Consider this.” “A poison with such a distinctive stench and bitter taste—yet they used over ten times the lethal dose!” “Moreover, they employed a Western orange utterly unsuited for such camouflage.” “Tell me, Inspector Kumashiro—how could such an absurdly crude method produce this magical result?” “Why did Madame Dannenberg reach solely for that particular Western orange?” “That staggering contradiction itself constitutes the poisoner’s perverse pride.” “For their kind, it’s been an eternal object of worship since the Lombardian Witch first manifested.”

Kumashiro was taken aback, but Housui asked as if recalling something.

“And the time of death?”

“Since the autopsy at eight this morning indicated eight hours postmortem, the time of death matches exactly when she ate the Western orange.” The discovery had occurred at half past five at dawn; until then, the two attendants had been unaware of any incident. Furthermore, no one had entered this room after eleven o’clock, and the family’s movements remained entirely unknown. “And this here’s the fruit plate that had held that Western orange.”

Having said that, Kumashiro took out a large silver platter from beneath the bed. It was a chalice-shaped object nearly two shaku in diameter—approximately sixty centimeters—its exterior adorned with a relief carving of Aivazovsky’s Xiongnu tribe reindeer hunt rendered in the rigid lines characteristic of Russian Byzantine style. At the plate’s base stood an inverted fantastical reptile: its head and forelimbs formed a pedestal, its spiked torso bent at a sharp angle resembling the kana 「く」, while its hind limbs and tail supported the dish. On the opposite side of that kana-like angle sat a semicircular handle. The pears and Western oranges upon it had all been split in two, bearing marks from forensic examination—though naturally, no poison appeared present in any except one. Yet in the segment that felled Madame Dannenberg, a striking peculiarity had emerged. This was no ordinary Western orange but a large blood orange—its hue not citrus-bright but rather an intense vermilion reminiscent of molten lava. Moreover, its overripe sienna-black coloration gave an eerie impression of congealed gore—a hue that tantalized the nerves yet offered no deductive foothold. From the absence of a stem, investigators inferred that paste-like potassium cyanide had been injected there.

Housui took his eyes off the fruit plate and began walking around the room. The section partitioned by curtains differed markedly in atmosphere from the front chamber. Walls uniformly coated in gray mortar met floors covered by a plain carpet of identical hue, while windows—slightly smaller and set higher than those in the anteroom—left the interior far gloomier. Gray walls and flooring paired with black draperies—a combination that might recall stage designs from Gordon Craig's era—but these lifeless base tones rendered the space all the more oppressive through their very austerity. This area too appeared abandoned to decay like its counterpart; with each step, stratified dust cascaded from the upper walls. The room's sole furnishings consisted of a wine-jar-shaped standing desk beside the bed, its surface holding a memo pinned by a broken pencil, tortoiseshell eyeglasses of twenty-four diopter strength likely removed when the victim reclined, and a desk lamp swathed in painted silk. Such lenses merely blurred outlines without obscuring object identification, rendering them unworthy of scrutiny. Housui paced with the measured gait of a gallery patron appraising twin masterpieces when Prosecutor Hasekura's voice interrupted from behind.

“As expected, Mr. Housui—miracles lie beyond all natural laws, don’t they?” “Yeah, this is all I’ve grasped,” Housui uttered tonelessly. “It’s as if the culprit—like Thérèse—has fired a single arrow of cyanide straight into the victim’s stomach, more potent than if left exposed.” “Meaning that to reach that final conclusion, something manifesting both the light and crest was necessary.” “Put another way—those two elements act as catalytic agents to complete the crime; indispensable academic principles along that path, one might say.”

“Don’t be absurd.” “Your wild theories have gone too far,” Inspector Kumashiro cut in with exasperation, but Housui serenely continued his outlandish argument.

“But they had to break into a locked room and carve it within a minute or two.” “Then it’s not Clyre’s style, I tell you.” “Even if forced, there’s nothing for it but to target this bizarre mechanism.” “Moreover, doubts still lie in the shape of her right hand twisted backward and in the small hook-shaped tear on her right shoulder.”

“No—that’s utterly irrelevant.” Kumashiro spat out the words: “Just her crawling on her stomach to swallow that Western orange and instantly becoming defenseless—that’s all there is to it.” “But Inspector Kumashiro, if you look at Adolf Henke’s old forensic text, there’s an intriguing case about a prostitute who ingested poison while lying on her side with her arm trapped beneath her body. When the shock hit, her numb arm reflexively moved and threw the bottle out the window into the river.” “Therefore, I think it’s necessary to first attempt to reconstruct the original posture.” “And as for the corpse’s luminescence—Avrino’s *The Miracle Collection of Holy Monks* and…”

“So, monks are involved in murder now, are they?” Inspector Kumashiro feigned overt disinterest but suddenly grew fidgety and tried to pull something out from his coat pocket. Housui did not turn around, calling out over his shoulder, “By the way, Inspector Kumashiro—what about the fingerprints?” “If we’re talking about plausible explanations, there are countless.” “Moreover, when they moved the victim into this vacant room last night, they cleaned the bed and used a vacuum cleaner only on the floor.” “Unfortunately, there ended up being no footprints to speak of.”

“Hmm… I see.”

Having said that, Housui stopped before the dead-end wall. There, at approximately eye level for an average person, remained traces where something resembling a framed object had recently been removed—the marks imprinted with unnervingly fresh clarity. Yet when he turned back from there and returned to his original position, Housui—noticing something within the desk lamp—abruptly turned toward the prosecutor and said, “Prosecutor Hasekura, be so kind as to close the window.”

Prosecutor Hasekura looked bewildered but complied with his instruction, whereupon Housui—bathed once more in the corpse’s eerie glow—lit the desk lamp. It was only then that the prosecutor realized the bulb was a carbon filament type—nowadays nearly obsolete—and it was surmised these furnishings, likely hastily assembled for emergency use, had been stored away for years. Housui’s eyes traced the semicircle cast by the lampshade in that russet-tinged light before marking something on the floor about one shaku short of the wall where he’d found the frame’s imprint. The room reverted to its prior state as milky daylight streamed through the window. The prosecutor exhaled sharply toward the window—

“What on earth have you come up with?” “Well, even my own theory is rather shaky,” Housui said in a whimsical tone, “so I thought I’d try constructing someone invisible to the naked eye.” As he drew out the final syllables, Inspector Kumashiro thrust forward a single scrap of paper.

“With this, your fallacious theory will be shattered.” “There’s no need to go through such pains to construct such a fictional entity.” “Behold.” “Last night, an unimaginable figure had infiltrated this room.” “The moment she put that blood orange in her mouth, Madame Dannenberg knew and tried to inform us.”

Upon seeing the characters written on the scrap of paper, Housui felt as if his heart was gripped tightly.

Prosecutor Hasekura shouted rather in exasperation. “Thérèse! This is an automaton!” “That’s right,” Inspector Kumashiro murmured in a low, trembling voice. “If we connect this to that crest, no one could call it a hallucination anymore.” “Actually, it had fallen under the bed—but when I compared it with this memo,” Housui interjected, “I felt my entire body break out in goosebumps. The culprit must have undoubtedly used the automaton.” Housui continued to display his impulsive brand of cynicism,

“Ah, an earthen doll automaton combined with demonology—the culprit aims to critique humanity’s latent nature.” “But this script is uncommonly antiquated.” “It resembles either pseudo-archaic seal-script or Persian characters.” “But have you verified this as the victim’s own signature?” “Naturally,” Inspector Kumashiro shrugged, “that woman Kamiya Nobuko present when you arrived became my definitive authenticator.” “Now, Madame Dannenberg’s peculiar writing method was thus:” “She would grip the pencil’s midsection between her ring finger and pinky, tilt it diagonally, then clasp it between thumb and forefinger to write.” “Given this, her penmanship couldn’t be readily forged.” “Furthermore, this friction pattern aligns precisely with the pencil’s fractured tip.”

Prosecutor Hasekura shuddered violently, “Isn’t this a ghastly exposure of the dead?” “Even so, Mr. Housui—what about you?” “Hmm, must we really consider the automaton and the crest as inseparable?” Housui muttered with a troubled expression. “Since this room smacks of a locked room, I’d prefer to call it a hallucination if possible.” “But faced with reality, I find myself gradually being pulled in that direction.” “No—rather, if we examine the automaton, perhaps we can grasp something to unravel the crest’s mystery from its mechanical components.” “In any case, being shown nothing but these eerie will-o’-the-wisps one after another in pitch darkness…” “Isn’t this precisely when we’d want any light, no matter how faint?” “Anyway, let’s postpone interrogating the family and examine the automaton first.”

After it was decided they would proceed to the chamber containing the Automaton, they dispatched a plainclothes detective to fetch the keys—and soon enough, that detective returned in agitation.

“The keys appear to be missing—and the drug chamber’s too.”

“If we must, we’ll break it down,” Housui declared with resolve coloring his voice. “But that would mean we now have two chambers requiring investigation.” “The drug chamber too?” Prosecutor Hasekura exclaimed this time in surprise. “Potassium cyanide can be found even in an elementary schooler’s insect collection box, you know.” Housui rose without ceremony and began walking toward the door. “You see, that’s the criminal’s intelligence test.” “In other words, I suspect something remains in the drug chamber—where the keys vanished—to measure the depth of their scheme.”

The chamber containing the Thérèse Automaton was located behind the grand staircase, separated by one corridor, positioned directly behind the "Anatomical Diagram" at the dead end of a cul-de-sac corridor. When they reached the door, Housui furrowed his brow suspiciously and began scrutinizing the relief carving before him.

“This door bears what’s called ‘The Massacre of the Innocents by King Herod in Bethlehem.’” “Along with the Hunchback’s Treatment Illustration in the corpse chamber, these are two famous plates from the Gospel Book of Otto III.” “Then perhaps there’s some connection here...” He tilted his head slightly and tested the door with a push, but it refused to yield even a millimeter.

“There’s no need to hesitate. “Then we’ll just have to break it down.” When Inspector Kumashiro growled with feral intensity, Housui abruptly interjected,

“Having seen the relief carving, I suddenly felt it would be a waste.” “Moreover, since we shouldn’t leave traces through noise, why don’t we quietly cut through the lower part of the panel?”

Eventually, after crawling through the square hole opened at the base of the door, Housui turned on his flashlight. What the circular light revealed were only wall surfaces and floor—not a single piece resembling furniture made itself apparent. However, just as he was about to complete his circuit around the room from the right side, unexpectedly—the darkness split open on the wall slightly to the right of the door, right beside Housui. And then, with a whoosh of eerie air blowing forth from there, the profile of Thérèse Signoret appeared. The dread evoked by masks is something everyone has experienced. If, for instance, even in broad daylight you were to visit the framed altar hall of an old shrine and gaze upon a Noh mask hung on a latticed gable door, you would find yourself assailed by an eerie sensation—as if your entire body were being stroked upward against the grain. Moreover, given that Thérèse herself—who had imbued this case with such an eerie atmosphere—now loomed hazily out of the darkness in that soot-stained chamber, it was little wonder that in that instant, the three gasped sharply, their breath catching in their throats. A faint flash sparkled at the window, sharply delineating the armored door’s outline, and a distant rumble of thunder—like the shifting of the earth itself—crawled closer with a growl. In that ghastly atmosphere, Housui fixed his gaze intently and began scrutinizing the eerie humanoid form before him—Ah, this lifeless doll traversing the silent midnight corridor.

The location of the switch was determined, and the room brightened. The Thérèse Automaton was a wax-coated doll standing approximately five shaku five to six sun (about 167–168 cm) tall, clad in a bluish-blue skirt with lattice-patterned layered folds and a matching bodice. The impression from its sculpted face suggested not adorable charm but heretical beauty. Features like crescent-shaped Rubenesque eyebrows and upturned lips forming an “overturned boat” mouth—traditionally deemed licentious—strangely harmonized here with the rounded nose, expressing a maiden’s longing so intense it seemed to dissolve into air. Enveloped in an exquisite silhouette with cascading golden curls, it stood as an exact replica of Thérèse Signoret—the beauty of Trévillon Manor. The illuminated side of its face bore such vivid luster that veins seemed nearly visible beneath the surface—how starkly this clashed with its giant-like physique! To maintain balance, the torso below the shoulders had been constructed alarmingly large, with foot soles spanning roughly three times the width of an ordinary person’s. Housui maintained his forensic scrutiny without respite,

“It can only be thought of as a haniwa warrior or an Iron Maiden. They say this is Kopecký’s work, but rather than evoking Prague, the physique’s contours lean closer to Baden-Baden’s Hanswurst—those German marionettes.” “These austere lines contain boundless mysteries absent from other dolls.” “That Dr.Sakutetsu bypassed proper doll artisans to have this made as an oversized puppet—how quintessentially his style.”

“We can have you admire the automaton at your leisure later,” Inspector Kumashiro grimaced bitterly, “but more importantly—the lock’s been fastened from the inside.” “Hmm, isn’t this remarkable?” Housui countered. “Though surely you don’t mean to suggest this automaton moved through telekinetic will alone.” Upon seeing the ornamental key lodged in its keyhole, Prosecutor Hasekura appeared to shudder before crouching to trace footprints across the disordered floor—four large impressions near the doorway marking two round trips to the window, with only a single trail continuing to where Thérèse now stood. Yet what chilled them most was the absence of any human prints. When Prosecutor Hasekura emitted a shrill exclamation, Housui met it with a sardonic sneer—

“You’re rather unreliable.” “First, the culprit walks with the same stride as the automaton, then later makes it step on top of those footprints.” “Then wouldn’t that allow them to erase their own footprints?” “And from then on, all subsequent comings and goings would be made by walking over those footprints.” “However, if this automaton’s initial position last night wasn’t at the doorway, then we can say it didn’t take a single step out of this room all night.”

“Such idiotic evidence,” Inspector Kumashiro retorted in a voice straining to contain his irritation, “Where exactly can you prove the sequence of these footprints?”

“That’s Diluvial subtraction,” Housui retorted, “because if its initial position wasn’t at the doorway, the four footprints can’t be coherently explained. In other words, one of the two trails leading from the doorway to the window ends up being the last remaining. Now, let’s hypothesize that with the automaton initially positioned by the window—first exiting while stepping over their own footprints and then returning once more to its original position. In that case, then once again—this time—it must walk to the door to lower the key. However, as you can see, since it turns toward its current position at the door’s threshold, the remaining trail becomes entirely superfluous. So, if one round trip was made to erase the culprit’s footprints, why then did they have to return once more toward the window from that point? If they hadn’t placed it by the window, why couldn’t they have made the automaton lower the key?”

“The automaton locked the door⁉” Prosecutor Hasekura exclaimed in exasperation. “Who else could have done it?” Unconsciously, Housui’s tone grew heated. “But as for the method—it remains as uninspired as ever. "For ten years as if it were a single day, the culprit has been using a thread." “By the way, I think I’ll test what I’ve been considering.” And then, the key was first inserted into the door from the inside.

However, whether the success he had achieved about ten days prior in Zinaida’s Chamber at St. Alexei Monastery would indeed be repeated this time—that was gravely doubted. This was because the old-fashioned long-handled key protruded so far beyond the handle that reproducing the previous technique could scarcely be expected. While the two kept watch, Housui had a long thread prepared. He threaded it through the keyhole from outside, first winding it around the left side of the key’s loop, then scooped from below to entwine the right side, next hooked it from above onto the base of the loop’s left side, wrapped the excess around Prosecutor Hasekura’s torso, and let the end trail back through the keyhole to the corridor side. And then,

“First, let’s assume Mr. Hasekura as the automaton and suppose it walked here from the window. However, prior to that, the culprit had to perform precise measurements regarding the initial placement position of the automaton. In any case, they needed to ensure the left foot would come to a stop precisely at the threshold of the door. Because if the left foot stops at that position, even should the right foot then begin to move, it would be forced to halt midway at the threshold. Therefore, the remaining force would cause it to pivot on that foot, making the automaton’s left foot gradually retreat backward. And once it’s turned completely sideways, it then proceeds parallel to the door, you see.”

Then he had Kumashiro pull two threads outside the door and made the prosecutor walk toward the wall-mounted automaton. As they progressed past the door threshold with the key moving rearward, Housui had Kumashiro give a sharp tug on that side's thread. Prosecutor Hasekura's body pressed against the tensioned cord, pulling the loop's right side until the key began spinning swiftly. The instant the latch clicked shut, the thread snapped cleanly at the key's base. Soon after, Kumashiro emerged clutching both threads but released an anguished sigh,

“Mr. Housui, what a mysterious man you are.” “However, there is nothing that conclusively proves whether the automaton left this room or not.” “Even that one extra set of footprints—I still don’t think my analysis alone suffices to explain it,” Housui pressed his final point. Then, unhooking the clasp at the back of the garment, he opened the double doors and peered into the mechanical parts within the body. It was as intricately crafted as if dozens of clocks had been assembled. Amid countless gears of varying sizes arranged in layered rows, there was a complex rudder mechanism that operated automatically across multiple tiers. Thin brass rods moving various joints created a halo-like radiance of metallic lines, among which could be seen a spring-winding protrusion and a brake mechanism. Next, Inspector Kumashiro sniffed around the automaton’s entire body and began searching for fingerprints or handprints with a magnifying glass, but nothing seemed to catch his attention. Housui waited for this to conclude,

“Anyway, the automaton’s capabilities are strictly limited in scope.” “It walks, halts, waves its hands, grasps and releases objects—nothing beyond that.” “Even had it left this room, to imagine it carving those heraldic wounds would be pure delusion.” He delivered this ostensibly conclusive verdict—“Perhaps Mrs. Dannenberg’s handwriting now borders on hallucination too”—yet within him lingered an irrepressible doubt that eclipsed the automaton’s fading shadow. Housui proceeded,

“But Inspector Kumashiro—why did the culprit have to make it appear that the automaton lowered the key? Perhaps they were trying to layer mystery upon mystery onto the case, or maybe they wanted to flaunt their own superiority. However, if the goal was to emphasize the automaton’s mystery, wouldn’t it have been more effective to leave the door wide open and dab some citrus juice on its fingers rather than resorting to such petty tricks? Ah, why did the culprit leave me this thread and automaton mechanism as a gift?” He wore a look of tormented skepticism for a moment, then said while extinguishing the light in his eyes, “In any case, let’s try moving the automaton.”

Before long, the automaton began walking at an extremely slow speed, moving with its characteristic mechanical awkwardness. However, with each clunking step it took, a beautiful whispering tremolo—lilting, lilting—resounded. This was unmistakably the vibration of a metal wire—there must have been such a device somewhere within the automaton, resonating through the hollow of its body cavity. Thus, through Housui’s deductions, the delicate mechanism controlling the automaton had been left balanced on a knife’s edge—yet this newly heard sound now seemed poised to become the decisive key that would tip the scales. With this crucial discovery as their final act, the three of them departed the automaton’s chamber.

At first, Housui’s tone suggested they would next investigate the drug room downstairs, but he abruptly changed course and entered the arched corridor lined with ancient armor. And, standing at the doorway opening into the circular corridor, he began to fix his gaze intently forward. On the opposite side of the circular corridor, two astonishingly blasphemous frescoes occupied the wall surface. The one on the right depicted an Annunciation scene: a Virgin Mary of distinctly anemic countenance stood at the left edge, while Old Testament saints gathered to the right, all covering both eyes with their palms—and between them stood Jehovah, staring fixedly at the Virgin with lustful eyes. The left-hand painting—which one might call *The Morning After Calvary*—depicted a scene where, at the far right, a crucified Jesus rendered with meticulous lines showed postmortem rigidity, while toward him cowered apostles in timid, servile postures, fearfully drawing near. Housui, having taken out his tobacco, seemingly changed his mind and returned it to its case, then posed an outlandish question.

“Mr. Hasekura, do you know Bode’s Law—the one that expresses planetary distances through a simple multiplicative formula, excluding Neptune? If you do know it, how would you apply it here in this archway?” “Bode’s Law?!” Prosecutor Hasekura asked in return, startled by the bizarre question. Exchanging a bitter glance with Kumashiro over Housui’s increasingly inexplicable behavior, he continued, “So now you’ll have your wild theories about those two paintings criticized. What do you make of those scathing Biblical interpretations? That Feuerbach fellow who supposedly favors such paintings—I doubt he was some flowery rhetorician like you.”

However, Housui instead let slip a smile at Prosecutor Hasekura’s words. Then, upon exiting the arched corridor and returning to the room with the corpse, an astonishing report awaited them there. It was the fact that Head Waiter Kawanabe Ekusuke had disappeared without anyone noticing. Last night, he had been attending to Mrs. Dannenberg alongside the librarian Kuga Chinako, which had made Inspector Kumashiro deeply suspicious. Precisely because of this, upon learning of Ekusuke’s disappearance, he began rubbing his hands together with evident satisfaction,

“So, since my interrogation ended at ten-thirty, that means the forensics team went to collect palm prints from then until now at one o’clock. Oh yes, Mr. Housui,” he pointed at the two statues beside the door, “they say these were modeled after Ekusuke. I’ve known about this all along.” “That’s what role that hunchbacked dwarf was playing in this case—” “But what an utter fool he is.” “That fool doesn’t realize his own circus-like features.”

Housui had been watching the other man disdainfully all the while but merely hinted at a dissenting view with a single “I wonder about that” before walking toward the statues. Standing before the hunchback positioned back-to-back with the lawgiver’s seated statue, he remarked, “Well now, this hunchback has been healed. Isn’t this a strange coincidence? In the door’s relief carving, they are receiving treatment from Jesus, yet upon entering inside, they have completely recovered.” He declared with intense force in his final words, “And that man is almost certainly mute by now.” Then his expression suddenly turned as if struck by a chill, and a nervous tension manifested in his demeanor.

However, the statue remained unchanged; the hunchback with its flat, oversized head merely continued to wear a cunning smile in the narrow downward slant of its eyes. In the meantime, Prosecutor Hasekura—who had been writing something—beckoned Housui over and showed him a slip of paper on the desk. On it, the prosecutor’s questions were written in the following itemized format.

1. It is said that Housui learned a servant heard a sound on the grand staircase—one that should have been inaudible under normal circumstances. What is your conclusion? 2. What did Housui see in the archway? 3. Why did Housui light the desk lamp and measure the floor? 4. Why does Housui struggle to apply a paradoxical interpretation to the key of the Thérèse Automaton’s room? 5. Why does Housui not expedite interrogating the family? Upon finishing reading, Housui smiled faintly, drew lines beneath items 1, 2, and 5 to mark them as answered, and appended: *Should fortune’s one-in-a-million favor grace me, we may yet uncover someone who can identify the culprit* (second or third incident)— When Prosecutor Hasekura looked up in astonishment, Housui added a sixth question with a heading: —Under what imperative did the armored samurai statues have to abandon their post at the staircase’s base?

“But you’ve already—” Prosecutor Hasekura retorted with wide eyes, but at that moment the door quietly opened, and Kuga Chinako, the librarian who had been summoned first, entered.

III. The Bioluminescence Without Cause

Kuga Chinako’s age was thought to be fifty-two or fifty-three, but she was a woman who possessed an elegance of appearance unlike any ever before witnessed. The exquisitely delicate lines of her face—as though chiseled to perfection—could only be described as a countenance of rare and dignified bearing. Whenever those features tensed, there emerged from this elderly woman an unyielding iron will, creating the impression that flickering flames were leaping forth from within her reclusive and tranquil shadow. Above all else, Housui found himself overwhelmed by this woman’s spiritual profundity and the solemn pressure that seemed to exude from her entire being.

“You must be wondering why there are so few furnishings in this room.”

Chinako’s first spoken words were these.

“It’s been vacant until now, hasn’t it?” Prosecutor Hasekura interjected.

“Rather than say that, it would be better to call it the Unopened Room,” Chinako curtly corrected him, lighting a thin cigarette she had retrieved from her obi. “In truth, you may have already heard of this, but those unnatural deaths—they all occurred three times consecutively in this room.” “Therefore, following Dr. Sakutetsu’s suicide as the final incident, it was decided to permanently seal this room.” “It is said that only this statue and bed were furnishings existing prior to that time, but...”

“Unopened Room.” Housui wore a complicated expression. “Why was the Unopened Room opened last night?”

“It was Madame Dannenberg’s order.” “Her terrified heart could not help but seek its final refuge here last night,” began Chinako with words shrouded in chilling air, first describing the bizarre atmosphere that had swelled imposingly throughout the mansion.

“Since Dr. Sakutetsu’s passing, every member of the family has lost their composure.” “Until then, the four foreign residents who had never once quarreled gradually spoke less and less, their gestures of mutual caution growing more pronounced with each passing day.” “And since the beginning of this month, everyone has come to rarely leave their rooms, with Madame Dannenberg’s condition in particular seeming almost deranged.” “Besides myself or Ekusuke—whom she trusted—she ceased allowing even meals to be delivered to anyone else.”

“As for the cause of that terror, have you arrived at any interpretation?” “If it were personal strife, that would be one matter, but those four individuals should have no issue of inheritance.”

“Even if the cause remains unknown, it is indeed certain that those individuals felt their lives were in danger.” “As for this atmosphere having intensified since the beginning of the month—”

“Well, if I were Swedenborg or John Wesley—” Chinako said sarcastically, naming the founder of Methodism in parentheses would disrupt her ironic tone. The original parenthetical is part of narration, not her speech. “One cannot fathom how Madame Dannenberg wracked her mind trying to escape those—malicious forces.” “And thus, through Madame Dannenberg’s own guidance, last night’s Divine Judgment assembly took form.”

“What is Divine Judgment?” To Prosecutor Hasekura, Chinako’s all-black kimono loomed with visceral intensity.

“Dr.Sakutetsu left behind something unusual.” “One of the Mecklenburg magics—a pickled wrist from a hanged corpse was dried. Then upon each finger of this Hand of Glory, they erected corpse-fat candles made from a hanged criminal’s fat.” “And when one lights them, those with wicked hearts will have their bodies stiffen and lose consciousness—or so it is said.” “The assembly began at precisely nine o’clock last night.” “The attendees were Lord Hatatarou—the household head—along with four others, myself, and Ms.Kamiya Nobuko.” “Though Madame Oshigane—Tsutako—had been lodging here for some time, she departed at dawn yesterday.”

“And who did that light pierce?” “That person was none other than Madame Dannenberg herself,” Chinako uttered in a hushed voice that sent shudders through the air. “That unparalleled light belonged neither to day nor night.” As they began burning with a creaking, wheezing rasp, within the spreading flames emerged a sinister bluish-gray mass that flickered and writhed. As each candle was lit one by one, we completely lost awareness of our surroundings and felt ourselves soundlessly floating upward into emptiness. “Yet when all were finally lit—that became the suffocating moment when breath itself seemed to choke us.” At that instant, Madame Dannenberg glared ahead with a monstrous visage—what dreadful words she must have screamed! “There was something undeniably reflected in her eyes.”

“What was it?” “Ah, Sakutetsu—” she cried out. “The moment she did, she collapsed with a thud right there.” “What? Sakutetsu, you say⁉” Though Housui momentarily paled, he continued, “But that irony is far too theatrical. To think she tried to expose evil among six others only to be struck down herself.” “In any case,” he declared coldly, returning to his true self, “let me relight the Hand of Glory myself. Then we’ll see what becomes of Dr. Sakutetsu...”

“Then do you suppose those six people will return to their own vomit like dogs—is that your grand theory?” Chinako retorted with searing irony, invoking Peter’s words. “And,” she continued, “the fact that I am not a mere spiritual enthusiast is something you will gradually come to understand.” “Now, though Madame Dannenberg soon regained consciousness—her face drained of blood and sweat pouring like a waterfall—it finally arrived.” “Ah, tonight is surely—!” she uttered in a trembling voice, writhing despairingly. “And then, she commanded that Ekusuke and I accompany her to this room.” “It had to be a room whose layout was unknown to anyone—such was her desperate sentiment to evade the terror closing in that I could clearly discern.” “That was around ten o’clock, I believe—and indeed, within that very night, Madame Dannenberg’s terror was realized.”

“But what could have made her cry out ‘Sakutetsu’?” Housui repeated his doubts. “In truth, a note where Madame wrote ‘Thérèse’ in her final moments had fallen beneath the bed.” “Therefore, it must have been some physiological trigger for hallucinations, or perhaps a mental disturbance...” “Incidentally, have you read Vurufen?”

At that moment, a mysterious gleam appeared in Chinako’s eyes,

“Indeed, the fifty-year-old degeneration theory is certainly one hypothesis at this point.” “Moreover, there are epileptic seizures that aren’t externally visible.” “However, at that time, she was as precise as if fully lucid,” she declared firmly, then continued, “After that, Madame remained asleep until around 11 PM. When she awoke, she said her throat was parched, so at that moment, Ekusuke brought that fruit plate from the hall.” As she spoke, she noticed Inspector Kumashiro’s eyes darting sharply.

“Ah, you remain as nitpicky as ever.” “You want to ask whether that Western orange was present at the time, don’t you?” “However, human memory isn’t something so conveniently available to you all.” “First of all, while I don’t believe I slept at all last night, there’s something whispering from the sidelines that I might have dozed off even a bit.” “Indeed, this too aligns with the pattern.” “It seems the people throughout the mansion—one and all—report having slept unusually soundly last night,” Housui finally forced a wry smile. “Now, regarding eleven o’clock—I hear someone came at that time?”

“Ah, Lord Hatatarou and Ms. Nobuko came to check on her condition.” “However, Madame Dannenberg requested something to drink rather than the fruit, so Ekusuke brought lemonade.” “Then Madame Dannenberg—ever cautious—commanded that it be tested for poison.” “Hah! What terrifying vigilance.” “Then who performed it?” “It was Ms. Nobuko.” “Madame Dannenberg appeared reassured upon witnessing this—so much so that she had her cup changed three times over.” “Afterward, as she seemed to have fallen asleep, Lord Hatatarou removed the portrait of Thérèse from the bedroom wall and departed with Ms. Nobuko, the two carrying it away.” “No—Thérèse is regarded as an ill-omened specter within these walls, and since Madame Dannenberg particularly detested her, Lord Hatatarou’s discernment in this matter may well be deemed an act of most astute consideration.”

“However, since there are no hiding places worth mentioning in the bedroom, that portrait likely has no connection to the doll,” Prosecutor Hasekura interjected from the side. “More importantly, what about that leftover drink?” “It must have already been washed,” came the reply. “Though if you ask such questions, Hermann—the nineteenth-century toxicologist—would scoff.” Chinako’s face flushed with undisguised mockery. “If that isn’t sufficient, shall I inquire about the name of the neutralizer that would nullify the cyanide? One can hardly drink basic substances precipitated by tannin alongside tea using sugar or plaster.” “Then when midnight struck, Madame Dannenberg had the door locked, placed the key beneath her pillow, ordered fruit to be brought, and took that Western orange. When taking the orange, she said nothing at all. Afterward, with no sound to suggest anything but deep slumber, we placed a sofa behind the screen and lay down upon it.”

“Then—before or after that moment—was there a faint bell-like sound…?” When met with Chinako’s denial, Prosecutor Hasekura tossed aside his tobacco and muttered.

“So with the portrait gone, does this mean Madame Dannenberg saw a hallucination of Thérèse after all? If this becomes a perfect locked room, we’ll face an irreconcilable contradiction with the heraldic crest.”

“That’s right, Prosecutor Hasekura,” Housui said quietly. “I have discovered an even more subtle contradiction. When what had been assembled in the automaton’s chamber earlier returned to this room, it suddenly inverted. Though called a sealed chamber, in truth there had been something that perpetually came and went here over time. The unmistakable evidence remains.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Inspector Kumashiro exclaimed in shock. “The keyhole was caked with decades of rust—when they first tried opening it, the key wouldn’t catch in the lock, I tell you.” “And unlike the doll’s chamber, this latch works on a rock-solid spring mechanism. No way you could yank it with strings. Plus, we already checked with an echo detector—no hidden floor doors either.”

“That’s why you laughed when I said earlier the spinal deformity was being treated.” Housui led everyone before the statue. “Why would nature ever leave traces where human eyes might catch them? Generally in cases of childhood-onset spinal curvature, the upper ribs become uneven, forming shapes like prayer beads—but where on this statue can such features be seen? Just try brushing off this thick dust.”

And then, the dust layer slid down like an avalanche. Choking while covering their faces, yet the group’s widened eyes unmistakably detected it upon the statue’s first rib. “Then there must have been something that leveled the protruding dust on these prayer beads.” “But no matter how precise an instrument you use, this isn’t something human hands could accomplish.” “It’s nature’s delicate handiwork.” “Just as wind and water sculpt colossal statues from rock over millennia, during the three years this figure was sealed away, its hunched spine became corrected.” “The intruder who frequented this chamber always left a hand candle burning on this stand.” “Though they might erase physical traces, from that moment emerged a symbolic voice.” “The flame’s tremors stirred faint air currents—bit by bit dislodging dust from the most precarious beads.” “Don’t you agree, Prosecutor Hasekura? If you listen closely...can’t you hear it? A beautiful chisel’s rhythm, like cicadas singing in tea fields?” “Incidentally, there’s a Verlaine verse that…”

“I see,” Prosecutor Hasekura hurriedly interrupted, “but those two years’ span cannot be said to substantiate what transpired last night.”

At once, Housui turned to Kumashiro and said, “You likely didn’t inspect beneath the Coptic fabric.” “In the first place, what could possibly be under there?” Inspector Kumashiro’s eyes went wide as he shouted. “However, what we might call dead points are by no means limited to the retina or acoustics alone.”

“Freeman inserts special shell powder through the gaps in the weave,” Housui said quietly as he rolled up the fabric. There, on the floor—invisible from directly above—faintly peculiar traces began to emerge as the number of inlaid wheel patterns increased. What remained upon the striped grains of the colored marble and haze wood was unmistakably a trail marked by water. The entirety formed an oval shape about two shaku (approximately 60 centimeters) in length—a hazy, clustered mass. Yet upon closer inspection, the periphery was encircled by countless dots, within which lines and points of varied shapes crowded together. And they, in a footprint-like shape, alternately headed toward the drapery, gradually fading as they progressed.

“It seems restoring the original form will be quite difficult.” “Thérèse’s feet aren’t this big either,” Inspector Kumashiro said, thoroughly bewildered. “In short, we simply need to examine the negative image,” Housui declared succinctly. “The Coptic fabric isn’t adhered to the floor, and furthermore, since the haze wood contains a large amount of palmitic acid, it has water-repellent properties.” “Water that seeped from the surface to the back drips from the cilia, and if what lies beneath is haze wood, the water forms droplets and scatters.” “And due to that reaction, as the cilia gradually shift their positions, after dripping multiple times, they will eventually move from the haze wood to the marble.” “Therefore, by tracing backward along the line farthest from the center on the marble and connecting the points where it met the haze wood, what you obtain will be nearly equivalent to the original line.” “In other words, using water droplets as the keys of a Western harp, the fibers danced a rondo.”

“I see,” Prosecutor Hasekura nodded, “but what on earth is this water?” “But last night, there wasn’t a single drop—” As Ms. Kuga spoke, Housui chuckled in amusement. “Ah, but that’s the ancient tale of Lord Kino Haseo—where the ogre’s daughter turned into water and vanished.” However, Housui’s jest was by no means mere idle banter for the occasion. When Inspector Kumashiro compared the prototype thus created with the Thérèse Automaton’s footprints and stride length, a remarkable correspondence became apparent there. Through repeated conjectures—even as it flickered strangely and emerged by treading upon water of unknowable form—the automaton could now be nothing but an irrefutable fact. And so, between the ironclad door and that beautiful tremulous sound, an even greater contradiction had come to lie. Thus, amid the billowing tobacco smoke and ceaseless emergence of mysteries—even without these—the prosecutor seemed to have grown thoroughly flushed in the already suffocating tension. After opening a window and returning, Housui sat down once more, gazing at the white smoke that streamed outward.

“By the way, Ms. Kuga—even if we set aside discussion of the three past incidents for now—why is this room filled with such allegorical elements? Isn’t that Legislator statue also a clear suggestion of the labyrinth? That was indeed discovered by Mariette at the entrance of the labyrinth in the necropolis.” “That labyrinth is likely a foreshadowing of events yet to unfold,” Kuga Chinako said quietly. “Probably even the last one will be killed.”

Housui was taken aback and stared at her face for some time.

“No—at least three incidents...” he echoed Kuga’s words with feverish intonation, then pressed, “Then it follows, Ms. Kuga, that you remain drunk on memories of last night’s Divine Judgment.”

"That is but a single testimony." "I had already foreseen that this incident would occur." "Shall I attempt to pinpoint it?" "The corpse is likely enveloped in an immaculate radiance." For Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro—who had been left dumbfounded by the two’s bizarre exchange of riddles—it was nothing short of a bolt from the blue. How does this old woman alone know of that miracle which no one should have been aware of? Chinako continued to speak. But this was a blade-like interrogation aimed at Housui.

“By the way, are you aware of any instances where a corpse emitted radiance?” “Bishop Water, Aletheo, Maximus the Dialectician, Saint Raker of Aragon… I believe there were about four more.” “However, those are ultimately nothing more than the wicked deeds of miracle peddlers,” Housui coldly retorted. “Then, I take it you have no interpretation worthy of elucidation?” “And what of the December 1872 Inverness Pastor Corpse-Light Incident?”

(Note: *West District Asylum Medical Journal*). Pastor Walkut, accompanied by his wife Abigail and friend Steven, went on an outing to Lake Katrin—a glacial lake near Steven’s brick factory. However, Steven vanished on the third day. When Pastor Walkut and his wife ventured onto the lake under the January 11 moonlight the following year, they never returned that night. Around midnight, four or five villagers discovered the pastor’s corpse—distant on the lake, radiant with glory after moonset in the rain—but out of terror, they waited until dawn. The pastor had been murdered, with a fatal gunshot wound entering the cranial cavity from the left side, though no firearm was discovered. His corpse lay within a depression on the ice surface—thereafter showing no further radiance—while his wife vanished that very night, ultimately disappearing without trace alongside Steven.

Housui responded to Chinako’s derision with a slightly roughened tone. “I interpret it as follows—the pastor committed suicide and killed the other two.” “Now, to explain this in order: first, the pastor killed Steven and placed his corpse inside a high-temperature idle brick kiln to accelerate decomposition.” “Then, during that time, he crafted a lightweight boat-shaped coffin with countless small holes drilled into it, placed the corpse inside after confirming sufficient decomposition, attached a weight with a long string, and sank it to the bottom of the lake.” “Naturally, within a few days, as decomposition gas distended the abdomen, the boat-shaped coffin would inevitably float upward.” “Thereupon, that night, the pastor measured the position from the weight, broke through the ice, pierced the corpse’s abdomen through the coffin’s small holes floating on the water’s surface to release the gas, and set it alight.” “As you are aware, since decomposition gas contains a large amount of low-heat combustible matter akin to marsh gas, its phosphorescence erased the shadows formed by moonlight around the hole’s edge, causing the wife—mid-slide—to plummet into it.” “In all likelihood, underwater, she writhed and struggled to push aside the boat-shaped coffin above her head, but in the end, her strength gave out, and the wife sank deep into the lakebed.” “And so, after the pastor shot himself in the temple, dropped the pistol onto the coffin, and collapsed upon it, it was only natural that the villagers mistook his phosphorescence-shrouded corpse for a manifestation of divine radiance.” “As the gas diminished, the boat-shaped coffin lost its buoyancy and sank onto the corpse of his wife Abigail lying at the bottom of the lake, still bearing the pistol, while the pastor’s body—its limbs supported by the ice walls—remained on the ice surface until eventually, in the rain, a layer of ice spread across the water’s expanse.” “The motive was likely an affair between his wife and Steven, but to use his lover’s corpse to seal the hole—what a devilish act of revenge.” “However, Madame Dannenberg’s case is not such a disorderly witnessed phenomenon.”

When she finished listening, Chinako showed a faint look of surprise but otherwise did not change her complexion, taking out a high-quality scroll-shaped paper folded in two from her pocket.

“Please take a look.” “This, drawn by Dr. Sakutetsu, is the malevolent entity of Kuroshikikan.” “The radiance was not released without cause.” On it, an Egyptian ship was depicted on the folded right side, while on the left side, within each of six divisions, Dr. Sakutetsu himself stood adorned with a square halo, gazing at an unusual corpse lying nearby. And beneath these were recorded the six names from Gretä Dannenberg down to Ekusuke, while on the reverse side was written the following verses prophesying terrifying murder methods. (See diagram.)

Gretä shall be killed while shining with radiance.

Ottokarl shall be hanged and killed. Galibalda shall be inverted and killed. Olga shall be killed with her eyes covered.

Hatatarou shall be killed while floating in mid-air. Ekusuke shall be crushed and killed. "This is truly a terrifying apocalyptic vision," Housui said, his voice trembling. "The square halo was indeed a symbol of the survivors." "And I believe that boat-shaped structure represents the mysterious ship of the dead that the Ancient Egyptians envisioned in their afterlife," he continued, whereupon Ms. Kuga nodded with a grave expression.

“That is correct.” “It floats in Lotus Lake without a single sailor aboard. When the dead board it, every mechanism in that vessel begins moving autonomously according to their commanding will.” “In what sense do you interpret the relationship between the square halo and the deceased before us?” “To put it plainly, Dr. Sakutetsu continues living eternally within these walls.” “And that very ship of the dead—which moves by his will alone—is what we call the Thérèse Automaton.”

Part II: Faust’s Incantation

1. Undinus sich winden (Water spirit, writhe!) The six-panel apocalyptic diagram presented by Kuga Chinako, though containing brutal and merciless content, was rendered through exceedingly archaic linework in a most whimsical form. Yet there was no doubt it formed the very foundation of every element in this case. Should they err in their dissection at this critical juncture, this formidable barrier would still manifest even after thousands of interrogations and examinations. And it was clear this would halt all progress on the spot. Thus even as Ms. Kuga appended her astonishing interpretation, Housui remained with chin resting against chest, deep in silent contemplation as if asleep—though the inner torment he wrestled with seemed to transcend all his prior experience. In truth, this was a murder case without any perpetrator—the diagrammatic method correlating Egyptian barge with corpse figures proved utterly irrefutable. Yet against all expectations, when he soon regained his composure, vitality visibly surged across his countenance as a ferocious expression rose to the surface.

“I understand… but Ms. Kuga, this diagram’s principle contains no trace of such Swedenborgian theology (in *Apocalypse Explained* and *Arcana Coelestia*, Swedenborg employed egregiously forced numerological readings in his literal interpretations of Exodus and the Book of Revelation, thereby contriving those two scriptures into prophecies of numerous historical cataclysms in later ages.). What appears mad is, rather, an orderly logical form. Furthermore, the geometric theory of spatial structures that pervades all phenomena also serves here as the absolute and unchanging unit. Therefore, if we can symmetrically compare this diagram to the laws of the cosmic natural world, there must inevitably be something abstracted from it,” declared Housui, venturing into what could only be described as an unprecedented realm of super-empirical deduction—a move that left even Prosecutor Hasekura dumbfounded. While mathematical logic may be considered the guiding principle of all laws, even in the ‘Bishop Murder Case,’ the Riemann-Christoffel tensor was nothing more than a symbolic representation of criminal concepts. Yet Housui now attempted to apply this very framework to practical crime analysis, venturing into a desolate realm of abstract thought...

“Ah, I…” Ms. Kuga sneered derisively. “So, I recalled the story of that foolish science student who, after attending a lecture on Lorentz contraction, drew a distorted straight line.” “Then, would you kindly provide an analytical representation of Minkowski’s four-dimensional world with the addition of a fourth volume—a void within three-dimensional space where only spiritual matter can permeate—?”

Housui flicked away the derision with a glance from the corner of his eye, first admonishing Chinako before continuing, “Now, if we speak of the most resplendent page in the history of cosmological structural inference, it would undoubtedly be that hypothetical duel—the debate between Einstein and de Sitter concerning spatial curvature.” “At that time, de Sitter insisted it depended on the inherent geometric properties of space while simultaneously refuting Einstein’s anti-solar theory.” “But Ms. Kuga, when you contrast those two,” he declared with words that seemed almost mad, “the main current of the apocalyptic diagram emerges right there.” As he spoke, he began sketching the next diagram to explain.

“Now, beginning with this anti-solar theory—Einstein states that light rays emitted from the sun travel around the edge of a spherical universe and return to their original point.” “Then, for that reason, when they first reach the limit of the universe, they create the first image there. After continuing their journey for millions of years around the sphere’s outer circumference, when they arrive this time at the opposing point behind them, they create the second image there.” “However, by that time, the sun will have already perished, reduced to nothing more than a dark star.” “In other words, there exists no entity in the world of celestial existence that symmetrically corresponds to that image.” “What do you think, Ms. Kuga? Even though the entity has perished, images from the past appear—doesn’t that causal relationship precisely mirror the one between Dr. Sakutetsu and the six deceased individuals in this case?” “Indeed, one is an ångström—one ten-millionth of a millimeter—and the other a million trillion *ri*. But even that contrast amounts to nothing more than a minuscule line segment within the space of the cosmos.” “Then, de Sitter revised the theory as follows.” “He inferred that as spiral nebulae grow more distant and their spectral lines shift toward red, the vibration period of light consequently slows.” “As a result, when approaching the universe’s limit, the speed of light becomes zero, and all progression comes to an abrupt halt.” “Therefore, the image reflected at the edge of the universe is only one, and it likely does not differ from the actual entity.” “Therefore, we had to select the principle of the apocalyptic diagram from between those two theories.”

“Ah, this is enough to drive a man mad,” Kumashiro muttered while scratching off dandruff vigorously. “Well then, shall we descend from these heavenly lotus platforms?” Housui smiled wryly at Kumashiro’s sarcasm but proceeded to state his conclusion.

“Of course, moving beyond solar pneumatology, we must transpose de Sitter’s theory onto human physiology.” “Then, even after crossing the universe’s radius over a long period of time, the entity and its image do not differ—what does this principle signify within human physiology?” “For example, if there were a pathological latent substance there that neither grows nor decays from its inception until life’s end, maintaining an unchanging form…”

“You mean…” “That is the unique constitution,” Housui declared defiantly. “Within it, there may be conditions such as myocardial hypertrophy or even sagittal suture synostosis of the dura mater. However, the fact that it can be symmetrically abstracted means that even within human physiology, the laws of nature are circulating. In fact, the Constitutional Humorism school is attempting to introduce physiological phenomena into the realm of thermodynamics. Therefore, attributing mysterious power to Dr. Sakutetsu—who is nothing more than an inorganic entity—or imagining telepathic capabilities in the automaton are ultimately nothing but the culprit’s cunning diversionary tactics. Probably, even this diagram’s ship of the dead holds no meaning beyond the progression of time.”

Unique Constitution— Kumashiro—who had been captivated solely by the brilliant sparks of their debate and had never even dreamed in his wildest imagination that behind it lay such a ghastly-hued flint—nervously wiped the sweat from his palms,

“Ah, that explains it—” “So you’re including Ekusuke even beyond the family members—” “That’s right, Inspector Kumashiro,” Housui nodded with satisfaction. “Therefore, the enigma lies not in the essence of the diagram itself, but rather in the will of its creator.” “However, no matter how you look at it, this medical fantasy cannot be mere fragmentary, well-intentioned warnings.” “But isn’t this form exceedingly whimsical?” objected the prosecutor. “With that, even the blatant hints have turned into a complete joke.” “I don’t sense even a trace of an atmosphere that fosters crime,” he protested, but Housui methodically laid out his theory.

“Certainly, whimsy and metaphor are undeniably a form of physiological catharsis—but...” “However, for humans without an outlet for their emotions, it becomes an unparalleled danger.” “Fundamentally, humans—creatures confined to a single world and a single concept—when presented with an object of interest, become obsessively fixated upon it and seek resonance in an inverted form.” “But this perverse psychology—if the essence of this diagram were reflected in it, that would mark the end, and observation would instantly twist.” “And then, it shifts from style to personal experience.” “In other words, from comedy to tragedy.” “Then one begins pursuing traces of natural selection like a madman, until nothing remains but cold-blooded hunting psychology.” “So Hasekura—though I’m no Thorndike—I find thunderclaps and moonless nights more dreadful than malaria or yellow fever.”

“Well, criminal symptomatology…” Chinako demonstrated her customary cynicism. “I had always thought such things were only necessary for momentary intuition. Now, regarding Ekusuke—he is practically like a member of the family. Unlike someone like myself who has only been here seven years, though he is a servant, he has been raised under Dr. Sakutetsu’s care from childhood until today at forty-four. Moreover, this diagram was naturally not listed in any index, and I can assert that it absolutely never came to anyone’s attention. Buried beneath dusty, unsorted books that no one has laid a hand on since Dr. Sakutetsu’s passing—even I knew nothing of its existence until the end of last year. Then, if we accept that the culprit’s plan originated from this apocalyptic diagram exactly as per your theory, calculating the culprit—no, this subtraction—would not be at all simple.”

This mysterious old woman suddenly assumed an attitude that was revealing yet inscrutable. Housui appeared momentarily flustered but swiftly recovered his urbane manner, "Then—how many infinity symbols should we append to this calculation?" he posed before delivering an astonishing declaration. "However, I suspect even the culprit didn't require this diagram alone." "Aren't you acquainted with the other half?"

“Another half… Who would believe such delusions?!” Chinako cried out in a hysterical voice, and for the first time, Housui revealed his hypersensitive nerves. What was being released from the folds of Housui’s intuitive thinking—whether in his reading of the apocalyptic diagram or other aspects—had already surpassed the sensory limits of humanity.

“Well then, if you are unaware, I shall enlighten you.” “You may consider this nothing but a fanciful notion, but in truth, this diagram is merely a bisected half-sheet.” “Beyond the mere representation of six figures, it holds a profound inner meaning.” Kumashiro, startled, was folding and fitting the various edges of the diagram when he said, “Housui, enough with the jokes.” “It has a wide blade-like shape, but the line is extremely precise.” “Where exactly are the traces of it having been cut afterward?”

“Ah, there’s nothing of the sort.” Housui declared offhandedly and pointed to the apocalyptic diagram shaped like the katakana “ノ” character. “This form constitutes a symbolic language.” “The secrets of the dead are inherently insidious—their very methods become thoroughly distorted.” “As you observe, this diagram’s overall shape resembles a stone knife blade from the Neolithic Age.” “Yet its diagonally truncated upper right corner holds profound significance.” “Of course, this would mean nothing had Dr. Sakutetsu lacked archaeological expertise—but we find matching forms among pre-hieroglyphic characters from Narmer-Menes dynasty pyramid texts.” “First, consider why the doctor felt compelled to confine his drawing within such an unnaturally cramped form.”

Then, after drawing a ノ-shaped figure in pencil on the margin of the apocalyptic diagram, “Inspector Kumashiro, if this ½ represents an ancient Egyptian fractional numeral, then my conjectures aren’t entirely delusional after all,” he concluded tersely, then said to Chinako. “Of course, there is no guarantee that symbolic forms appearing in a dead language will never have an opportunity to be corrected.” “However, until then, I wish to avoid determining the culprit from this diagram alone.”

Meanwhile, Chinako was gazing listlessly into space, yet her eyes blazed with an intense fervor to pursue the truth. Unlike Housui's crystalline realm of beautiful thought, she relentlessly amassed weighty elements steeped in ominous shadows, striving to illuminate empirical depths. "Well, originality isn't exactly commonplace, is it?" she muttered as if to herself before resuming her usual icy expression and fixing her gaze on Housui. "Therefore, it's only natural that reality lacks illusion's splendor. But what would you do if someone actually witnessed that square halo and ship of the dead—not merely some Ham tribe funerary monument?"

“If that were you, I would have Hasekura prosecute,” Housui replied unfazed. “No, it’s Ekusuke.” Chinako calmly responded. “About fifteen minutes before Madame Dannenberg partook of the blood orange, Ekusuke left the room for approximately ten minutes around that time.” “That’s what emerged when they questioned him afterward.” “It was apparently during the height of the Divine Judgment ceremony. At that moment, as Ekusuke stood upon the stone pavement of the back entrance, something suddenly caught his eye in the central area of the second floor.” “He claimed that in the bay window adjacent to where the ceremony was being held—where there seemed to be someone present—a pitch-black figure was moving with eerie unease.” “Then there was apparently a faint sound of something being dropped on the ground at that moment. He said he grew so unbearably curious that he simply had to go investigate.” “However, what Ekusuke discovered proved to be nothing more than glass fragments scattered across the vicinity.”

“Then, did you inquire about the route Ekusuke took to reach that location?” “No,” Chinako shook her head, “and Ms. Nobuko brought water from the adjacent room the moment Madame Dannenberg collapsed. Beyond that, not a single other person left their seat.” “Having said this much, you should understand why I maintain this foolish obsession with the apocalyptic diagram.” “Of course, that figure was not among the six of us. That said, the servants are not within the culprit’s sphere.” “Therefore, it stands to reason that not a single piece of evidence remains in this case.”

Chinako’s testimony summoned a chilling wind once more. Housui gazed at the crimson tip of his cigarette for a while, then eventually formed a mischievous smile and,

“I see. However, even an error-prone professor like Nicol managed to say something astute here.” “In the blood of tuberculosis patients lie elements that induce cerebral delirium—or so he claimed.”

“Oh, must you always…” Chinako began with an exasperated cry, but swiftly regained her composure. “Then take this… If this paper fragment had been lying atop the glass, it would lend form to Ekusuke’s testimony,” she declared, producing an object from her pocket. It was a torn edge of stationery soiled by rain and mud, upon which the following German phrase had been inscribed in black ink: Undinus sich winden

“With this, there’s no way to discern the handwriting.” “These crab-like Gosonic letters...” Housui initially muttered in disappointment, but even as the words left his lips, his eyes lit up. “Oh! There’s an intriguing alteration here.” “Originally, this line read ‘Undine, oh twist...’—but here, they’ve appended ‘us’ to the feminine ‘Undine,’ transforming it into the masculine form.” “However, do you know the source of this quotation?” “Also, verify whether Grimm’s *On Ancient German Poetic Masterpieces* or Feist’s *Collection of German Linguistic Sources* exists within this mansion’s library.”

“Regrettably, I am not aware of that.” “Regarding the linguistic matter, I shall inform you later,” Chinako replied with unexpected frankness, waiting for Housui’s interpretation of the passage to emerge. Yet he remained with eyes fixed on the paper scrap, making no move to speak. In that calculated silence, Inspector Kumashiro struck:

“In any case, Ekusuke’s visit to that location holds far greater significance.” “Now, lay everything out without holding back.” “That man has already shown his hand.” “Now, as for other facts, it’s probably this one,” Chinako said in her usual sarcastic tone. “All it amounts to is that I was alone in this room during that time.” “But if I’m going to be suspected anyway, it would be better to be accused first… No, because in most cases, things end up amounting to nothing in the end.” “Furthermore, though Ms. Nobuko and Madame Dannenberg had an argument about two hours before the Divine Judgment meeting began, those various matters have no bearing whatsoever on the essence of this case.” “First of all, even Ekusuke’s disappearance is no different from your earlier Lorentz contraction theory.” "That perverse psychology resembling a science student’s was created by your coercive interrogation."

“Does it really come to that?” Housui muttered languidly, raising his face—yet an oppressive shadow lingered about him, as if privately harboring some latent possibility. Nevertheless, he addressed Chinako in a courteous tone.

“In any case, I am grateful for your compiling these diverse materials. However, when it comes to the conclusions drawn, I find them utterly regrettable. Even your splendid deductive reasoning ultimately strikes me as nothing more than what one might call a mere semblance. Therefore, even if the automaton were to appear before my eyes, I would regard it as nothing more than a hallucination. First of all, the whereabouts of such a non-biological force remain unclear.”

“You will come to understand it gradually,” Chinako said with a tone pressing for final confirmation. “In truth, within Dr. Sakutetsu’s diary—specifically the March 10th entry of last year, the month before he took his own life—there is a passage that reads as follows: ‘I sought the hidden power that must be concealed and obtained it; thus on this day did I burn the grimoire.’ Having said that, the remains of that person—now reduced to inorganic matter—hold no value worthy of a glance. Yet somehow, I cannot help but feel there exists within this building something akin to a mysterious biological organism... one capable of imparting organic movement to inorganic substances.”

“That is the reason he burned the grimoire,” Housui hinted cryptically, “though what was lost can only be recreated.” “Once that is accomplished, I shall then examine your mathematical philosophy.”

“Then, regarding the current financial affairs and the circumstances surrounding Dr. Sakutetsu’s suicide at the time,” he finally shifted away from the apocalyptic diagram and moved to his next question. At that moment, Chinako rose to her feet, her gaze piercingly fixed on Housui.

“No, that would be more suited to the butler, Mr. Tagou. He was the one who discovered it at that time, and above all, in this mansion, he may be likened to Richelieu—the Cardinal and Prime Minister of Louis XIII’s reign.” Having walked two or three steps toward the door, she stopped, then turned sharply to face Housui and said: “Mr. Housui, even in taking what is given, a noble spirit is necessary. Therefore, for those who forget that, a time of regret will surely arrive in due course.”

As Chinako’s figure vanished beyond the door, the room—now emptied of argument—felt hollow like a vacuum after an electrical discharge. A musty silence began to permeate the space once more, the stillness so profound that even the cawing of crows in the grove and the faint clatter of falling icicles became distinctly audible. Eventually, Prosecutor Hasekura tapped the nape of his neck and,

“Kuga Chinako pursues only tangible phenomena, while you wallow in the abstract realm,” Prosecutor Hasekura remarked. “But consider this—the former seeks to negate natural law, while the latter strives to codify it systematically within empirical science’s domain.” He fixed his gaze on Housui. “What manner of logic bridges this chasm? I’d wager demonology provides the key…” “Ah, but that half-leaf,” Housui murmured, his voice detached yet dreamlike, “the one adjoining the apocalyptic diagram—unseen by mortal eyes—that is my vision’s fleeting blossom.” His fingers traced an invisible arc in the air. “Within its cryptograms lies the thread connecting Sakutetsu’s pyre of forbidden texts to every enigma here.”

“What? Even regarding the figure Ekusuke claims to have seen?” Prosecutor Hasekura exclaimed in surprise. Inspector Kumashiro nodded gravely. “Mm, that woman wouldn’t lie. But the issue lies in how much truth Ekusuke actually conveyed.” “Yet what a remarkable woman!” he added, undisguised awe coloring his voice. “She deliberately seeks to encroach upon the killer’s domain.” “Or perhaps she’s the persecuted party,” Housui countered, his chair creaking as he leaned sideways with affected nonchalance. “After all, they say the pangs of conscience hold an ineffable allure.” “Consider the nun Nakke of Sevigola—after enduring the Inquisition’s brutal interrogations, she chose secular life over conversion.” He pivoted sharply, resuming his upright posture.

“Of course, Kuga Chinako possesses matchless erudition. But she’s like a walking index. Her memory fixations merely align with precise arrangements, like the squares on a shogi board. Yes—unmatched precision indeed. Which means she’s got no originality, no capacity for development—not a damn thing. How could a woman so utterly devoid of literary sensibility possibly cultivate the imagination needed to devise such an extraordinary crime?”

“What on earth does literature have to do with this murder case?” Prosecutor Hasekura demanded. “That lies in the Undine’s writhing—there,” Housui declared, adopting for the first time a tone of elucidation toward the problematic verse. "That line originates from Goethe’s *Faust*—specifically within the incantation recited by the omnipotent doctor attempting to break the magic of Mephisto disguised as a mastiff. It belongs to the Chaldean pentagram sorcery that dominated that era—a passage invoking four elemental demons: Salamander, Undine, Sylph, and Gnome." "Doesn’t it strike you as suspicious that Chinako remains oblivious to this?" "In such antiquated households, certain works inevitably grace the bookshelves—Voltaire in speculative philosophy, Goethe in literature." "Yet classical writings of this sort fail to elicit even a modicum of interest in that woman." "And furthermore—that verse conceals a most disquieting declaration of intent, I tell you."

“That…” “First, it implies serial murder. The culprit already declared their intent by rearranging the armored samurai statues, but this is far more concrete—it explicitly states both the number of victims and their methods. Now, when you realize how many fairies appear in Faust’s incantation, it’ll pierce your chest like a spear thrust. Because if one among the four foreigners—starting with Hatatarou—is the killer, then four must naturally be the maximum number of victims. This connects to the murder method through the Undine we first identified. Surely you haven’t forgotten those uncanny water traces beneath the carpet from the automaton’s footprints?”

“But it’s certain that the culprit falls within the circle of those who know German.” “And this line isn’t particularly philological in nature,” Prosecutor Hasekura said,

“Don’t be absurd. ‘Music is German art’—so goes the maxim,” Housui retorted with an exaggerated look of astonishment. “In this mansion, even that woman Nobuko supposedly plays the harp. And given the profoundly inexplicable gender inversion involved, ultimately nothing but the linguistics collection can unravel that incantation.” Inspector Kumashiro let his folded arms drop limply and heaved an uncharacteristic sigh.

“Everything’s so damn mocking.”

“Exactly—the culprit truly transcends our imagination. Truly a Zarathustran superman. This mysterious case cannot be unraveled through pre-Hilbertian logic as one would conventional mysteries. One example is those water traces—if interpreted through a trite residual method, it leads to the conclusion that water disabled the pronunciation device inside the automaton. But the facts are absolutely not like that at all. Moreover, the entire structure is composed in an exceedingly multifaceted manner— There are no clues at all. Within this murky ambiguity teem eerie mysteries—swarming and squirming. Moreover, from the subterranean world where corpses lie buried, something like paper debris comes rushing ceaselessly with a whistling sound. However, I can discern that four elements are contained within it. The first is the eerie manifestation of nature depicted in the apocalyptic diagram, and the next is the world of the dead centered around the still-unknown half-leaf. The third element is the three past unnatural death incidents. And the fourth element is the killer’s real-world actions seeking to develop around the axis of the Faustian incantation,” Housui paused there for a moment, his previously somber tone gaining a brighter hue as he continued, “Ah yes, Mr. Hasekura, I’d like you to prepare a memorandum for this case. After all, isn’t that how it went with the Green Murder Case? When Vance prepared the memorandum toward the end, even such an intractable case achieved miraculous resolution simultaneously. But that is by no means the author’s desperate contrivance. Van Dine demonstrates how crucial it is to determine the factors— That’s why, you see. Above all else, that is the most pressing task at hand. Factors—in short, several of them must be extracted from this murky mass of doubts.”

While Prosecutor Hasekura was preparing the memorandum, Housui had left the room for about fifteen minutes; he soon returned, trailed by a plainclothes officer. The detective reported that despite scouring every corner of the mansion, their efforts to locate Ekusuke had ultimately proven futile. Housui’s eyebrows twitched faintly as he asked— “Did you check the Ancient Clock Room and the arched corridor?”

“However, as for that place—” The plainclothes officer shook his head. “The butler locked it at eight o’clock last night. But the key hasn’t been lost.” “Then, in the arched corridor, only one door on the left side of the circular corridor was open.”

“Hmm, I see,” Housui nodded once, then said, “Then let’s call it a day here. They will never leave this building.” He uttered these words in a tone that seemed to make two bizarrely contradictory observations at once, at which Inspector Kumashiro started in surprise,

“Don’t be absurd. You might want to dress this case up in gaudy trappings, but ultimately, isn’t the answer nowhere but in Ekusuke’s testimony?” he said, as if anticipating the imminent discovery of the dwarf’s hunchback from outside the mansion. Thus, Ekusuke’s disappearance was finally confirmed just as Kumashiro had anticipated, whereupon Housui ordered an investigation of the area where the glass fragments in question were said to be found, and further commanded that the butler Tagou Shinsai be summoned as the next witness to be questioned.

“Did you go to the arched corridor again, Mr. Housui?” After the plainclothes officer left, Inspector Kumashiro asked with a hint of mockery. “No—I was verifying the geometric quantities of this case.” “Regarding Dr. Sakutetsu drawing apocalyptic diagrams and hinting at that unknown half-leaf—there must be some direction to it, don’t you think?” Housui answered sullenly, but then a startling fact came bursting from his lips. “So, I’ve uncovered the terrible undercurrent that drove Madame Dannenberg to act like a madwoman.” “In fact, I investigated the village office by phone—wouldn’t you know it? Those four foreigners naturalized on March 4th last year and were registered as Dr. Sakutetsu’s adopted children in the Furuya family register.” “Moreover, the inheritance procedures have not been completed.” “In other words, this mansion still has not fallen into the hands of Hatatarou, the legitimate heir.”

“Good heavens!” Prosecutor Hasekura threw down his pen in astonishment, then immediately began counting on his fingers. “The delay in procedures is likely due to Dr. Sakutetsu’s will, but regardless, the legal deadline now has only two months remaining. If that expires, the estate will end up in the national treasury.” “That’s right,” Housui responded. “Therefore, if there exists a murder motive within that framework, it lies concealed within Dr. Faust’s mantle—that pentagram circle becomes clear. However, though viewed from any single angle there appears no discrepancy, after all, we confront something as inconceivable as the naturalization and registration of four individuals. The profundity here is no trivial matter.” His voice lowered ominously. “Rather—I hold evidence that must not be rashly acknowledged.”

“What on earth [are you holding]?” “They’re the items from the questions you asked earlier—(1), (2), and (5). The armored samurai has flown up to the stair corridor—the servant is listening to inaudible sounds—and then in the arched corridor, Bode’s Law still fails to account for Neptune alone.” Having spat out that astonishing assertion, Housui took up the memorandum Prosecutor Hasekura had completed. In it, only an exact chronological sequence of events, devoid of personal interpretation, had been recorded.

1. Questions Regarding Postmortem Phenomena (omitted)

2. Regarding Evidence That the Thérèse Automaton Could Leave at the Scene (omitted)

3. Movements and Circumstances on the Day Prior to the Incident

1. Early morning: Oshigane Tsutako's departure from the detached palace.

2. From 7 PM to 8 PM— The position of the armored samurai statues changed to the stair corridor, and two helmets of the Japanese-style armor were swapped. 3. Around 7 PM, it was said that Kamiya Nobuko, former secretary to the late Dr. Sakutetsu, had a dispute with Madame Dannenberg. 4. 9 PM— During the Divine Judgment ritual, Dannenberg collapsed, and around that same time, Ekusuke reportedly witnessed an anomalous figure on the protruding veranda of the adjacent room.

5. 11 PM— Nobuko and Hatatarou visited Dannenberg. At that time, Hatatarou removed the framed portrait of Thérèse from the wall, and Nobuko tested the lemonade for poison. It should be noted that while Ekusuke brought the fruit dish at that time—the one surmised to hold the Western orange injected with potassium cyanide—the crucial orange itself ultimately remained unproven.

6. Around 11:45 PM. Ekusuke, having seen what was dropped by the earlier figure, went to the rear garden window and collected glass fragments along with a paper scrap containing a chapter from Faust. During that time, only the victim and Chinako were present in the room. 7. Around midnight. The victim ate the blood orange. Additionally, for the four family members aside from Chinako, Ekusuke, and Nobuko, there were no notable actions to record.

4. Regarding Past Unnatural Death Incidents at Kuroshikikan (omitted)

5. Movements and Circumstances Over the Past Year

1. March 4th of last year: Naturalization and family registration of four foreign individuals.

1. On March 10th of the same year, Dr. Sakutetsu left inexplicable entries in his daily log and reportedly burned the magic books that day.

1. April 26th of the same year: Sakutetsu’s suicide.

Henceforth, the family members within the mansion lived in fear and anxiety, until finally the victim sought to ascertain the root cause through Divine Judgment.

VI. Consideration of the Apocalyptic Diagram (omitted) VII. Locus of Motive (omitted)

When he finished reading, Housui said.

“Among these memorandum items, I believe all doubts regarding the first postmortem phenomena are fully addressed within the third section.” “Superficially, it appears nothing more than a mundane chronological listing.” “However, even solely in the trajectory by which the blood orange entered the victim’s oral cavity, there must surely be complexities rivaling Finslerian geometric formulae.” “Furthermore, Sakutetsu’s suicide occurring immediately after the naturalization of those four individuals and the book burning merits particular scrutiny.”

“No, I don’t give a damn about your profound analysis,” Inspector Kumashiro snapped. “What matters is there’s a glaring contradiction between motives and actions.” “Nobuko was having a dispute with Madame Dannenberg—and as you know, there’s Ekusuke.” “And even with Chinako—who knows what she did while Ekusuke was out of the room?” “Yet this ‘Dr.Faust’s circle’ you keep mentioning points straight to those four remaining individuals.”

“So, does that mean this old one alone remains within the safety zone, I wonder?”

At that moment, a bizarre rasping voice arose behind them. When the three turned around in surprise, there stood the butler Tagou Shinsai, gazing down at them with a magnanimous smile that had materialized unnoticed. Yet it stood to reason he had appeared behind them as soundlessly as a gust of wind—for this elderly historian, paralyzed below the waist, sat upon a hand-operated four-wheeled cart gliding smoothly on rubber tires like those used by wounded soldiers. Shinsai was a moderately renowned medieval historian who had published several works while serving as the mansion’s butler, though now he was an old man nearing seventy. His beardless face—ochre-hued with grotesquely protruding cheekbones and jawline contrasted against sunken nostrils—presented a visage less monstrous than otherworldly, akin to a barbarian mask or Buddhist guardian deity from Taoist-Buddhist iconography. With his Indian cap crowning this ensemble, every aspect of him embodied what could only be termed preternatural grotesquerie. Yet his obstinate air suggested an unyielding rigidity more carapace than contemplative depth—no trace of Chinako’s complex intellect lingered here. The cart itself featured small front wheels and rear ones astonishingly large, reminiscent of cycling’s primordial era, operated through starter and brake mechanisms.

“Now, regarding the distribution of the inheritance,” Inspector Kumashiro interjected brusquely, offering no acknowledgment of Shinsai’s greeting, to which the butler responded with a derisive snort.

“Hoh, so you’re aware of the four’s family registration?” “It is indeed a fact, but you would do better to ask each individual personally.” “This old one has no knowledge whatsoever of such matters…”

“However, it has already been opened, hasn’t it?” “You might as well just tell us the contents of the will.” Inspector Kumashiro laid a seasoned verbal snare, yet Shinsai showed not the slightest sign of being perturbed,

“What, the will… Hoh! This is news to me,” Shinsai deflected lightly, and from that very moment, a lethally charged silent duel erupted between him and Kumashiro. Housui initially cast a fleeting glance at Shinsai while appearing lost in thought, but soon fixed him with a penetrating stare and—

“Ah, you are paralyzed from the waist down. Indeed—not all matters at Kuroshikikan are medical in nature. Now, I hear you were the one who discovered Dr. Sakutetsu’s death. You must also know who committed the deed itself, I presume.”

To this, not only Shinsai but also Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro were rendered utterly dumbfounded. Shinsai planted both elbows like a toad and leaned forward, letting out a roar-like voice.

“Nonsense! Something that’s been conclusively determined as a suicide… Have you reviewed the autopsy report, I wonder?”

"That’s precisely why," Housui pressed. "You must also be aware of the very method of murder. Fundamentally, how could the orbital radii of the inner planets in the solar system have killed that elderly physician?"

II. Hymn of the Bell-Ringing Device… “The orbital radii of the inner planets⁉” Dazzled by this utterly preposterous statement, Shinsai momentarily lost all capacity to respond. Housui continued in a solemn tone.

“That’s correct.” “Naturally, as a historian, you must be familiar with the Baldus Creed that swept through medieval Wales.” “What was the creed of that cursed scripture descended from Druidh (a ninth-century Regensburg bishop-magician)? (The universe is permeated with every symbol.” “And these mystical laws and the esoteric principles of their arrangement reveal hidden phenomena to mankind—or rather, forewarn of them in advance.)” “However, that…” “In other words, this refers to the principle of analysis and synthesis.” “It was precisely when I came to understand the subtle method by which a detestable individual murdered Dr. Sakutetsu that I first grasped the esoteric allure of astrology and alchemy.” “If I recall correctly, Dr. Sakutetsu had collapsed in the center of the room with his feet facing the door, tightly gripping a bundle of daggers plunged into his heart.” “However, if one were to draw the orbital radii of Mercury and Venus with the entrance door as the center, all traces of homicide would vanish within that area,” Housui stated as he drew a pair of semicircles resembling those in a separate diagram on the floor plan of the room.

“Now—before proceeding further—you must first understand this crucial fact: planetary symbols correspond to certain chemical symbols.” “You are aware that Venus refers to the planet, but it also represents copper.” “Furthermore, Mercury refers not only to the planet but also gives its name to mercury.” “However, ancient mirrors were crafted by applying mercury to the back of a thin bronze film.” “Then, upon that mirror surface—that is, in this diagram corresponding to the area behind Venus—the face of the culprit approaching from behind the curtain would naturally be reflected.” “For shrinking Venus’s radius to Mercury’s position was not only a brilliant murder technique but simultaneously represented both the crime’s progression and even Dr. Sakutetsu’s movements alongside the culprit’s.” “And gradually, the culprit reduced it to the central sun’s position.” “The sun marked where Dr. Sakutetsu met his end at that time.” “But what do you think occurred when the mercury on the back intersected with the sun?”

Ah, what could Housui be attempting to convey through this metaphor of shrinking inner planetary orbits? Neither Prosecutor Hasekura nor Inspector Kumashiro had anticipated that within Housui's reasoning—so meticulously grounded in modern science—the shadowy realm of alchemists would manifest itself alongside early chemistry's principle of similarity. "Now then, Mr. Tagou—what does this single letter S represent?" Housui pressed without easing his intensity. "Primarily the sun, and then sulfur." "But isn't mercury-sulfur compound vermilion?" "Vermilion embodies solar essence—the very hue of blood." "Thus Sakutetsu's heart ruptured at the door's edge."

“What—at the edge of the door… ‘This is preposterous drivel!’ Shinsai roared like a madman, slamming the armrest. ‘You’re dreaming. This tale inverts reality itself. At that time, blood only pooled around where Dr. Sakutetsu lay collapsed.’” “Because once shrunk, the culprit instantly restored the radius to its original position. Now look at the letter S again. There’s more to it, no? The Day of Demonic Council…the Legislator…” “Exactly—it is indeed the Legislator.” “The culprit, like that statue—” Housui’s lips snapped shut mid-sentence, his gaze piercing Shinsai as if secretly measuring the interval before his next revelation within his chest. Yet having abruptly seized the precise moment—

“A person who cannot stand or walk like that—that is the culprit,” Housui declared in a piercing voice. Strangely, as he spoke—an unfathomable aberration seized Shinsai. The moment an impulse first convulsed through his upper torso, his eyes bulged wide and his mouth distended into a funnel-like shape, molding his features into a grotesque semblance of Munch’s aged crone. He persisted in this agonized state—as though perpetually struggling to swallow back saliva—until finally,

“Oh, behold this old one’s body! How could such a cripple…” he managed to rasp through a ravaged throat. Yet something had clearly gone awry in Shinsai’s larynx—his breathing grew increasingly labored, violent convulsions wracking his frame as an unnatural stutter overtook his speech. Housui persisted with words measured like a chemist’s reagents, observing the spectacle with glacial detachment while maintaining scrupulous control over each syllable’s cadence.

“No—it was precisely by relying on that physical impairment that you were able to commit murder.” “I am not looking at your body, but rather at that hand-operated four-wheeled cart and the rug.” “You must be aware of the deed where Benvenuto Cellini—a great metalworker of the Renaissance period and a surprising murderer—struck down Palmieri of the Caldana family, Lombardy’s foremost swordsman. Though inferior in swordsmanship, Cellini first loosened the rug and left it slack, then abruptly pulled it taut midway, causing Palmieri to lose his footing and stagger—and it was then that he stabbed him to death.” “However, to strike down Sakutetsu, the Renaissance swordsmanship technique utilizing that very rug was by no means mere fantastical legend.” “In other words, the expansion and contraction of the inner planets’ orbital radii was ultimately nothing more than that of the rug you manipulated.” “Well then, shall I explain the actual details of the crime?” Housui stated, then turned a reproachful gaze toward Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro. “To begin with, why didn’t any of you notice that the hunchback’s eyes in the door’s relief are sunken in?”

“Indeed, they’re sunken in an elliptical shape,” Inspector Kumashiro immediately stood up and examined the door, finding it exactly as Housui had described. Upon hearing this confirmation, Housui turned a smile of cold satisfaction toward Shinsai. “Now, Mr.Tagou—doesn’t this depression’s position align precisely with Dr.Sakutetsu’s cardiac region?” “Given its elliptical form, this can only be the hilt cluster of the talismanic dagger.” “If so—with no conceivable suicide motive beyond enjoying his natural lifespan—why would the Doctor, who that very day had been lost in youthful reminiscences while embracing his lover’s automaton, have ended up pressed against the door with his heart impaled?”

Shinsai could not even utter a sound, continuing to exhibit persistent symptoms as his vitality teetered on the brink of exhaustion. From his face, which had turned wax-white, greasy sweat dripped down—a wretched sight too pitiful to behold. However, despite this, Housui showed no intention whatsoever of halting this ruthless interrogation. “Now, there is a strange paradox here.” “That murder was conversely impossible for a physically whole person.” “Because it required the nearly silent mechanical power of a hand-operated four-wheeled cart—first creating waves in the rug by compressing and layering them, until ultimately causing Dr. Sakutetsu to collide with the door.” “At that time, the room was dimly lit—nearly dark—and unaware that you were hiding behind the curtain on the right side, Dr. Sakutetsu pushed aside the curtain on the left, saw the doll that a servant had brought in and placed upon the bed, then headed toward the door to unlock it.” “However, following that pursuit, your crime began in earnest.” “First, prior to that, you secured the far end of the rug with nails and removed the talismanic dagger from the doll’s clothing—then, just as Dr. Sakutetsu turned his back, you lifted the edge of the rug and pressed down on the vertical section with a footrest to apply acceleration, creating wrinkles in the rug. Naturally, those waves gradually increased in height.” And then, from behind, you struck the footrest against Dr. Sakutetsu’s popliteal fossa. Then, the wave was crushed from the side, reaching a height almost up to the armpit. At the same time, the so-called Jendrassik reflex occurred—the impact applied to that area transmitted to the biceps brachii, triggering a reflex movement that caused Dr. Sakutetsu to raise both arms horizontally without conscious thought. From both sides, you held Dr. Sakutetsu from behind, lightly thrusting the talismanic dagger into his heart before immediately releasing your grip. As Dr. Sakutetsu reflexively tried to grab the dagger, two hands switched places in an instant—and this time, it was Dr. Sakutetsu who gripped the hilt. And then, in that moment, he collided with the door—the blade whose hilt he now clutched piercing his heart. “In other words—the speed required to catch up to Dr. Sakutetsu while creating rug waves without sound, and that mechanical propulsion force—” “Then—to make him grip the hilt—you first had to stimulate his popliteal fossa to induce the Jendrassik reflex—” “All these elements were embodied in this hand-operated four-wheeled cart. The crime was executed with such terrifying speed—within split seconds—that there was no time for even a cry.” “Therefore—without exploiting your physical impairment—no one could have ended Dr. Sakutetsu’s life while leaving behind evidence of suicide.”

“Then what were those waves in the rug for?” Inspector Kumashiro interjected from beside them. “Isn’t that precisely what I meant by ‘expansion and contraction of inner planetary orbital radii’?” Housui countered. “After compressing everything into a singular point—aligning this wave’s crest with Dr.Sakutetsu’s neck—the perpetrator stretched the rug back to its original state.” “Thus while still clutching that hilt tightly enough for rigor mortis—” “—his corpse came to rest at room center.” “Naturally no traces lingered even had it been empty—unlocked rooms seldom preserve evidence.” “But coroners generally lack sensitivity toward secrets’ peculiar allure.”

At that moment, the desolate tones of a carillon playing an archaic sutra chant reverberated through the murder-laden air of that gloomy chamber. Housui had earlier observed the clapper-equipped swinging bell in the spire, yet he had failed to notice the carillon’s location—a keyboard-operated instrument that struck bells of varying pitches like some infernal piano. But now he stood transfixed by this grotesque juxtaposition. Shinsai, who until then had lain prostrate over the armrest, strained with desperate effort—his breath ragged yet unyielding—to force out a whisper.

“It’s a lie… Dr. Sakutetsu did indeed die in the center of the room… But for this glorious clan’s sake… This old one removed something from that scene, fearing worldly eyes and ears…”

“What did you remove?” “It was Kuroshikikan’s specter—the Thérèse Automaton… Lying beneath the corpse as if borne upon its back, both palms pressed over Dr. Sakutetsu’s right hand gripping the dagger… Thus, since bleeding through the garments was minimal… this old one ordered Ekusuke…” Neither Prosecutor Hasekura nor Inspector Kumashiro displayed signs of petrified shock anymore, yet they perceived a mysterious force—one that should not exist among the living—growing more tangible with each phenomenon. However, Housui coldly pronounced.

“I can no longer continue this pursuit.” “Even I cannot advance beyond this point.” “Dr.Sakutetsu’s corpse has already turned to inorganic matter akin to clay, and regarding grounds for indictment—there remains nothing but your confession.”

It was the moment when Housui finished speaking.

No sooner had the sutra hymn ceased than unexpectedly beautiful string tones began to vibrate against their eardrums. Beyond several distant walls, the four string instruments swelled at times into a solemn full ensemble, while at others, like a whispering stream, the first violin sang forth Samaria’s peace. Hearing this, Inspector Kumashiro snapped irritably.

“What the hell is that? When one of the family’s been murdered...” “Today is the memorial day of Claude Digsby, the architect of this mansion…” Shinsai answered with labored breath. “The mansion’s calendar includes a commemoration of Digsby, who threw himself overboard on the ship returning from the Dutch East Indies.”

“Ah, a voiceless requiem,” Housui murmured rapturously. “Somehow, it feels reminiscent of John Steiner’s style.” “Prosecutor Hasekura, I never imagined I’d get to hear that string quartet’s performance in this case.” “Well then, let us go to the chapel.”

Then, having ordered the plainclothes officers to attend to Shinsai and had them leave the room,

“Why did you slacken your pursuit at the final step?” Inspector Kumashiro immediately challenged, but unexpectedly, Housui burst into uproarious laughter, “So, you’re actually taking that seriously?” Both Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro realized they had been ridiculed in that instant, yet faced with such impeccably ordered logic, they found themselves utterly unable to accept it at face value. Housui, wearing an expression that seemed to endure his amusement, continued speaking.

“To tell the truth, that was my least favorite coercive interrogation tactic,” Housui declared. “The moment I saw Shinsai, I intuited something and improvised that scenario—but if we speak of true purpose, it lay elsewhere entirely. It was merely that I wanted to occupy a mentally superior position to him—that’s all there was to it. To solve this case, we must first shatter that stubborn shell.” “So, the indentation on the door…” Kumashiro pressed. “Two plus two equals five.” Housui’s voice sharpened. “That lays bare the insidious nature of this door. Moreover, it simultaneously proves the traces of water as well.” It was truly an astonishing reversal.

As the two men stood dumbfounded—as if struck on the crown with a resounding thud—Housui promptly began his explanation. “Open the door with water.” “In other words, water was indispensable for opening this door without a key.” “Now, let me recount what first led us to that inference.” There exists an antique book titled *Dr. John Day’s Treatise on Apparitions* authored by Lord Malmesbury. It details the various esoteric techniques of that sorcerer-scholar Dr. Day—among them lies an account of a concealed door that astonished Lord Malmesbury, an account that taught me to open doors with water. Of course, it was a form of faith healing: Dr. Day would have the malaria patient and their attendant enter a room together, give the key to the attendant, and have them lock the door. Then, when they opened the door about an hour later, despite the lock being engaged, it would swing open smoothly as though metamorphosing into something alive. Thereupon, Dr. Day concluded—‘The possessing half-goat demon has fled.’ Yet precisely because there lingered a stench of goats near the door, the patient would thereby find spiritual cure. Now, Inspector Kumashiro—within that goat stench lay Dr. Day’s trickery.” “By the way, you’re likely aware—as with the Lamprecht hygrometer—that hair not only expands and contracts with humidity but does so proportionally to its length.” “Therefore, try applying that theory of expansion and contraction to the latch mechanism’s delicate movements.” “As you know, latches used in spring mechanisms are originally said to characterize stud-and-plaster construction—an early 18th-century British style where roughly hewn timber was affixed over plaster walls in regular patterns—but generally consist of a flat brass rod freely attached at one end, designed to pivot along two sides of an angular component near the fulcrum through vertical movement.” “And as it approaches the fulcrum, the internal pivot angle diminishes—a simple principle you surely grasp.” “Suppose we fasten a string near the latch’s fulcrum, stretch it taut to lie horizontal when tilted, and place a weight—bound with a hair bundle—just grazing that line’s center.” “Then pour hot water into the keyhole.” “Naturally, humidity rises—the hair elongates—the weight settles onto the string—and of course, the string arches taut.” “Thus, that force acts upon the latch’s minimal internal angle, causing what had fallen to rise.” “Therefore, in Dr. Day’s case—I believe that was sheep’s urine.”

“Moreover, in this door’s case, the reverse side of the hunchback’s eye was likely the hollow necessary for that mechanism. Thus, its thin portion must have developed a depression due to repeated cycles of drying and moistening.” “In other words, it was Sakutetsu who devised that contraption, and the individual who had been exploiting it for prolonged access is presumed to be the culprit.” “Well now, Prosecutor Hasekura—does this clarify why the criminal left behind both thread and automaton mechanisms in that chamber earlier?” “Should one persist in scrutinizing merely the external artifices, this case shall remain eternally sealed behind a single door.” “Furthermore, does it not strike you that the miasma of the Witchgus Spell grows increasingly palpable from this juncture onward?”

“So, this means the automaton stepped in the water that had overflowed at that time,” Prosecutor Hasekura said in a strained voice. “Now all that remains is that bell-like sound.” “With this, there can be no doubt that the existence of the automaton accompanied by the culprit has now been confirmed.” “Yet every time your mind flashes with insight, the result manifests in a form diametrically opposed to your intentions.” “That—what in the world does that mean?”

“Hmm, even I can’t quite make sense of it,” Housui murmured, his disoriented demeanor now palpable. “It’s as if I’m walking through a labyrinth of pitfalls.” “I think that point might bridge both,” he continued. “What about Shinsai’s current confusion?” “That must not be overlooked,” Inspector Kumashiro declared emphatically. “However,” Housui said with a wry smile, “the truth is—strange as it may sound—my coercive interrogation involved what you might call a form of physiological torment. It was precisely because of that such remarkable effects were achieved. By the way, Phileleus—an eminent monk of the 2nd-century Arian theological school—expounded this rhetorical theory: ‘Strike the void left when spiritual energy escapes with exhalation.’ He also advised: ‘For metaphors, choose utterly detached concepts.’ A profound maxim indeed.” “Thus, my linking of inner planetary orbital radii to a millimicron-scale murder case ultimately aimed to obscure the common factor. Consider Eddington’s *Space, Time and Gravitation*—even its numbers lose all symmetry upon reading. Moreover, mid-period physiological psychologists like Binet described pulmonary equilibrium during full inhalation.” “In that instance,” Housui pressed on, “I timed impassioned words to coincide with inhalations while targeting posterior cricoarytenoid muscle spasms—a persistent respiratory disorder. Müllmann’s *The Causes of Old Age* posits this as impulsive behavior accompanying muscular ossification. When elderly subjects lose respiratory control mid-breath...” He gestured meaningfully. “Hence my dual psychological and organic approach—rarely do those two eyes align.” “In any case,” he concluded, “given that flawed theory’s prevalence, I sought to disrupt their reasoning entirely—supplemented by castration technique.”

“Because I must pry open that oyster—there’s something I absolutely need to hear.” “In other words, all my scheming is merely the premise for a single act, you see.”

“What a Machiavelli!” “But why would you say that?” Prosecutor Hasekura asked eagerly, and Housui smiled faintly. “Don’t be ridiculous—you’re the one who did it. Have you forgotten the questions (1), (2), and (5) you asked me earlier? Moreover, that Richelieu-like powerholder is trying to prevent those impure officials from spying on Kuroshikikan’s heart. So when that man awakens from the sedative injection—that moment may very well be the resolution of this case.”

Housui remained characteristically vague about his thoughts; after pouring hot water into the keyhole and completing his experimental preparations, he descended to the chapel housing the performance platform. Crossing the grand hall, he approached a massive door adorned with cross and shield reliefs from beyond which the music now seemed to press urgently. A servant stood guard before it, and when Housui cracked the door open slightly, he was met by a chill expanse of air—vast yet desolately undulating—that carried the peculiar allure unique to spaces burdened with solemn gravity. Within the chapel hung dense particles of amber-hued vapor. Through this fog-like dimness drifted pallid shafts of tranquil light, their dull radiance assuming dreamlike shapes. These emanated from altar candles flanking a triangular candelabrum where frankincense smoldered—its smoke and luminance ascending along clusters of slender columns rising like rocket trails until converging fanwise at the distant dome’s edge overhead. The music’s echoes rebounded pillar to pillar, coalescing into uncanny harmonies that conjured visions of golden-vested deacon processions imminently emerging from arched colonnades. Yet to Housui, this atmosphere resonated not with sanctity but with an eerily prosecutorial menace.

Before the altar was a semicircular performance platform, upon which four musicians clad in the Dominican Order’s black and white attire sat entranced in self-oblivion. At the far right sat Ottokar Levez, the cellist—a figure resembling nothing so much as a crude boulder—his cheeks puffed out as if yearning for a crescent-shaped beard, a diminutive gourd-shaped head perched incongruously atop his burly frame. He appeared every bit the optimist, and moreover, his cello looked no larger than a guitar. Next in line was Olga Krivov, the violist, whose prominent brow ridges, sharply defined canthi, and slender hooked nose gave her an undeniably severe countenance. It was said that her skill surpassed even that of the great soloist Curtis, and indeed, in her demeanor during performance, one could discern an arrogant spirit and a peculiarly affected, exaggerated quality. However, Madame Galibarda Serena next presented an appearance diametrically opposed to the former in all aspects. Her skin appeared translucent with a waxen hue; even without that, her facial contours were small, composed entirely of gentle, soft circles, and compactly formed. Moreover, even her wide-open, dark-tinged eyes lacked any piercing sharpness of gaze. On the whole, it seemed that within this woman’s melancholy lay hidden a humble disposition. The aforementioned three individuals were estimated to be forty-four or forty-five years of age. And finally, the one playing first violin was Furuya Hatatarou, who had just turned seventeen. Housui felt as though he were looking at the most beautiful young man in all of Japan. But that beauty was what one might call an actor’s indolent allure—in every line and shadow, there appeared no intellectual depth nor mathematical precision. This was because he lacked such marks of wisdom, and because there was none of the dignified majesty of that well-formed forehead seen in Dr. Furuya’s photograph.

Though Housui had managed to encounter this mysterious ensemble's performance—one that had seemed utterly impossible to hear—he did not allow himself to be merely enraptured. This was because he noticed that two violins had applied mutes in the final section of the piece, causing only the low strings to resonate under heightened pressure—a sensation that felt less like a majestic finale concluding in heavenly glory and more like an eerie reverberation of terror and lamentation rising from hell itself. Before reaching the final note, Housui closed the door and asked the servant standing nearby.

“Do you always stand guard like this?” “No, today is my first time,” replied the servant with a perplexed expression of his own, though Housui somehow felt he understood the reason. Then, as the three walked leisurely along, Housui broke the silence, “That door truly is the gates of hell,” he murmured. “Then, is that hell inside or outside the door?” Prosecutor Hasekura retorted, whereupon Housui took a deep breath and spoke with an exceedingly theatrical gesture.

“It’s outside.” “Those four are utterly terrified.” “If that isn’t merely an act, there are elements aligning precisely with my imagination.”

The requiem performance ended when they reached the top of the stairs. And though nothing could be heard for some time afterward, it was when the three opened the partition door and emerged into a corridor passing before the scene's room. Once more the chime instrument began ringing, this time commencing Lassus's hymn (Psalm 91 of David).

By night there shall be terror By day there shall be the flying arrow In darkness walketh pestilence. At noon, the destruction that layeth waste. But thou shalt not fear Housui murmured this in a low voice as he walked at the hymn's funereal pace, yet the tones decayed with each repeated verse, and with them, a look of concern deepened on his face. And during the third repetition, the verse beginning with "In darkness..." had become nearly inaudible, but when it reached the next verse—"At noon..."—strangely enough, harmonics emerged despite the same tones. And thus, the final verse ultimately went unheard.

“I see, your experiment was a success,” remarked Prosecutor Hasekura, his eyes widening as he opened the locked door. Yet Housui alone remained leaning against the opposite wall, darkly gazing into the void. After a moment, he spoke in a faint, murmuring voice: “Prosecutor Hasekura, we must go to the cloister. In those suspended armor pieces there—Ekusuke has undoubtedly been killed.”

The two men involuntarily leaped up upon hearing this. Ah, how on earth had Housui discerned the corpse’s location from the chime instrument’s tones⁉

3. Ekusuke must be crushed to death.

However, Housui did not head straight for the cloister right before him; instead, he detoured through the circular corridor and stood at the base of the bell tower stairs adjoining the chapel’s dome. Then, he gathered all personnel at that location, starting there first by posting lookouts from the rooftop to the bastions on the curtain walls and had them keep watch on the bell tower beneath the spire. Thus, precisely at 2:30 PM—a mere five minutes after the chime instrument had fallen silent—an impenetrable encirclement formation was established. All of it unfolded with such swiftness and focus—under a tension that verged on conclusion—that one might have thought the case was already drawing to its end. However, unless one were to split open Housui’s brain and examine it, it goes without saying that predicting what he was scheming would be impossible.

By now, dear readers, you must have noticed how Housui’s words and actions consistently transcended the bounds of expectation. Whether those predictions proved accurate or not, they constituted leaps verging on transcendence of human limitations. No sooner had one envisioned Ekusuke’s corpse within the cloister upon hearing the chime instrument’s tones than the next manifested action fixated on the bell tower. Yet when comparing these obscure and tangled elements against past words and actions, a single thread of coherence could be discerned. This referred to his initial responses to the prosecutor’s itemized questionnaire—that grand paradox they later sought to wrench from butler Tagou Shinsai’s lips through cruel physiological torture even after obtaining his statement. Of course, this covariant-like causality had immediately resonated with the other two as well. And it seemed this astonishing content would likely be elucidated now without awaiting Shinsai’s testimony. But Housui’s demeanor after completing his instructions again defied expectations. His complexion reverted to its former darkness as a shadow of skeptical confusion began flitting across it. Then, as they walked toward the cloister, his unexpected lamentation startled the two men.

“Ah, I’ve become utterly lost. If Ekusuke was killed with the culprit in the bell tower, then that precise proof becomes entirely meaningless. To tell the truth, I had imagined someone other than those currently identified—but that person has appeared in an unexpected place. Surely it can’t be a separate murder, though.” “Then what the hell were we dragged around for?” Prosecutor Hasekura shouted with an expression of fury. “To begin with, you were the one who said Ekusuke had been killed in the cloister. Yet despite that, right after making that claim, you have them guard the wrong bell tower. There’s no logic to this. What a completely meaningless shift!”

“There’s no need for such surprise,” Housui retorted with a twisted grin. “That is precisely the hymn of the Chime Instrument, you see. I don’t know who the performer was, but the sound gradually weakened, and the final verse ultimately went unplayed. Moreover, the part beginning with 'At noon...' that was last heard had—strangely enough—emitted harmonics (a scale one octave higher, with Do, Re, Mi, Fa, and the final Do as the fundamental tones). Well, Prosecutor Hasekura, I don’t think this follows any general rule.”

“Well then, let’s hear your assessment for now,” Inspector Kumashiro interjected, whereupon an abnormal gleam appeared in Housui’s eyes.

“That is precisely the nightmare. What a dreadful mystery!” he began in a fanatical tone that gradually settled into calmness. “How could this be a problem solvable through prosaic means? Now then—assuming Ekusuke is already deceased, though within seconds that stark fact will become clear—this leaves us with a negative number added to the total count of household members. Initially there were four family members, but even if they left the chapel immediately after finishing the performance, there wouldn’t be sufficient time for them to reach the bell tower. Furthermore, Shinsai can be excluded on all counts.” “Thus while the remaining suspects narrow down to Nobuko and Kuga Chinako,” he continued, “considering how the chime instrument’s sound didn’t cease abruptly but gradually weakened, the notion of both women being in the bell tower together becomes utterly implausible. Though undoubtedly some abnormal event befell the performer—precisely then, at that critical moment, the final verse of the hymn emitted faint harmonics.” “Needless to say,” Housui’s voice sharpened, “harmonics are theoretically impossible in a chime instrument. Therefore Inspector Kumashiro—in this case there must exist, besides one human performer in the bell tower, another entity: a supernatural being capable of miraculous performance.” His eyes grew distant. “Ah, why would such a thing manifest at the bell tower?”

“Then why aren’t you investigating the bell tower first?” pressed Inspector Kumashiro. Housui replied in a faint, trembling voice, “The truth is, I sensed a snare in those harmonics.” “It felt like some manner of subtle self-exposure—and even transmitting that sensation solely through my nerves made me suspect treacherous artifice at work.” “I can’t fathom why the initial perpetrator would need such urgent haste in committing the crime.” “Moreover, Inspector Kumashiro, while we tarry in the bell tower, the four below remain virtually unprotected.” “In this sprawling manse, every crevice teems with vulnerabilities.” “There’s no conceivable defense.” “Thus while past victims lie beyond remedy, I resolved to forestall fresh sacrifices by any means.” “In essence, I’ve devised countermeasures against both notions tormenting me.”

“Hmph, another specter?” Prosecutor Hasekura muttered through clenched teeth. “Everything is insanely beyond reason. “It’s as if the criminal were the wind itself—passing right before us and outwitting us at every turn.” “Well now, Mr. Housui—what on earth will become of this supernatural business?” “Ah, gradually, doesn’t it seem things are converging toward Chinako’s theory?”

Despite not yet having encountered reality, all circumstances clearly indicated the inexorable direction toward which they were converging. Before long, the entrance to the opened cloister came into view, but one of the doors leading to the circular corridor at the far end appeared to have been locked at some point, leaving the interior cloaked in near darkness. In the chill air that brushed against them, a faint smell of blood reached their nostrils. Yet it had been a mere four hours since the investigation began. Nevertheless, while Housui and the others continued groping in the dark, during that interval the culprit had carried out covert machinations and already executed a second crime.

Housui immediately opened the door to the circular corridor, let in light, then began surveying the row of suspended armor lining the left side. But he immediately said, “This is it,” and pointed to one at the center. This particular suit emitted a faint chartreuse fragrance—a complete warrior’s ensemble featuring a helmet with five upright kuwagata crests, Bishamon-suzu shoulder guards on both arms, short hakama trousers, shin guards, and even kutsu footwear. From face to throat, everything lay concealed beneath a throat ring and menacing black-lacquered faceplate. Its back bore a horo cloak emblazoned with “Namu Nichirin Marishiten” at the center of a gunbai sun-and-moon emblem, flanked by banner poles bearing dragon and tiger motifs. Yet what made this row remarkable was how every piece—not just those flanking the chartreuse-scented armor—angled diagonally in alternating directions: right, left, right, forming an uncanny symmetrical pattern. When Housui removed the faceplate, Ekusuke’s gruesome death mask appeared beneath. His extraordinary clairvoyance had proven accurate indeed. More bizarre still—alternating with Madame Dannenberg’s corpse light—this hunchbacked dwarf had been murdered in an utterly grotesque fashion: armored and suspended midair. Ah, here too shone through the killer’s flamboyant penchant for ornamentation.

The first thing that caught the eye was two incisions on the throat. To explain in detail, their combined shape formed precisely the character "二", positioned across the anterior neck region from the thyroid cartilage to the sternum. However, as the wounds were wedge-shaped, they were inferred to have been made by something resembling an armor-piercing dagger. Furthermore, the arrangement of their varying depths created an equally bizarre configuration. The upper wound had first been stabbed approximately six centimeters deep to the left of the trachea; then the blade was lifted to make a shallow horizontal incision that curved around, and upon reaching the right side, it was thrust forcefully into that spot before being withdrawn. The lower one followed roughly the same pattern, though its direction angled downward diagonally, with the base of the wound extending into the thoracic cavity. However, none had touched major blood vessels or organs, and they had skillfully avoided the airway; thus, it was evident these injuries were insufficient to cause immediate death.

They cut the two hemp ropes connecting the ceiling to the armor’s crotch guard and began removing the corpse from the armor—whereupon something bizarre appeared. Until then, the unnatural aspect had been concealed by the drape of the throat ring, but strangely enough, Ekusuke was wearing the armor sideways. That is, with the left-side opening for inserting the body turned to the back, the protrusion on his back that jutted out from there was fitted into the carved groove of the armor’s curved canopy frame. The dull black blood that had flowed from the wounds had dripped down from the small hakama trousers into the kutsu footwear. Body heat had already departed, rigor mortis had begun at the mandible, and it was estimated that a full two hours had passed since death. However, when they pulled out the corpse, there was something that left them aghast. The reason lay in clear signs of asphyxiation manifesting across the entire body—not only were cruel convulsive traces spread throughout every inch, but there also remained unmistakable evidence visible at a glance in both eyes, excretions, and the color of blood flow. Not only was the visage utterly gruesome, but the intense agony and torment of his death throes were laid bare. However, no material resembling an embolism was discovered in the trachea; not only were there no signs of suffocation via oral closure, but of course, no ligature marks or strangulation traces were found either.

“Isn’t this a reenactment of Lazarev—the deceased of St. Alexei Church?” Housui uttered in a groaning voice. “This wound was inflicted after death, you see.” “That becomes clear when you examine the cross-section left by withdrawing the blade.” “Normally, if you withdraw the blade immediately after stabbing, the blood vessels’ cross-sections would contract—but here they’re slack and gaping open.” “Moreover, I’ve never seen an asphyxiated corpse with such pronounced characteristics.” “The cruelty has reached its peak—it must be a method so horrifying it defies imagination.” “And the cause of suffocation gradually closed in on Ekusuke.”

“How can you tell that?” Kumashiro asked with a doubtful expression, whereupon Housui revealed the gruesome details. “In essence, because the duration of mortal struggle correlates with symptom severity—this corpse will undoubtedly furnish forensic medicine with a new case study.” “After all, considering that point, can you imagine anything but Ekusuke gradually suffocating?” “During those moments, he must have made horrific efforts to sever death’s chains.” “Yet his body had been drained of vitality by the armor’s weight.” “There was nothing left to be done.” “And so, while vainly awaiting his final moment’s arrival, memories from childhood to present must have flashed through his mind like lightning—shifting ceaselessly from one to the next.” “Tell me, Inspector Kumashiro—does life hold any moment more wretched than this?” “And could there exist another murder method so cruel—so saturated with profound suffering?”

Even Inspector Kumashiro shuddered involuntarily as he recalled the scene so horrifying one would want to cover their eyes, but then asked, "But did Ekusuke enter here of his own accord? Or the culprit..." "Well, if we can ascertain that, it would unravel the method of killing as well," Housui replied. "First, isn't the fact that he didn't scream a point of doubt?" he dismissively countered. At this, the prosecutor pointed at the corpse’s head crushed flat by the helmet’s weight and presented his own theory.

“I can’t help but feel there’s some connection to the helmet’s weight.” “Of course, if the order of the wound and suffocation were reversed, there’d be no problem…” “That’s right,” Housui nodded at the theory, “but there’s a hypothesis that the Santorini vein in the cranium ruptures some time after sustaining external force.” “When that happens, the compressed brain matter supposedly exhibits symptoms akin to suffocation.” “But never this pronounced.” “This corpse doesn’t represent any sudden demise to begin with.” “It crept in gradually.” “Therefore, wouldn’t the throat ring hold greater significance as the direct cause?” “While not outright crushing the trachea, it significantly compressed the major cervical blood vessels.” “Then doesn’t it follow why Ekusuke didn’t scream?”

“Hmm… So you mean—” “No—it doesn’t cause congestion but rather cerebral anemia.” “What’s more,” Housui replied casually though his face betrayed an anguished shadow as if wrestling with paradoxes beneath his calm delivery, “Griesinger documented cases showing epileptoid convulsions accompany this condition.”

Inspector Kumashiro stated his conclusion.

"In any case, if the incisions are unrelated to the cause of death, this crime must be the creation of a deranged psyche." "Not at all," Housui shook his head sharply, his voice cutting through the carillon's fading echoes. "Why would a killer this methodical move except through cold calculation? What you call 'interests' are merely equations waiting to be balanced."

Then, they began investigating fingerprints and blood droplets, but this yielded no results. Above all, not even a single drop had been discovered outside the armor's interior. When the investigation concluded, Prosecutor Hasekura inquired about the reasoning behind Housui's clairvoyant deduction.

“How did you realize that Ekusuke was killed there?”

“Of course, it was the chime instrument’s sound,” Housui answered offhandedly. “In other words, it’s what Mill called the method of residues.” “The fact that Adams discovered Neptune also stems from this principle—that residual phenomena are the antecedent of some unknown entity—and nothing else.” “After all, even if a monster like Ekusuke were to vanish, it wouldn’t go unnoticed.” “Moreover, beyond the harmonics, there was another anomaly in the chime instrument’s sound.” “Unlike the crime scene room sealed off by doors, in the hallway, the space connects through within the building, you see.”

“You mean…” “It’s because the reverberation was weak at that time. Generally, bells lack vibration-damping devices like those in pianos, so nothing produces such pronounced reverberation as this. Moreover, since each chime instrument has distinct timbres and scales, when listening nearby or within the same building, the continuously generated sounds interfere with one another—eventually becoming perceivable only as an unpleasant cacophony. Scharstein compared this to a rotating color wheel—where initially receiving red and green simultaneously creates a sensation of yellow at the center, but ultimately leaves nothing visible except uniform grayness.” “That’s precisely an apt analogy.” “Furthermore, given this mansion’s domed ceilings here and there, curved walls, and sections forming air columns, I had imagined something chaotic. Yet earlier I heard such a clear tone.” “If the sound disperses into open air—where reverberation naturally diminishes—it must have entered through the French windows connected to the terrace.” When I realized this, I was struck with horror. To explain why—there had to be something blocking the noise spreading from within the building. Since both front and rear partition doors were closed, only one door remained—the one opening toward the circular corridor side of the arcade. But I distinctly remembered leaving one panel on the left side near the suspended armor open during my second inspection earlier. Moreover, in another sense, that area equates to my heart—I’d given strict orders not to touch it under any circumstances. Naturally, had that door been closed, this section would have become a sound-absorbing apparatus—rendering it nearly an anechoic chamber against reverberation. “Therefore, all we could hear was a single strong fundamental tone entering from the terrace—nothing else.”

“Then, what closed that door?” “Ekusuke’s corpse. During that ghastly transition from life to death, something moved this heavy armor—something beyond Ekusuke’s control. As you can see, all left and right pieces slant diagonally, their orientations alternating left, right, left. When the central Moegi Kaori rotated, its shoulder guard plate pushed against the adjacent shoulder guard from the side, making that armor rotate too. This motion transmitted sequentially until reaching the final piece. Then, the last shoulder guard plate struck the handle and shut the door.”

“Then, what caused the armor to rotate?” “It’s the helmet and hoops,” Housui stated as he removed the horo cloak and pointed to the hoops made of thick whale tendon. “Because if Ekusuke tried to wear this in the usual way, first off, the protrusion on his back would get in the way.” “So first I considered how Ekusuke would handle the protrusion on his back inside the armor.” “What I realized was that by turning his back to the joint opening at the armor’s side—if he simply inserted his back protrusion into the hoops—that was the key.” “In other words, this was the form I envisioned—but given Ekusuke’s sickly frailty, he simply lacked the strength to move such weight.”

“Hoops and helmet?” Inspector Kumashiro repeated skeptically several times over, but Housui nonchalantly delivered his conclusion. “Allow me to elaborate on why I mentioned the helmet and hoops.” “When Ekusuke’s body became suspended in midair, the armor’s entire center of gravity shifted upward.” “Furthermore, it became unevenly distributed to one side.” “Fundamentally, when a stationary object begins moving autonomously, there can be no cause other than a change in mass or displacement of the center of gravity.” “However, the actual catalyst resided precisely in the helmet and hoops.” “To clarify in detail—Ekusuke’s posture would have been thus:” “The helmet’s weight bore down upon his crown, his dorsal protrusion fitted snugly into the hoops’ semicircle, feet dangling helplessly—undoubtedly an agonizing position.” “Therefore, while conscious, he must have braced his limbs against something to endure—meaning during that period, the center of gravity would have remained near his lower abdomen.” “But upon losing consciousness—deprived of supporting strength—his limbs went slack midair, transferring the focal point to the hoops section.” “Thus this wasn’t determined by Ekusuke’s own power—but by inherent mass and natural law.”

Housui’s superhuman analytical prowess was nothing new, yet the mere thought that he had constructed such a deduction in an instant left even the thoroughly accustomed Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro with a sensation of piercing numbness creeping through their skulls.

Housui continued.

"However, it would be helpful if we could determine who was where and doing what around the time of death." "However, this can wait until after we investigate the bell tower... For now, Inspector Kumashiro, I need you to find which servant last saw Ekusuke."

Inspector Kumashiro soon returned with a servant about Ekusuke’s age. The man’s name was Koga Shōjūrō.

“About what time was the last you saw Ekusuke?” Housui promptly began. “On the contrary, I was aware that Ekusuke-san was inside this armor as well. And that he was dead...” Shōjūrō uttered this unexpected statement while turning his face away from the corpse with visible disgust.

Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro impulsively snapped their eyes wide open, but Housui, in a gentle voice, “Then, recount everything from the beginning.”

“It began around 11:30 AM, I believe,” said Shōjūrō, beginning his testimony with a relatively unflinching attitude. “In the corridor between the chapel and the changing room, I encountered that man with a corpse-like pallor.” “At that moment, Ekusuke-san—suddenly branded a suspect by wretched misfortune—began airing grievances in a voice so strained it seemed to drain the color from his nails. But when I glanced at him and noticed his excessively bloodshot eyes, I asked if he had a fever. He retorted, ‘Of course I’ve got a fever,’ then took my hand and pressed it to his forehead.” “First, I estimated it to be around eight degrees.” “And then, I remember him trudging off toward the hall.” “In any case, that was the last time I saw that man’s face.”

“Then, after that, did you see Ekusuke enter the armor?”

“No—all the suspended armor suits here were swaying unsteadily… I believe this occurred just past 1:00 PM. As you can see, the door to the circular corridor was closed, leaving the interior utterly dark.” “However, a faint glint from shifting metal fittings caught my eye.” “So while inspecting each armor suit one by one, I ended up grasping that man’s palm beneath the arrow slit visor of the Moegi Kaori armor.” “In that instant, I realized—ah, this must be Ekusuke.” “After all, who but such a small man could hide their body within armor?” “So at that moment, I called out, ‘Hey, Mr. Ekusuke,’ but received no reply.” “Yet the hand burned feverishly—I’m certain it measured forty degrees.”

“Ah, could he still have been alive past 1:00 PM?” Prosecutor Hasekura exclaimed involuntarily. “Indeed he was,” Koga Shōjūrō responded. “However, there’s something peculiar about it as well,” he continued, his tone suggestive. “The next occurrence was precisely at 2:00 PM, when the first chime instrument began to ring. I had just settled Mr. Tagou onto the sickbed and was en route to telephone a physician.” “When I returned to inspect this armor once more, I heard Mr. Ekusuke’s strange breathing patterns.” “Growing increasingly unsettled, I swiftly exited the arched corridor to relay the detective’s telephone message. Upon returning, I resolved to touch his palm again.” “Then—what a shocking transformation occurred within mere ten minutes!” “His hand had turned icy cold, and all breath had left him.” “I fled in utter dismay.”

Both Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro seemed to have lost even the energy to speak. Through Shōjūrō’s testimony, not only had even such a towering edifice of forensic medicine crumbled into ruin... If the closure of the door opening onto the circular corridor had occurred a little past 1:00 PM, then Housui’s gradual asphyxiation theory would have had to be overturned from its very foundations. Even the mere fact of when Ekusuke’s high fever was detected cast doubt on the estimated time of death—yet the one-hour discrepancy proved utterly fatal. Moreover, interpreting this through the empirical evidence presented by Shōjūrō, one must conclude that Ekusuke had been suffocated via some inexplicable method within a mere ten minutes, and furthermore had his throat slit afterward. Amidst the indescribable chaos, only Housui maintained an iron-like composure.

“Speaking of two o’clock… At that time, the chime instrument was playing a psalm…” “Therefore, since there’s an interval of roughly thirty minutes until the hymn sounds afterward, the sequence of events before and after is seamlessly connected.” “If we investigate the bell tower, we might uncover something about Ekusuke’s cause of death,” he muttered in a soliloquizing tone before adding, “Incidentally, did Ekusuke possess any knowledge of armor?” “Yes, sir. This man handled all maintenance duties and would occasionally flaunt his armor expertise boastfully.”

After dismissing Shōjūrō, Prosecutor Hasekura spoke as if he had been waiting for this moment.

“This may be an outlandish theory,” Prosecutor Hasekura ventured, “but could Ekusuke have committed suicide, with the culprit adding this wound afterward?” “Is that so?” Housui retorted with palpable exasperation. “Even if one could theoretically don suspended armor alone, who fastened these helmet cords? As evidence, compare them with the others.” He gestured toward the armor displays. “All employ formal binding methods—three to five cord fixtures in dual front-back configurations, six variations following ancient styles. Yet this helmet with five kuwagata plates deviates so egregiously from proper form that one would scarcely credit it as Ekusuke’s work, armor-savvy as he was.” A sardonic edge entered his voice. “When I questioned Shōjūrō earlier, my reasoning aligned precisely with yours.”

“But isn’t this a man’s knot?” Inspector Kumashiro declared forcefully. “What nonsense—are you trying to play Sexton Blake here?” Housui cast a scornful glance. “Whether it’s a man’s knot or traces of men wearing women’s shoes... What use could such things possibly have in this fathomless case? These are nothing but the criminal’s trail markers.” He then murmured in a languid voice,

"Ekusuke must be crushed to death—" he muttered.

In the apocalyptic diagram, that verse prophesying Ekusuke’s corpse-like form lingered in everyone’s mind, yet it possessed an uncanny power that seemed to stifle vocalization. As if compelled by some invisible force, the prosecutor repeated it next, his voice thickening the swamp-like air with oppressive gloom. “Ah, so that’s it, Mr. Hasekura—the helmet and canopy frame,” Housui remarked with glacial composure. “Therefore, even if this corpse appears a forensic abomination at first glance, wouldn’t one discern two focal points here? Rather, the essential enigma lies in whether Ekusuke entered this armor willingly and why he donned it... that is to say, the circumstances preceding and following his entry into this harness, coupled with the motive necessitating murder. Undoubtedly, there’s an element of challenge directed at us as well.”

“Nonsense!” Inspector Kumashiro bellowed in indignation. “Rather than silencing mouths, one should raise needles—isn’t that so? It’s the culprit’s glaringly obvious self-defense ploy. The fact that Ekusuke was an accomplice is already beyond doubt. This concludes the Dannenberg case.” “This isn’t some Habsburg court conspiracy,” Housui once again mocked the intuitive chief investigator. “If the culprit were the type to plot poisonings using accomplices, you’d already be giving your testimony by now.”

Then, as he started walking toward the corridor,

“Now then, let’s go see how my haphazard deductions hold up at the bell tower.” As they concluded their investigation near the glass fragments, a plainclothes officer arrived with a floor plan. Housui merely brushed his fingers against the stiff object wrapped within the diagram before tucking it into his coat and proceeding to the bell tower. After climbing the double-bend staircase, they reached a key-shaped corridor forming an approximate semicircle, featuring three doors—central and two flanking it. Both Kumashiro and Prosecutor Hasekura stood gripped by tragic resolve, their breath catching as they imagined some deformed superhuman lurking in the trap’s depths. Yet when the rightmost door opened, Kumashiro—catching sight of something—charged thunderously toward the right. There by the wall’s chime instrument panel lay Kamiya Nobuko, collapsed. Her lower torso remained perched on the performance stool while her upper body sprawled backward, right hand clenched around the armor-piercing dagger with unrelenting force.

“Ah, this one!” Inspector Kumashiro exclaimed in utter frenzy, trampling Nobuko’s shoulder—but at that moment, he noticed Housui gazing almost absentmindedly at the central door. From within the eggshell-hued paint, a square white object had emerged starkly. When they drew near, both Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro found their bodies involuntarily stiffening. On that scrap of paper...

Sylphus Verschwinden (Wind spirit, vanish away)

Part Three: Kuroshikikan Psychopathology

1. Sylph... Another name?

Sylphus Verschwinden (Wind spirit, vanish away) On the central door high up among the three in the chime instrument room, another phrase from the Faustian pentagram incantation had been pasted in a pallid color that seemed to mock their gaze. Not only had it further masculinized the female Sylphe, but written once more in angular Gothic script reminiscent of Old Irish lettering—a script whose calligraphic traits permitted no glimpse of the writer’s gender, not even through so foolish a clue as a single beard-like stroke of ink. How had they slipped through that tight encirclement? Or was Nobuko the culprit, having discerned Housui’s strategically deployed siege and resorted to desperate measures…? In any case, they had to determine here the demon that had performed the ironic harmonic performance.

“This is unexpected. It’s a fainting spell.” After briskly completing his clinical examination of Nobuko’s entire body, Housui glared at Kumashiro’s shoes and declared, “A faint pulse remains audible, and though shallow, her breathing continues. Moreover, as you can see—her pupillary response remains intact.” Hearing this diagnosis from Housui, even Kumashiro—who had moments earlier trampled this wretch’s shoulder in his fervor—began regretting his impulsive act. For there lay Kamiya Nobuko’s figure: arched backward in theatrical defiance, gripping the armor-piercing dagger as if proclaiming “Behold!” Until then, they had witnessed only wild frothing waves stirred by the specter’s brazen machinations—not a single human shadow breaking the incident’s surface. Then came a smooth line of rising bubbles that seemed to shatter upon the water’s face—only to abruptly reveal this demonic lotus now before their eyes. Thus even Kumashiro, as his feverish excitement cooled, naturally began paranoid precautions. Confronted with this utterly unanticipated posture, wouldn’t the opposing interpretation gain persuasive force? Though Nobuko brandished the dagger believed to have slit Ekusuke’s throat like some triumphant exhibit, the meticulous sequence leading to her unconsciousness demanded stricter scrutiny than the weapon itself. The conclusion lay in that singular detail. When Queen Buzur chants, rain comes falling down—the case’s perversity had finally fixated upon the black man’s penis.

Now then, I believe it necessary to provide an overview of the Chime Instrument Room at this juncture. As mentioned in the previous chapter, the room adjoined the chapel's dome and was situated at the very base of the spire containing the chimes. The area at the top of the stairs formed a key-shaped corridor that curved into an almost semicircular form, with three doors—one at the center (the apex of the semicircle) and one on either side—though upon entering the room they noticed only the leftmost door had been open at that time. When viewing the walls throughout that area from inside, it became apparent they had been acoustically designed. To put it simply, it resembled a giant scallop shell—or perhaps one might call it a concave ellipse. This space had likely served as the string quartet's performance studio before installation of the chime instrument; thus not only did the central door appear unnaturally positioned in layout, but traces suggested it had been cut into the wall later. Moreover, only this central door was remarkably large, reaching a height that seemed nearly three meters. From there to the opposite wall stretched empty flooring of hinoki planks. The chime instrument's keyboard was housed within a recessed cavity carved into the wall. The thirty-three bells—each tuned to its own note—hung suspended from the ceiling directly above, their mechanism of keyboard and pedals engineered to produce those lonely monastic tones once favored by Calvin, which legend claimed could set Dutch windmills turning of their own accord when carried over canal waters. However, the acoustical structure extended to the ceiling as well, forming a gentle slope from the elliptical wall surface down to the keyboard. Moreover, it bore a round hole at its center like a sounding board, with the space above forming a long prismatic chamber. At both ends were the zodiac's circular rose windows they had seen earlier from the front garden. Furthermore, each pictorial panel depicting constellations along the ecliptic had been ingeniously detached from the main board, creating narrow gaps around them except on one side—gaps that quivered faintly with air currents. Though somewhat resembling musical glassware, sounds passing through these apertures would likely be softened as if muted, meaning the chime instrument's characteristic reverberations—or any harmonizing chords—could prevent acoustic chaos regardless of playing speed. This apparatus followed the same principle as Berlin's Parochial Church model housing thirty-three bells, though in that church it faced inward toward the chapel interior. Thus Housui's investigation extended to the circular rose window's vicinity, but they ascertained only that an iron ladder ascending the spire ran along its outer side.

Before long, Housui ordered the plainclothes officers to stand outside while he experimented with various methods on the keyboard, striving above all to verify the fundamental mystery of the harmonics—yet this attempt ultimately ended in failure. In the end, only two facts were revealed: that the chime instrument's playable range was limited to two octaves, and that the so-called harmonics they had previously heard belonged to a higher register. There had once been a remarkably similar spectral phenomenon in the bell tones of Saint Arekisei Temple. However, that had been merely a mechanical issue—nothing more than the sequence in which the bells were swung. This case differed crucially—it involved determining over thirty distinct notes. In other words, doubts now surrounded the very mass of the bells themselves, which should have adhered to fundamental laws of material composition. Thus, pursuing this inquiry to its logical conclusion inevitably led to extreme theories—either rejecting the bells' casting materials entirely or postulating some spiritual entity that plucked musical tones from empty air. As the mystery of the harmonics became conclusively established, Housui showed signs of painful exhaustion, appearing to lose even the strength to speak. Yet depending on perspective, an even greater abnormality remained—the obligation to apply their strained nerves once more to analyzing Nobuko's fainting spell.

By that time, sunset had already drawn near, and the grand edifice had been engulfed by the gloom, leaving only the faint light filtering through the circular rose window to flicker dimly in the frigid air. Within this darkness, shadows resembling wings occasionally flitted past—likely a murder of ravens skirting past the exterior of the rose window before returning to the carillon bells atop the spire.

Now then, regarding Nobuko’s condition as well, it was necessary to provide a detailed account. Nobuko remained only with her hips on the round swivel chair; from there downward, she was slightly turned to the left, while her upper body leaned somewhat to the right in contrast, and she was tilted sharply backward. Even when observing the inverted triangular shape of her posture, it was clear that she had collapsed backward in that very position during her performance. However, strangely enough, there was not a single wound as large as a cormorant’s feather across her entire body—only a minor subcutaneous hemorrhage, likely formed when she struck the floor, remained on the back of her head. Furthermore, there were no signs of suspected poisoning either. Her eyes were open, yet lusterless and clouded with a languid murkiness; her expression devoid of tension; and with her jaw hanging slack—she bore an unpleasant expression that might best be described as suggestive of nausea. Her entire body exhibited signs characteristic of simple syncope—no traces of convulsions, relaxed like cotton—yet suspiciously maintained an iron grip on the armor-piercing dagger glistening with a faint oily sheen; even when her arm was lifted and shaken, it showed no sign of loosening from her palm. In general, there was no other conclusion but to think that the cause of her unconsciousness lay latent within Nobuko’s own body. Housui, seeming to have reached a decision in his mind, said to the plainclothes officer who had lifted up Nobuko.

“Please convey that to the headquarters’ forensic doctor. First, have them perform gastric lavage.” “Next, have them perform tests on the stomach contents and urine, and conduct a gynecological examination.” “Another thing is to check for areas of tenderness and muscle reflexes throughout the entire body.” And then, when Nobuko had been carried downstairs, Housui took a deep drag of his tobacco smoke and—

“Ah, this situation... I can’t possibly bring it into focus,” he murmured in a feeble voice. “But what’s manifesting in Nobuko’s body seems straightforward enough.” “Once she regains consciousness, everything will become clear.” Prosecutor Hasekura remarked offhandedly, but Housui—his face taut with skepticism—continued sighing deeply. “No—the chaotic disarray persists unchanged.” “If anything, this might prove more baffling than Madame Dannenberg’s or Ekusuke’s cases.” “Precisely because it lacks spitefully obvious symptoms.” “It appears devoid of clues yet seethes with contradictions.” “Regardless, I’ve resolved to seek expert forensic analysis.” “With my shallow knowledge alone, how could I presume to make such monstrous determinations about cerebellar functions?” “The very laws of proprioceptive conduction have been thoroughly violated here.”

“But this is such a simple—” Inspector Kumashiro started to object, but Housui abruptly cut him off— “Because if we reach a day where there’s no internal cause and no toxic substances found, then it’ll end up vanishing into Sylphus Scorpio (which governs motor nerves)—or something like that.” “This is no joke—there’s no external cause here! There’s no convulsions—it’s obviously just a fainting spell!”

This time, Prosecutor Hasekura snarled. “You insist on making convoluted observations even about simple matters—it’s exasperating.”

“Of course it’s obvious.” “However, fainting—that’s precisely why it matters.” “If this fell under psychopathology, an old copy of Pepper’s 'Differential Diagnosis' would settle it easily.” “It’s certainly neither epilepsy nor a hysterical fit.” “Moreover, mental derangement would manifest in one’s expression—and this is neither catalepsy, pathological half-sleep, nor electric sleep,” declared Housui. He spent some time gazing up at the ceiling before finally speaking again in an unchanging hoarse voice.

“But Hasekura—even if the unconsciousness reaches the lower-level nerves, those nerves are each moving in arbitrary directions—what on earth is happening here?” “Therefore, I’ve been compelled to adopt this conviction.” “For instance, even if we could establish a favorable explanation for her gripping the armor-piercing dagger—” “Even then, unless the mystery of the harmonics is laid bare, we’d naturally have to suspect self-induced causes behind her collapse—you follow?” “How’s that?”

“That’s mythology. You should rest awhile—you’re clearly exhausted,” Prosecutor Hasekura retorted, but Inspector Kumashiro refused to yield. Housui continued in a trance-like murmur: “Precisely, Inspector—it must indeed be legend. Negelain’s *Nordic Legendology* recounts how Count Rüdesheim of Zekkingen was celebrated by wandering minstrels of yore. This was after Frederick’s Fifth Crusade—attend closely. The bard Oswald drank wine infused with ventosin—believed to be henbane down—whereupon he began swaying like a corporeal wave still clutching his lyre, until collapsing upon Queen Gertrude’s lap. Having learned of ventosin vapors from Lebedos—a sorcerer of Carpathos Isle north of Crete—Rüdesheim promptly beheaded him and burned both corpse and head alike—so the tale goes. Though attributed to Iuphēsisus, poet-king of vagrant minstrels, historian Belforé deems this the earliest record of pure Arabian-Galenian sorcery brought north by Crusaders—a tradition Dr. Faust later perfected as the very incarnation of medieval magical spirit.”

“Indeed,” Prosecutor Hasekura sneered sarcastically, “when May arrives, apple blossoms bloom, and a lustful scent wafts from the castle’s butter workshop.” “In that case—well—the husband has gone crusading.” “During his absence, if she procured a duplicate key for the chastity belt, then milady’s springtime dalliance with a troubadour can hardly be faulted.” “But enough of this.” “Let us turn our attention back to the murder case.” Housui responded with a half-smile, his voice heavy with solemnity.

“That’s sloppy of you, Prosecutor Hasekura—a prosecutor neglecting his study of pathological psychology! Had you applied yourself, you’d have memorized how sorcerous spirits in epics like the *Ancient Danish Legend Collection* frequently cite syphilitic epileptics as exemplars.” “Now, while this Rüdesheim tale isn’t directly cited, Meerhin’s *Trance State* scientifically explains Oswald’s cataleptic state from the poem.” “In its chapter on simple fainting: ‘When fainting occurs, cerebral functions concentrate unilaterally—volition vanishes instantly, and a floating sensation suffuses the body.’” “‘However,’” he continued, flipping over Nobuko’s rotating chair to point at its spindle, “‘since cerebellar functions cease slightly later, these systems interact dynamically—briefly inducing a lateral wave-like sway throughout the body.’” “Yet Nobuko’s body defied natural laws, moving oppositely.” “Granted, I made ‘natural laws’ sound grand—it’s merely this chair’s rotation.” “The spiral direction is a right-handed twist.” “The spindle has fully submerged into the spiral hole, with the rightward rotation at its absolute limit.” “But consider Nobuko’s posture: hips drawn deep into the seat, lower limbs turned slightly leftward, upper body leaning right—” “This form must have fallen while rotating leftward.” “A clear violation.” “Because leftward rotation would require the chair to rise.”

"None of your vague rhetorical questions." When Inspector Kumashiro showed disapproval, Housui presented every observational point and clarified the contradictions.

“Of course I don’t believe this configuration existed from the beginning.” “However, even if there had been some slack in the spiral—” “You’re fixating on lateral sway during syncope while forgetting weight—the vertical force acting perpendicularly.” “Because of that weight, even while swaying, the direction gradually becomes determined.” “In other words, shouldn’t the amplitude naturally increase toward the right as it diminishes?” “Furthermore, consider another hypothesis—let’s assume it made one full rotation to the right before the spiral jammed at its current position.” “But during that rotation, centrifugal force would inevitably come into play.” “Therefore, I see no conceivable reason why such a formal seated posture would result when motion ceased.” “Thus, Inspector Kumashiro—when contrasting the chair’s spiral with Nobuko’s bodily position—an astonishing contradiction emerges there.”

“Ah, a volitional faint…,” the prosecutor sighed in a disturbed manner.

“If that were indeed true—Ada of the Green Family.” “So…” Housui clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing methodically. “I wouldn’t order gastric lavages or urinalyses without cause.” “Naturally, the issue arises precisely when such self-induced materials remain undiscovered,” he declared, stopping before the keyboard and driving it down with his palm. This action hinted at the presence of alternative theories.

“It’s just as I said. Performing the chime instrument requires physical strength beyond that of a woman. Even repeating a simple hymn three times would leave one utterly exhausted. So while the timbre was gradually weakening then, I believe its cause likely lies precisely here.” “So you’re saying her fainting resulted from that fatigue?” Inspector Kumashiro asked breathlessly. “Well—‘Do not trust testimony given during exhaustion,’ as Stern warns us. If some unforeseen force intervened there, it would create ideal conditions indeed. But all this hinges on proving the cause behind the harmonics’ occurrence. That would constitute an alibi within an alibi, wouldn’t it?”

“Then, are you suggesting Nobuko’s performance technique was on such a grand scale?” the prosecutor asked in astonishment. “I don’t believe those harmonics could ever be proven by the chime instrument alone.” “Rather than that, I believe the more immediate issue lies in whether Nobuko was compelled to grip the armor-piercing dagger—or not.” “No, once unconscious, one cannot possibly maintain a firm grip,” Housui began pacing again, his voice drained of vigor. “Of course, there are alternative theories regarding this, which is why I requested expert analysis." "Moreover, it is temporally encompassed within Ekusuke’s death." "The servant Shōjūrō testified that he distinctly heard Ekusuke’s breathing at 2:00 PM—presumed to be an hour postmortem—yet at that precise hour, Nobuko was performing the sutra hymn." "This compels us to conclude that within the twenty-plus minutes preceding the final hymn’s performance, someone slit Ekusuke’s throat and thereby induced her unconsciousness." "What consumes me with dread is the possibility of contradictory evidence emerging there—it dominates my thoughts." “Fundamentally, isn’t establishing investigative parameters and narrowing them down akin to solving 2−1=1?” "But the harmonics...the harmonics?"

Of course, anything beyond that lay in the realm of chaos.

Housui desperately focused his mental energies, channeling everything toward Nobuko. The lessons from past cases like the Constance Kent affair and Green murders now compelled repetitive scrutiny of this scene. Yet the contradictions—splintering like petals from a hundred blossoms—refused to coalesce into conviction within any of his analytical frameworks. Superficially, paradox and irony danced through grand rhetorical flourishes. But each resolved doubt spawned fresh uncertainties, leaving him adrift like some accursed Dutchman in endless nautical limbo. When this labyrinthine puzzle finally intersected with the harmonics enigma, Housui found himself dragged back into competing hypotheses' gravitational pull. Suddenly he halted—eyes blazing with unearthly luminance—as though pierced by divine revelation.

“Prosecutor Hasekura, your remark provided an excellent hint,” Housui declared, his eyes gleaming with intellectual fervor. “When you said the harmonics couldn’t be proven by this bell alone—you were ultimately declaring that we must search for something to replace the performance’s spiritualism.” He paced slowly, fingertips brushing the carillon’s cold metal. “In other words, if there exists a resonant stone or wooden instrument elsewhere in this mansion, we must acoustically prove its role.” Stopping abruptly, he turned with theatrical emphasis. “This realization made me recall the ancient mystery of the Magdeburg Archbishop’s Palace—the legend of Gerbert’s Moon Zither.”

“Gerbert’s Moon Zither⁉” Prosecutor Hasekura flinched at Housui’s abrupt theoretical pivot. “What connection could a moon zither possibly have with this chime monstrosity?” “That Gerbert is Sylvester II,” Housui declared with fervor-laden intensity. “The very master of Witchgus who authored that accursed codex!” Gazing at the faint shadow figure cast on the floor, he wove his phantasmal verse. “Now, Penkraik—a fourteenth-century Anglo-Dutch linguist—included an eerie account of Gerbert within his *Tsuruvēru Epic Collection*. Naturally, given the era’s anti-Saracen bias, they painted Gerbert as little more than a sorcerer—but let me excerpt the passage nonetheless. It’s an alchemical lyric poem of sorts.”

Gerbert gazes up at the Hyades He plucks the psaltery He first plucks the low string, then falls silent But immediately after that,

The adjacent moon zither sounded with no one present, Like the voice of a vengeful spirit, it answered with a high-pitched twang of its strings. Therefore,

“Bystanders covered their ears and fled away—so it is told.” “However, according to Kiesewetter’s *History of Ancient Instruments*, while the moon zither is a gut-string instrument, tenth-century psalteries used metal strings instead of gut strings—producing a sound akin to a modern metallophone.” “At that point, I had attempted to dissect that supernatural tale.” “Now, Kumashiro, I want you to thoroughly digest the relationship between medieval non-literary epics and murder cases here.”

“Hmph, there’s more?” Kumashiro spat out along with spit-dampened tobacco. “I thought we were done with hunting horns and chainmail back at that murderous blacksmith case, you know.”

“You bet there is.” “That is *Nicolas et Jeanne*, written by the historian Vilaré.” When confronted with the Miracle Virgin, the advisory judges trembled violently, displaying nervous phenomena of utterly bizarre abnormality. “I find it profoundly suspicious why later forensic psychopathology authorities never cite that psychological state—to the point of genuine bewilderment.” “Now in this case, I’ve conceived an exceedingly sorcerous resonance phenomenon.” “To explain through piano analogy: lightly press the first key without sound, then strike the next forcefully. When that fades, release the first key—then C resonates in strangely vocal timbre.” “Undoubtedly a resonance phenomenon.” “Because C contains its harmonic—a tone with doubled frequency—but seeking such resonance in bells may be theoretically impossible.” “Yet we can extract elemental hints.” “What we call sound simulation.” “Inspector Kumashiro—you know xylophones?” “When striking dried wood or certain stones, they emit metallic sounds.” “Ancient China had bianqing stone chimes and fangxiang metallophones; Incan dry-wood drums and Amazonian blade-resonant stones are documented.” “But I pursue neither monophonic elements nor exposed sound sources.” “What would you think upon hearing this—” “Confucius reportedly grew dumbstruck learning of Shun’s seven-tone wooden pillar in rhyme studies.” After citing erudite references—“Similar records exist in Hiro Torukushiro’s ruins and Troy’s first-layer city remnants (15th century BC, during its fall)…”—Housui attempted to align these ancient texts’ scientific interpretations with the murder’s tangible evidence.

“Anyway, considering we have something like Dr. Day’s hidden door here,” “it’s unthinkable that this mansion wouldn’t contain further exercises in techno-sorcery.” “Without doubt, within the alterations made to the original design by the English architect Digsby, Dr. Sakutetsu’s Witchgus curse methodology must be embedded.” “That is to say—even a single pillar or load-bearing beam. Then the bellows-like structures and those unglazed vermilion lines piercing through the corridor walls—I believe we ought to scrutinize those as well.”

“So you’re saying you need the mansion’s blueprints?” Inspector Kumashiro shouted in exasperation. “Yes, I require those for the entire mansion. If we do that, I think we might be able to break through the killer’s extraordinary alibi,” Housui retorted, then proceeded to outline two approaches. “It may seem like an endless journey, but the path to find the wind spirit lies only in these two methods.” “In other words, if we accept that a Gerbert-esque resonance technique was reproduced in the result, there can be no objection to concluding that Nobuko intentionally induced her own unconsciousness.” “Furthermore, if some sound-based method were to be proven, one could assert that the culprit gave Nobuko a cause to lose consciousness and then departed from the bell tower.” “In any case, when the harmonics were produced, there was no one else there besides Nobuko.” “That much is clear.”

“Hmph, the harmonics are merely incidental,” Inspector Kumashiro countered. “In short, this stems from your penchant for obscurity. It’s nothing but a trivial matter of logical form. If we can just determine why Nobuko lost consciousness, there’s no need for you to go smashing your skull against stone walls from the outset.” “Ah, but Inspector Kumashiro,” Housui retorted acidly, “were we to take Nobuko’s testimony at face value, it would scarcely amount to more than this: ‘I felt unwell and remember nothing thereafter—’ No—this runs deeper. Those harmonics must conceal every mystery—from the cause of her collapse, to her clutching that armor-piercing dagger, down to the contradiction in the rotating stool I previously noted. Indeed, I suspect they may even intertwine with aspects of the Ekusuke case.”

“Hmm, it certainly is spiritualism,” Prosecutor Hasekura muttered gloomily, but Housui persisted in emphasizing his own theory. “No—it transcends mere spiritualism.” “Generally speaking, paranormal performances by instruments aren’t particularly rare.” “Even Schröder’s *Theory of Animal Magnetism* alone cites nearly twenty examples.” “The true issue lies in tonal transformation.” “Yet even Antiochus of Alexandria—that supreme magus of antiquity who supposedly drew reluctant praise from Saint Origenes himself—is said to have performed remote hydraulis concerts, though not a single record survives of their acoustic qualities.” “Consider Albertus Magnus—that high-ranking Dominican monk in Erburg during the late thirteenth century—” “—though famed as an alchemist-magus, he was equally a philosopher of universals and medieval physics’ luminary—indeed, deemed peerless across eras as a spiritualist—yet when he played his portable organ, the same principle held.” “Then in modern times, Italy’s great medium Eusapia Palladino manipulated a concertina within an iron cage—yet even that mad scholar Flammarion remained silent regarding its essential timbre.” “Thus we see that even spiritual phenomena, while they may command time and space, hold no dominion over material structure.” “Yet Inspector Kumashiro—the fundamental laws of material composition have been delightfully overthrown.” “Ah, what a fearsome entity.” “The Sylph—that elemental of air and sound—struck the bell and vanished.”

In the end, Housui’s deductions regarding the harmonics had merely delineated the clear limits of human thought and creativity. However, the culprit had effortlessly surpassed even that, accomplishing a superspiritual miracle beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. Just as one might repel a tangled web through great effort, the wall before them already pierced through clouds. Under these circumstances, little hope could be placed in Nobuko’s testimony—but even the two paths Housui had revealed to reach those mysterious harmonics now suggested only a one-in-a-million chance, leaving the situation desolately fragile and on the verge of being forgotten altogether. When they left the chime instrument room and returned to Madame Dannenberg’s chamber, her corpse had already been removed for autopsy. In that gloomy room stood a solitary plainclothes officer—the one they had earlier ordered to investigate the family members’ movements—waiting in silence. The findings extracted from the servants’ testimonies were as follows.

Furuya Hatatarou.

Furuya Hatatarou. After lunch at noon, he held discussions with the other three family members in the hall, then proceeded to the chapel in unison at 1:50 PM upon the signal of the scriptural hymn, performed requiem music, and at 2:35 PM exited the chapel with the three others to enter his room. Olga Krivov (same as above) Galibarda Serena (same as above) Ottokar Levez (same as above) Tagou Shinsai. Until 1:30 PM, he was compiling excerpts from past funeral records with two servants, but after questioning, he retired to his room.

Kuga Chinako. After questioning, she did not leave the library, and this fact was verified by the book-carrying girl.

Kamiya Nobuko. Except for having lunch brought to her room at noon, she was not seen in the hallway and was presumed to have remained secluded in her quarters. Around 1:30 PM, someone witnessed her ascending the bell tower stairs. There were no abnormalities whatsoever beyond the aforementioned facts.

“Mr. Housui, the road to Damascus lies in this single path alone,” declared Prosecutor Hasekura, exchanging glances with Inspector Kumashiro while rubbing his hands in self-satisfaction. “Behold—does not every thread converge upon Nobuko?” With the same hand that had stuffed the investigation report into his coat pocket, Housui withdrew the glass fragments and vicinity sketch map he had obtained earlier in the arcade. But upon opening it, what struck their eyes was yet another astonishment in this case. What lay wrapped within the footprint-marked sketch map? Against all expectations—fragments of a photographic plate.

II. The Whereabouts of the Spectral Gathering

Silver iodide plate—confronted with the already exposed dry plate, even Housui found himself at a loss for words. The fact was that it formed an abnormally stark contrast with the case. Therefore, even after laboriously retracing every twist and turn and scrutinizing the entire sequence of events from the beginning—though locations where emblematic forms might materialize through photosensitive substances like dry plates were naturally considered—not a single hyphen-like mark that could project or metaphorically allude to them could be found. If this were indeed connected to actual criminal acts, it might well be an act of divine craftsmanship.

Thus, a death-like silence hung in the air for some time. In the meantime, a servant threw pine logs into the hearth, and as the room began to warm faintly, Housui gazed at the tongues of flame and let out a slight sigh.

“Ah, isn’t this just like a dinosaur egg?”

“But what on earth was it needed for?” Prosecutor Hasekura plainly stated Housui’s hyperbolic metaphor. And when he turned the switch,

“Surely this isn’t for photography,” Inspector Kumashiro said, blinking at the sudden brightness. “No—ghosts might indeed be real. First of all, I heard Ekusuke witnessed something—during last night’s Divine Judgment session, someone was moving on the adjacent room’s protruding veranda, and that figure dropped something to the ground—isn’t that what was reported? Moreover, none of the seven had left their rooms at that time. If someone had dropped it from a downstairs window, they wouldn’t have taken such care to shatter it into such fine pieces.”

“Yeah, that ghost is probably real,” Housui said, blowing a smoke ring, “but it’s also a fact that bastard ended up dead afterward.” “Because if you divide the Dannenberg case and everything that followed into two separate categories and examine them— “The paradox I hold would vanish clean away, wouldn’t it? “In other words, the wind spirit knew the water deity was there and killed it. “We mustn’t let ourselves be deceived just because those two incantations are consecutive. “However, the culprit is one person.”

“Then, besides Ekusuke—” Inspector Kumashiro widened his eyes in surprise, but Prosecutor Hasekura cut him off, “Oh, just leave it be. You’re letting your own fantasies lead you astray,” he said, giving Housui a chastising look. “Frankly, your theory reeks of decadent romanticism. It rejects the natural and the ordinary. In dandyish techniques, there is neither authenticity nor common sense. In fact, just moments ago, you were projecting fantasies onto those harmonics with your dreamlike sound effects. However, what if Nobuko’s playing were to overlap with even a similar faint sound?”

“Well, this is a surprise! Have you reached such an advanced age already?” Prosecutor Hasekura made a clownish face, but Housui smiled back ironically. “Now, whether it’s Hensen or Ewald—even while debating auditory physiology—they all clearly acknowledge this one point.” “In other words, this applies to the scenario you mentioned: even if two faint sounds of similar timbre were to overlap, the lower-pitched one would not induce vibrations in the basilar membrane of the inner ear.” “However, when senile changes set in, that effect becomes reversed,” Housui declared decisively. Then, as he lowered his gaze back to the dry plate, a complex transformation rippled across his expression.

“But what of this paradoxical creation?” “I can’t make heads or tails of this combination either.” “However, there’s something that resonates with a sharp ‘ping’.” “It declares in an odd voice—‘Thus spoke Zarathustra—’” “What on earth does Nietzsche have to do with this?” This time, Prosecutor Hasekura was shocked. “No—it’s not Strauss’s symphonic poem either.” “That is the spell codex of Onmyōdō—the ascetic Persian religion founded by Zarathustra.” “The light received from a divine being may strike down even the god who is its source—so it declares.” “Of course, the purpose of that incantation is to attain the ecstasy of divine communion.” “In other words, when performing starvation-induced divine possession, persisting in that methodology causes ascetic monks’ hallucinations to become unified,” declared Housui, voicing an uncharacteristically mystical theory. Needless to say, it proved impossible to weigh—there on the spot—what lay concealed within rationality’s unfathomable depths. However, when contrasting Housui’s words with the Divine Judgment session’s anomalies, might it not be that the dry plate exposed to the corpse candle’s flame had made Madame Dannenberg see Dr. Sakutetsu’s phantom and lose consciousness? Though such mystically profound implications grew increasingly tangible, just as they peaked, Housui unexpectedly rose to his feet, hinting at them with slightly more concrete form.

“However, this makes the reenactment of the Divine Judgment Session an urgent necessity.” “I shall proceed to the back garden to examine the two parallel footprints drawn on this sketch map.” Yet when passing by the downstairs library en route, Housui froze as if rooted to the spot. Inspector Kumashiro checked his watch,

“4:20 PM—it’ll soon be impossible to see where we’re stepping. We can deal with the linguistics collection later.”

“No—I need to examine the original score of the requiem,” Housui declared flatly, leaving the other two men flabbergasted. Yet through this exchange, it became clear that during the recent performance—as they neared the final notes—two violins had applied mutes. Housui harbored an intense fixation on this inexplicable detail that so flagrantly disregarded the musical composition. Behind them, he turned the handle while continuing to speak.

“Inspector Kumashiro, isn’t Dr. Sakutetsu truly a great symbolist poet?” “To that man, even this vast mansion was nothing more than ‘a warehouse woven from shadows and signs.’” “He scattered emblems like celestial bodies across it—through analogy and synthesis—to hint at some singular terror.” “So what could you possibly discern by peering through this haze of symbols?” “That unfathomable essence—I’ll drag it into the light if I must.”

That this ultimate destination signified the unknown half-leaf of the apocalyptic diagram... and that it represented one of the converging currents focused upon that single point—how he must have been inwardly gasping and fretting in his search—was not at all difficult to imagine. However, when he opened the door—though no human figure awaited there—Housui was struck by a dazzling sensation. The four walls were divided by Gondar-style paneling, with a surrounding light layer created in their upper sections where Ionic caryatids stood aligned, supporting the ceiling’s corbel overhead. And the light entering through the illumination layer bestowed an ineffably divine vitality upon the ceiling painting of "Danaë’s Golden Rain Conception" surrounded by the Twenty-Four Elders of the Apocalypse. Not only were there pieces of study furniture with Tulier-style inlaid characters placed upon the floor, but the entire primary color scheme—a contrast of milky-white marble and scorched brown—had been chosen such that all of it constituted an eighteenth-century Viennese-style study, the likes of which one could never hope to glimpse even a trace of in Japan. Crossing that vacant library and opening the door at the far end where light streamed in, he found himself in Furuya’s archive—a collection that would make any connoisseur salivate. Divided into over twenty layers, at the back of the bookshelves was a desk where Kuga Chinako’s sarcastic wit awaited.

“Oh my, if you’ve graced this room with your presence, it seems nothing of significance has occurred.” “In fact, that’s precisely the case. Since that incident, instead of the automaton appearing, we’ve had a continuous parade of apparitions,” Housui responded with a wry smile after being interrupted. “That’s right. Strange harmonics could be heard again earlier. But surely you’re not going to make Ms. Nobuko the culprit?” “Ah, so you were aware of those harmonics?” Housui’s eyelids quivered faintly as he fixed her with an inquisitive gaze.

“However, I have at least grasped the overall structure of this case.” “That is precisely the Minkowskian four-dimensional world you described,” she retorted without a flicker of unease, then pivoted to the crux of the matter.

“By the way—though I came here to investigate that past sphere—I presume there exists an original score of the requiem?” “Requiem⁉” Chinako made a puzzled face. “But what do you intend to accomplish by examining that?”

“Then, you still don’t know?” Housui displayed a faintly surprised expression yet spoke in solemn tones.

“Actually, near the finale, two violins applied mutes.” “Therefore, I instead felt as though I were listening to Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique.” “Indeed, in that piece, there was a part where they make you hear the thunderclap as the condemned man ascends the gallows and falls into hell—a solo of wooden drums like hail, if I recall correctly.” “There, I thought I heard Dr. Sakutetsu’s voice.”

“Oh my, what a catastrophic miscalculation,” said Chinako with a pitying smile,

“That was not composed by Dr. Sakutetsu.” “It was composed by the eminent architect Claude Digsby himself.” “In any case, if you’re going to concern yourself with such things, I suppose we’ve gained another ghost now.” “However, if it is indeed essential for your contrapuntal reasoning, I shall endeavor to locate it.”

It was hardly surprising that Housui had temporarily lost himself. The requiem he had presumed to be John Steiner's work—Steiner being an Oxford music professor who had died at the century's dawn—and had believed Dr. Sakutetsu had deliberately revised, turned out instead to have been composed by none other than Digsby, the architect of this mansion. Could that eminent architect, who reportedly threw himself into the sea during his return voyage to Rangoon, have some connection to this mysterious incident? Yet that Housui had not neglected to investigate even the realm of the dead from the very beginning could indeed be called a testament to his keen insight.

While Chinako searched for the original score, Housui let his eyes race across the bookshelves, committing to memory each and every one of Furuya’s astonishing archival collection. It went without saying that this constituted the entirety of spiritual life within Kuroshikikan, but it was not impossible that somewhere within this archive lay the root of some unfathomably mysterious incident. Housui swiftly traced the spine lettering, and for a while remained entranced amidst the pungent aroma of paper and leather.

The thirty-volume 1676 (Strasbourg) edition of Pliny’s Natural History and, as its ancient encyclopedia counterpart, the Leiden Ancient Documents first drew an exclamation from Housui. Next came Solanus’s Messenger God’s Staff, followed by medieval medical texts from Ulbridge, Roslin, Londley; alchemical pharmacopeias using symbolic language by Barko, Arnau, Agrippa; domestically, Dutch text interpretations by Nagata Chisokukai, Sugita Genpaku, Nan'yōgen; and from ancient China, Sui dynasty works like Jingjizhi, Jade Chamber Essentials, Toad Classic, and Immortal Classic—tomes on sexual techniques and medical practices. Additionally, Brahmanic medical texts such as Sushruta and Charaka Samhita, along with Aufrecht’s Sanskrit original of the Kama Sutra. Then came categories ranging from the famed limited 1920s publication Compendium of Vivisection to Hartmann’s Semiology of Cerebellar Disorders—a chronological medical history spanning some fifteen hundred volumes. Next, the mystery religion collection reached substantial bulk: The London Asiatic Society’s first edition of Peacock King Spell Sutra; the Siamese Emperor’s authorized Aṭanāṭī Sutra; Bloomfield’s Black Night Jewel Veda; Sanskrit esoteric sutras by Schlagintweit and Childers. Among non-canonical Jewish scriptures, Housui’s attention fixed on Froberger’s original score of Lament on the Death of Ferdinand IV—a synagogue music rarity—and Vesalio’s Divine-Human Intermarriage, a smuggled manuscript from St. Blaise Abbey secretly housed in Furuya’s archive. Then from Reitzenstein’s magnum opus Mystery Religions to De Rougé’s Funerary Rites. Also Baopuzi’s “The Far-Seeking Chapter,” Fei Changfang’s Record of the Three Treasures Through the Ages, And texts like Laozi Huahu Jing concerning mystical arts. Though magic books numbered over seventy—including Kieselvetter’s Sphinx and Archbishop Werner’s Ingelheim Sorcery—most were studies like Hild’s Studies on Demons, essential works likely lost to Sakutetsu’s book burning. The psychology section brimmed with criminology and parapsychology: beyond Corucci’s Records of Simulated Madness and Pattini’s Waxen Flexibility lay Francis’s Encyclopedia of Death, Schrenck-Notzing’s Studies in Criminal Psychology, Guarino’s Napoleonic Physiognomy, Krafft-Ebing’s Textbook of Forensic Psychiatry. Parapsychology included Myers’ Human Personality and Its Survival of Bodily Death, Savage’s Is Telepathy Possible?, Gelling’s Hypnotic Suggestion— A vast compilation even containing Starke’s esoteric Theory of Soul Reproduction. When Housui reached ancient philology—gazing upon the Kalevala manuscript, Brahmanic Sangita Ratnakara, Gudrun Lays, Saxo Grammaticus’s History of Denmark— Chinako finally arrived bearing the requiem’s original score. Discolored to dark brown, Queen Anne’s watermark stood starkly visible while lyrics faded into illegibility.

Housui took it in hand and promptly cast his eyes to the final page, but— “Hah, it’s written in ancient vocal notation symbols,” he muttered carelessly before tossing it onto the side table. Then he said to Chinako: “By the way, Ms. Kuga, do you know why a mute notation was added to this section?” “Not in the slightest.” Chinako laughed sarcastically. “Con sordino—could there be any meaning beyond ‘attach a mute’? Or perhaps ‘Hom Fuge’—‘O son of man, flee away’?”

Housui did not flinch at Chinako’s scathing ridicule; instead, he raised his voice and declared: “No—rather, it should be ‘Behold this person—’ shouldn’t it? This clearly states ‘Behold Wagner’s *Parsifal*—’ you see.” “Parsifal⁉” Though Chinako recoiled at Housui’s bizarre pronouncement, he avoided further elaboration and shifted topics: “Additionally, I must impose another request—should you possess Lesser’s *On the Results of Posthumous Mechanical Violence*...”

"I believe there probably was one," Chinako said after a moment's consideration. "If you're pressed for time, I can have you search through the miscellaneous books over there slated for binding." When he lifted the sliding door on the right that Chinako had indicated, the bookshelf inside contained materials needing rebinding haphazardly stuffed into it, merely arranged in ABC order. Housui meticulously perused the U section from the beginning. Then, just as a vibrant hue seemed to flush across his face, he exclaimed, “This is it,” and extracted a volume bound in simple black cloth.

Behold—in Housui’s eyes, was there not an extraordinary brilliance brimming? What could this unassuming volume possibly bring forth⁉ Yet when he opened its cover, to his surprise, a look of astonishment swept across his face. And then, he involuntarily dropped the volume onto the floor.

“What’s wrong?” The prosecutor pressed closer in surprise. “The cover is indeed Lesser’s masterpiece,” Housui bit down hard on his lower lip though his voice still trembled. “But inside lies Molière’s *Tartuffe*.” “Look—in Daumier’s frontispiece—that villainous priest smirks at us!”

“Ah! There’s a key!” At that moment, Inspector Kumashiro shouted in a shrill voice. When he picked up that volume from the floor, it was because he had noticed a metal object—shaped like a banner axe—peeking out from around what seemed to be the middle of its contents. When he took it out, a circular tag was hanging down, on which was written “Drug Storage Room.” “Tartuffe and the missing drug storage room key…” Housui muttered in a hollow voice, then turned to Kumashiro and said, “Regardless of what this tag means—what do you make of the culprit’s penchant for theatrics?”

Kumashiro directed his pent-up frustration at Housui and snapped.

“But I might as well say we’re the real performers here! From the very start, even without getting paid, haven’t we been laughed at nonstop?” “Why, this goes beyond even the tales of that warlock bishop!” Prosecutor Hasekura uttered this seemingly mild reproof to admonish Inspector Kumashiro—yet paradoxically, it drew forth a conclusion that made their blood run cold. “In fact, one might say it’s precisely like Marquis Quadar’s Macbeth (the four witches’ lines)—that’s what I’d venture.” “After all, if that fellow isn’t a revenant, there’s no way Mr. Housui could have hidden what he had pinpointed prior to that.”

"Yeah, what a satisfying defeat." “To tell the truth, I’m also feeling rather ashamed of myself here.” For some reason, Housui lowered his eyes and spoke in an edgy tone. “Earlier, I stated there was something in the drug storage room—where the key went missing—that could weigh the culprit.” “Moreover, in trying to resolve the doubts regarding Ekusuke’s cause of death, I noticed Lesser’s work.” “However, as a result, reason’s scales have tipped inversely—now we’re the ones being placed on the culprit’s balance pan.” “Yet seeing how they’ve kept their mocking face concealed like this, perhaps those writings lack any essential descriptions of the sort I imagined.” “In any case, Ekusuke’s murder too was incorporated into the schedule from the very outset.” “How could those contradictions in the cause of death possibly be coincidental?”

Though Housui did not disclose why he had sought out Lesser’s writings, it was undeniable that—much to their chagrin—their investigative path up to that point had indeed been treading along the criminal’s nerve fibers. Not only that, but here it became clear that the culprit had thrown down the gauntlet; their unimaginable superhuman nature was sufficiently corroborated by this single fact alone. When they returned to the old library, Housui did not speak openly about the incident in the unsorted storage room and instead questioned Chinako.

“At last, the ripples of the incident have reached this library.” “Do you recall anyone who has passed through this sliding door recently?”

“Oh, is that all?” “Then, if I were to say it was only Madame Dannenberg over the past week or so—” Chinako’s reply was so unexpected in this context that it could only be perceived as a blatant lie. “It appears Madame Dannenberg wished to ascertain something, for she seemed to be diligently searching through this unsorted storage room.”

“What about last night?” Inspector Kumashiro pressed impatiently. “Unfortunately, while attending to Madame Dannenberg, I carelessly neglected to lock the library,” Chinako replied offhandedly, then cast a sardonic smile toward Housui. “In light of this oversight, perhaps I should present you with the philosopher’s stone—would Knipper’s *Physiological Graphology* suffice?” “No—what I require is Marlowe’s *The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus*,” Housui countered. The title alone deflected her derisive smirk—a sneer born of ignorance toward the incantation’s true nature. He proceeded to request Roskoff’s *Volksbuch Studies* (purported origin of the Faust legend), Barth’s *On Hysterical Sleep States*, and Woods’ *Royal Heredity* before departing the library. With the key now secured, they turned their investigation toward the drug room.

The next drug room was located on the upper floor's garden side, flanked by an empty chamber originally intended to be Dr. Sakutetsu's laboratory and connected on the right to the room where Divine Judgment rituals had been conducted. However, only the drug room's characteristic permeating stench lingered there, its floor crisscrossed with untraceable slipper marks and devoid of any other traces of contact. Thus their remaining task was simply to inspect over ten rows of medicine shelves and baskets, checking for moved bottles and reductions in their contents. Yet paradoxically, a five-minute accumulation of dust layers actually facilitated their investigation. The first thing that caught their eye was potassium cyanide with its stopper removed.

“Alright, next…” Housui methodically wrote each one down, but upon hearing the three drug names listed next, he blinked unnaturally, his expression taking on a skeptical hue. After all, magnesium sulfate, iodoform, and chloral hydrate were each nothing but extremely common ordinary medications. Prosecutor Hasekura also tilted his head quizzically and muttered.

“A laxative—since Epsom salt is refined magnesium sulfate—a disinfectant, and a sleeping drug.” “What could the culprit possibly be trying to accomplish with these three?” “No—they must have disposed of it immediately.” “But it was we who were forced to swallow it,” Housui declared, wielding another of his so-called “tragic preludes”—those peculiar phrases he favored. “What—us?!” Inspector Kumashiro exclaimed, aghast. “Exactly—doesn’t anonymous criticism possess homicidal potency?” Housui gnawed his lower lip before delivering an astonishing revelation. “First, magnesium sulfate—orally administered, it’s indisputably a laxative. Yet when blended with morphine for rectal injection, it induces euphoric twilight sleep.” “Next, iodoform occasionally provokes narcotic toxicity.” “As for chloral hydrate—even amidst pathological excitation where other sedatives fail, it can plunge one into coma instantaneously.” “Thus these substances aren’t intended for new victims at all.” “They’re purely artifacts of the culprit’s derisive impulses.” “In short, these three compounds satirize our own enervation.”

The invisible specter crept into this room as well and, true to form, stuck out its yellow tongue, pointed sideways, and laughed mockingly. However, the investigation continued unabated yet ultimately yielded nothing beyond two findings. The first was evidence of an unsealed large bottle of litharge (lead oxide), while the second revealed the deceased's secret resurfacing once more. This stemmed from their near-overlooked discovery—on the flank of a recessed empty bottle—of an inscription in Dr. Sakutetsu's hand.

Though he had hinted at Digsby’s whereabouts, Dr. Sakutetsu departed this world without ever revealing them— In short, what Sakutetsu had sought was likely some manner of drug substance. Yet rather than concerning himself with its nature, Housui found his interest drawn to the seemingly insignificant empty bottle before him—an object radiating boundless mystery. It stood as a poem of desolate time. This vacant glass vessel had passed decades in futile anticipation, perpetually awaiting fulfillment that never came. One sensed something resembling mutual contention lingering between Sakutetsu and Digsby. Moreover, the criminal will that had manipulated ointment agents like lead oxide remained an insoluble enigma. Though these two clues offered vital implications touching both manifest and hidden facets of the case, Housui and his two companions had no choice but to depart the drug chamber, leaving its secrets for future resolution.

Subsequently, they proceeded to investigate the room where the Divine Judgment ritual had been conducted the previous night. However, that space—unusually plain for this mansion—indeed appeared to have been originally designed as Dr. Sakutetsu’s laboratory. The room had few windows relative to its spaciousness, its perimeter walls made of lead. On the concrete floor lay a cheap carpet that appeared to have been used solely for the previous night’s gathering. Moreover, on the side facing the garden, there was only one window, and apart from that, there was merely a single round vent hole in the left corner of the wall. Because the surrounding walls were entirely draped with black curtains, the already gloomy room became even dimmer, and there lingered an almost palpable air of melancholy. It seemed as though the horrific vision from that moment—when corpse candles were placed upon each finger of withered hands of bygone glory, beginning to ignite with a listless crackle—still lingered somewhere in this room as faint, feeble rays of light. After making a circuit of the room, Housui proceeded to the vacant chamber adjacent on the left. That was the room with the protruding ledge where Ekusuke had reportedly seen a human figure during last night’s Divine Judgment ritual. The room was nearly identical in size and structure to the previous one, but with four windows, the interior was comparatively bright. The floor was covered with a coarse canvas-like material, upon which unnecessary furnishings were piled high, crowned with white dust. Housui’s gaze fixed on the water faucet beside the door—it appeared someone had run water there during the night, for three or four icicles resembling earthworms now dangled from the spout. Needless to say, this merely served to corroborate Nobuko Kamiya’s actions—that she had brought water immediately after Madame Dannenberg’s fainting spell the previous night.

“Anyway, the problem lies with this protruding ledge,” Inspector Kumashiro muttered sullenly, standing by the window on the far right. Outside that window protruded an antique iron-railed ledge adorned with Arabesque patterns crafted from acanthus palmette leaves. From there, beyond the back garden’s flower and vegetable gardens, one could see in the distance the elegant trimmed hedge of ornamental trees. Dark and turbid, the sky hung so low it seemed to press down upon the tower’s turret, its hem barely clinging to a waxy afterglow while darkness already encroached above the hedge. At intervals, a whooshing creak of wind would sound through the void, causing the armored door to sway forlornly as one or two snowflakes crushed upon the ledge and vanished.

“However, the spirits aren’t limited to Sakutetsu,” the prosecutor retorted. “There should be another one added. But that man Digsby isn’t much of anything.” “He’s probably just some malevolent spirit.”

“Why, he’s an archdemon,” Housui uttered unexpectedly. “In that mute symbol resides the terrifying power of medieval superstition’s visage.”

For the two who lacked knowledge of musical scores, there was nothing to do but wait for Housui to elucidate. Housui drew in a deep breath of smoke and said. “Of course, with *con sordino* it doesn’t apply, but there is one exception.” “That is, it’s *Parsifal*—the one I used earlier to fluster Chinako.” “In that music drama, Wagner uses a ‘+’ symbol for the French horn’s mute notation.” “However, it also symbolizes the coffin niche cross beside it,” Housui explained, using his finger to trace the symbol on his palm before placing three dots at positions that formed a plus sign at its three corners, “and in numerological astrology, represents the conjunction of three planetary constellations.”

“In that case, where exactly is this so-called coffin niche located?” When Prosecutor Hasekura countered, Housui assumed a slightly ghastly expression and tilted his ear toward the window as if listening. “Can’t you hear it—that? When the wind lulls, I can hear the clapper touching the bell.” “Ah, I see.” That said, Kumashiro felt a chill run down his spine and could not help but doubt his own rationality. Amidst the rustling noises, a faint clear sound—like that of a lightly struck triangular prism—could be heard. Yet this sound unmistakably resonated from the far right end of the back garden, an area surrounded by horse chestnut trees where nothing was thought to exist. However, it was neither a pathological effect of the nerves nor—of course—could it possibly be the work of some sinister miasma. Housui had already discerned the tomb niche’s location.

“Earlier, through the window, I saw two thick beech pillars, so I knew that was the Coffin Gate. When Madame Dannenberg’s coffin comes to rest beneath it, the bell overhead will toll. Yet before that occurs, I must visit that tomb niche for another purpose—because that + symbol represents what Digsby felt compelled to hint at, even at the expense of musical composition. To uncover its meaning, there’s no path except through that tomb niche and the bell tower’s zodiac signs.”

By the time they reached the back garden, the snow had grown somewhat heavier, forcing them to hurriedly complete their investigation of the footprints. First, Housui stood at the point where the two sets of footprints from left and right converged, then began tracing one of them leading off to the left. That spot lay directly beneath the protruding ledge where the specter was said to have moved, yet another striking feature remained in its vicinity. Specifically, there remained traces indicating that the withered grass across that entire area had been burned very recently. The pitch-black scorched earth, sodden and muddy from last night’s rainfall, bore the inverted reflection of the central protruding section in a silver saddle-like shape upon its surface. Moreover, the unburned remnants remained in various shapes—yellow patches lingering here and there on the scorched earth resembled nothing so much as the putrefied skin of a burned corpse, creating an uncannily grotesque impression.

Now, to detail these two sets of footprints: The left-hand ones that Housui first began tracing were men’s shoe prints approximately twenty centimeters in length, suggesting an individual of remarkably diminutive stature. However, upon observing the impressions—entirely smooth with neither protrusions nor concentric circular patterns—they were inferred to be rubber boots intended for specialized purposes. Following them in sequence led to a chic Chalet-style blockhouse (Swiss mountain region, i.e., Alpine-style) labeled “Garden Storage,” built flush against the left end of the main building. The other set measured approximately twenty-six to twenty-seven centimeters in total length—these were unmistakably ordinary male overshoe prints. The latter began from an entrance door near the right end of the main building, followed along the outer side of the protruding section in an arc to reach the scene; however, both had moved back and forth between there and the location where dry plate fragments lay scattered.

Housui took out a tape measure from his pocket and began measuring each shoe impression one by one. The overshoe prints showed only a slightly shorter stride with no distinctive features, maintaining extreme orderliness. Yet something suspicious had manifested in the impressions—the toe and heel ends were deeply indented with an inward-curving inverted shape, growing shallower toward the center in an increasingly peculiar manner. As for what appeared to be rubber boots, their stride proved disproportionately narrow relative to size and remarkably uneven, with forceful heel impressions suggesting shifted weight distribution. Furthermore, each impression’s overall width varied slightly. When comparing toe portions to central areas, their proportionally smaller size created a subtly unnatural balance. These areas also displayed particularly unclear impressions where shape discrepancies became most pronounced. While the outbound path followed the building’s contour, the return path attempted a straight line toward the garden storage—after seven or eight steps reaching the burnt grass’s edge, they left traces of crossing its narrow three-shaku-wide strip. Upon taking the second step from there, as if drawn by a giant magnet’s force, the path abruptly zigzagged sideways against the building before retracing the original outbound route back to the storage shed’s starting point. The return path’s initial step involved pivoting rightward before stepping out leftward, while grass-crossing footprints showed left-foot propulsion followed by right-foot clearance. Neither set revealed any evidence of contact with the building’s structure. (Refer to the diagram on page 166.)

Of all the aforementioned nearly fifty footprints in total, only muddy water that had seeped in through surrounding crevices pooled shallowly at their bases, while the angles of the impressions remained as sharply defined as ever. In other words, there were no traces—not even minor ones—of having been struck by rain. Thus, the shoe prints must have been made after 11:30 PM last night when the rain stopped. Moreover, there was evidence establishing the sequence of these two distinct sets of footprints. Specifically, near where the two sets of footprints converged around the dry plate fragments, there remained a single spot where the overshoe print had stepped over the other. Therefore, it became clear that the time when the person wearing overshoes arrived was either simultaneous with or later than that of the individual in what appeared to be rubber boots. Next, it was only natural that Housui’s investigation extended to the garden storage shed. However, this Chalet-style blockhouse—constructed without flooring—was connected to the main building by a single interior door. And various gardening tools and pest control sprayers lay in disarray. Housui found a pair of rubber boots beside the door connecting to the main building. It was a pair of pure rubber gardening boots with flared openings at the front that would sink up to about mid-thigh. Moreover, what glittered like gold dust within the mud clinging to the soles were minute particles of dry plate. Moreover, it was later established that those gardening boots were the property of Kawanabe Ekusuke.

Now that we’ve reached this point, dear readers, you must harbor various questions about these two distinct sets of footprints—though I suspect you’ve already discerned one particularly startling contradiction among them. Moreover, even deducing from the temporal relationship between these prints themselves, what could have transpired between those two figures during that shadow-steeped midnight hour—doubtless not even a phantom of it lies within our grasp. Needless to say, even Housui found no space to voice so much as a syllable of doubt regarding this labyrinthine mystery’s convolutions—let alone reconstruct its primal form. Yet Housui, who seemed to have kindled some revelation within, commanded the forensic team to cast the shoe impressions before entrusting plainclothes officers with the inquiries enumerated below.

1. Approximately when was the nearby withered grass burned?

1. Investigation of icicles adhering to all armored doors on the back garden side.

1. Conduct interviews regarding the night watch’s activities in the back garden after 11:30 PM last night. Not long after that movement through darkness—a speck of russet light shifting like distant embers—Housui and his companions had borrowed a net-niche lantern and made their way to the cemetery behind the vegetable garden. By then snow fell heavily in earnest. The gale howled through the turret like a shakuhachi flute; when its whirlwind gusts swept downward, snowflakes dashed against earth only to spiral back upward, obscuring what meager path their dim lantern could reveal. Eventually appeared an oak grove battling mournful natural forces—and there between trees loomed two pillars of the Coffin Gate. Reaching that point brought sounds from overhead latticework: first the creak of hooks suspending bells like grinding teeth, then clappers striking vibrationless bronze to emit ghastly shrieks akin to maddened birds. The cemetery began here. At gravel path’s end stood Digsby’s designed tomb niche.

The tomb niche was surrounded by an iron fence adorned with relief carvings of the Twelve Apostles' symbolic beasts—John and eagle, Luke and winged calf—while at its center lay what could only be thought of as a massive stone sarcophagus: the burial niche. Now, we must provide a detailed description of the interior within the tomb fence there. In general terms, it had been modeled after roji-style burial-niches still extant in places like Saint Gall Abbey (a sixth-century monastery built by Irish monks on Lake Constance in Switzerland) and Pembroke Abbey in South Wales—yet it bore a striking peculiarity. This was because, as cemetery trees, there were none of the typical varieties like nanakamado rowans or loquats; instead, seven specimens—fig, cypress, walnut, silk tree, aucuba, almond, and privet—had been arranged in positions shown in a separate diagram. As for the central burial niche surrounded by these trees—leaving aside for now its yagen stone pedestal carved with Umbrian weeping scholars in relief—it was only when considering the white marble coffin lid resting atop it that the truly bizarre conception revealed itself. In traditional funerary practices, the upper portion would typically feature either a crest, human figure, or simple cross; yet here, line-engraved upon it was the triangular harp emblem symbolic of the Furuya family’s musical heritage, above which had been placed a wrought-iron Greek cross and crucified Jesus. Moreover, this Jesus figure was also grotesquely deformed—his head tilted slightly leftward, fingers of both hands twisted upward and backward, aligned toes curled inward as if enduring agony… Furthermore, his ribs appeared translucent, presenting an anemic, almost inhuman visage… While all these features bore striking resemblance to artifacts from the Kisai era, they more closely evoked the arched rigidity of a hysteric patient—overwhelming the viewer with a distinctly psychopathological impression. After completing his observations, Housui turned to look at the prosecutor with feverish eyes.

“Prosecutor Hasekura, Campbell posits that even severe aphasia patients retain their capacity for curses until the end, does he not? Moreover, when humans exhaust their strength and lose the will for retaliation, they say nothing remains to alleviate such fervor except spiritualism. This is unmistakably a curse. Above all, Digsby commands awe—born in Wales, they say traces of the Baldas demon cult still linger there, with devotees enthralled by pagan aesthetics resembling the Muiyadach cross.”

“What on earth are you trying to say?” Prosecutor Hasekura shouted, his voice tinged with unease.

“Actually, Prosecutor Hasekura, this burial niche is no ordinary thing,” Housui said, brushing snow from his eyelashes with a sideways swipe. “In the wilderness of Bozrah—south of the Dead Sea—where hyenas stand guard by day and demon gods are said to descend when night falls... this marks a gathering place for the dead. But I’m neither a Jew nor of Levi’s line—that priestly tribe in Judaism, you understand. Even if this necromantic sigil lay before me, I’ve no Moses-like duty to smash it to pieces.”

“So then,” Inspector Kumashiro interjected sharply. “What about interpreting that mute symbol from earlier?”

“You see, Inspector Kumashiro, my deduction was indeed correct,” Housui began his explanation of the significance brought by the + symbol. “The conjunction of the three planets I predicted is precisely hinted at here. First, observe the arrangement of the cemetery trees. In astrology since Albonaut, the foremost cypress and fig trees are considered under the dominion of Saturn and Jupiter, while the silk tree at the center on the far side serves as the symbol of Mars. Although this can also be represented by flora such as datura, cornflower, and wormwood... when we consider the significance of this conjunction of three outer planets, in the black magic astrology of figures like Mollenweide, it becomes an omen portending unnatural death. By the way, do you know of the Nix Cult of eleventh-century Germany—a demon-worshipping sect that venerated Nikusī, a water sprite of Lake Mummel said to despise Christians with particular intensity? The group of poisoners belonging to that demon cult is said to have represented the conjunction of those three planets with three herbs—valerian, hemlock, and bitter nightshade—hanging the trio from their eaves to secretly hint at the location of poisons. It is said that in later generations, these were replaced with the leaves of three trees—but now, what could intersect with the triangle formed by those three trees?”

(Note 1) Valerian. A medicinal plant of the Valerianaceae family (Patrinia scabiosifolia), effective for epilepsy, hysterical convulsions, etc., and thus considered the symbol of Jupiter—known as the scholar’s star. (2) Hemlock. A toxic plant of the Umbelliferae family containing large amounts of coniine, which initially paralyzes motor nerves, is considered the symbol of Saturn—known as the sorcerer’s star. (3) Bitter nightshade. A toxic plant of the Solanaceae family bearing the same name, since its leaves particularly contain solanine and dulcamarine, and because upon experiencing a burning sensation, the central nervous system is immediately paralyzed, it is considered the symbol of Mars.

The russet-black light of the net-niche lamp swayed the shadows of the thinly snow-covered holy statue back and forth and up and down, imparting an indescribably eerie vitality. Moreover, the light grotesquely enlarged Housui’s nostrils and oral cavity, creating a visage that seemed to embody medieval pagan spirituality.

However, Inspector Kumashiro voiced his doubts.

“But with four trees—walnut, almond, aucuba, and privet—you just end up with a square.” "No, that's the Fish," Housui declared abruptly. “The great Egyptian astrologer Nectanebus represented the Pisces constellation—which heralds the annual flooding of the Nile—with a symbol called *denashi ni*.” "The reason being that this square you mentioned constitutes what's known as the Great Square of Pegasus—formed by connecting Alpheratz in Andromeda to two stars beyond Pegasus' saddle star, thereby creating a perfect quadrilateral." "And if this line engraving of the triangular harp represents Triangulum, then wouldn't the holy statue at its center correspond to Pisces—positioned between Pegasus and Triangulum?" "Incidentally, this configuration also occurred in 1524, when the renowned astrologer-mathematician Stöffler went so far as to proclaim his re-flood theory. In any case, three outer planets conjoining with Pisces is considered an omen of catastrophic disaster." “But isn’t attempting to artificially create calamity itself an act of cursing?” "Regardless—behold this." "In fact, there was an unfamiliar ownership seal stamped on McDonnell's Sanskrit-English dictionary I examined earlier in the library." "Now considering this appears to be Digsby’s mark, we may infer this burial niche undeniably reflects that man’s peculiar tastes and pathological disposition."

When Housui brushed away the snow surrounding the holy statue, a strange transformation began manifesting across the piteous full body emerging from the wrought-iron cross. It was such a bizarre symbol—one that seemed unthinkable to exist in the human world—that one might have suspected he had employed magic. For from head to fingertips, the crucified form now stood outlined in stark white. Yet Housui calmly began explicating this inexplicable sigil born from the saintly effigy.

“Now Prosecutor Hasekura, didn’t Baudelaire say that black magic is the hyphen connecting paganism and Christianity?—” “This is precisely the Sanskrit character ‘no’ used in subjugation incantations.” “Moreover, this shape resembling a triangular harp constitutes the essential firewood arrangement pattern indispensable to the black triangular furnace used for curse subjugation.” “In Childers’ *The Sorcerer Monk*, there is an interpretation of the *Amoghapāśa-kalparāja-sūtra*, which states that the character *no* represents the vajra fire that summons Agni to the fire altar.” When one placed that character fragment beneath firewood arranged in the shape of the syllable “no,” ignited it, and chanted the White Night Jyotisha Veda incantation, it was said that Vaiśravaṇa’s Four Great Demon Generals from the ancient epic *Mahābhārata*—the Gandharva Great Sword Army General, Great Naga Horde, Kumbhanda Minister-General, and Northern Yaksha Demon General—would secretly defect from Vaiśravaṇa’s command. Furthermore, Rāvaṇa from the epic *Rāmāyaṇa* would manifest, shaking his ten heads to be summoned as a Malevolent Fire Deity. “Therefore, were I a devotee of Buddhist esoteric literature, I would have to conclude that every night at this tomb, invisible symbolic ritual fires are lit—and that a dark, sinister wind wanders above Kuroshikikan’s tower.” “However, I can only interpret it as nothing more than a fragment of psychic analysis.” “And I wish to limit my deduction to the conclusion that it represents the will held during his lifetime by Digsby—a man of such mysterious character.” “Because, Inspector Kumashiro, I’ve already recognized the danger—I no longer read psychological treatises beyond Lodge’s *Raymond* or Bollman’s revised edition of *The Scotsman’s Home*, and I’ve even burned every volume of *Occult Review*.”

In the end, Housui demonstrated the true prowess of an iron-like materialist. Yet anything that brushed against his nerves—taut as violin strings—would instantly blossom into petals of deduction upon contact. From but a single mute symbol, he had laid bare the astonishing psyche of the late Claude Digsby—a man whose very countenance remained unknown even to the mansion's own residents. Then Housui and the others departed the cemetery, advancing through wind-whipped snow toward the main building. Thus did the investigation persist into nightfall, culminating at last in their confrontation with the three foreign musicians said to constitute Kuroshikikan's mysterious core.

Three. Fool! Münsterberch!

When the group returned to the former room, Housui immediately ordered Shinsai summoned. Before long, the old man with atrophied legs arrived driving a four-wheeled cart, though all traces of his former vigor had vanished—his face swollen to an earthen hue from the interrogation's torment, so haggard he appeared nearly unrecognizable. This elderly historian's fingers quivered nervously, his countenance clouded by unspoken dread—he manifestly feared being subjected to another round of questioning. Despite having personally administered that cruel physiological ordeal, Housui first offered hollow inquiries about his condition before commencing.

“Actually, Mr. Tagou, there’s something I’ve wanted to know since before this incident occurred,” Housui began. “What I mean is—regarding the four foreigners including the murdered Madame Dannenberg—why exactly did Dr. Sakutetsu have to raise them from infancy?” “If that’s all,” Shinsai replied with evident relief, his manner shifting to unexpected candor, “this mansion might avoid being labeled a haunted house by the world. You may know already—those four were sent here in swaddling clothes by Dr. Sakutetsu’s friends from their homelands.” “For over forty years since arriving in Japan,” he continued, “they were indeed nurtured with fine garments, sumptuous meals, and rigorous education—outwardly resembling courtly life.” “Yet to this old one,” his voice lowered, “it felt more prison than palace—encircled by noble walls.” “Precisely like Bishop Theodirial’s steward in *Heimskringla*—the Ancient Norse Kings’ Chronicle born of Odin,” he elaborated. “Just as Old Zaex spent his life tallying daily taxes, those four were forbidden from stepping beyond these grounds.” “Decades of custom breed strange fruits,” he sighed. “They grew averse to human contact—misanthropes in gilded cages.” “Even at annual recitals,” he added, “they’d merely nod from the stage to critics before vanishing post-performance.” “Why they were caged here from infancy until senescence?” His hands trembled slightly. “That tale now molders with Dr. Sakutetsu—who took its mirror image to the grave.”

“Ah, something straight out of Loeb…” Housui sighed theatrically. “Just now, you were likening their misanthropy to plant tropism.” “However, that must be what you’d call the tragedy of the unit.”

“Unit?” “Naturally, as a quartet they formed a cohesive group,” Shinsai responded, oblivious to the deeper implications hidden in Housui’s use of the term ‘unit.’ “By the way, have you met those individuals? They are all rigorous Stoics. Even should arrogance or cruelty exist among them, I cannot conceive that such exquisitely refined personalities could find fulfillment in anything but true solitude. Thus in daily life, they maintained no particular intimacy with one another—despite living in close quarters even during their youth, not a single romantic incident ever occurred. To be sure, this may stem from their mutual lack of desire for closeness, yet I must say emotional conflicts—whether within their group or toward us of differing races—have never been witnessed to such an extraordinary degree. Ultimately, I suppose it must still be Dr. Sakutetsu—if we are to name whom those four felt deepest affection for.”

“I see… with the Doctor…” Housui momentarily adopted a look of surprise before blowing smoke like a ribbon and quoting Baudelaire.

“Then, in essence—would that relationship be what one might call my long-missed demon king?”

“Exactly.” “I shall praise thee—indeed.” Shinsai showed faint agitation but responded with a couplet no less artful.

“However, in certain cases—” Housui adopted a contemplative look and began, “When dandies and sycophants jostle together—” but abruptly abandoned Pope’s *The Rape of the Lock* to invoke the soliloquy from *The Murder of Gonzago* (the play-within-a-play from *Hamlet*). “In any case—thou foul liquid of herbs plucked in midnight’s darkness—must it be so?” “No, how could that be,” Shinsai shook his head, replying with the next verse: “Thrice withered by demonic curses, steeped in venom—never would I—” Yet his intonation turned peculiar, nearly losing all rhythm. Moreover—whether from panic or some other cause—he repeated the lines, but this only served to drain all color from Shinsai’s face. Housui continued,

“By the way, Mr. Tagou—though I may perhaps be hallucinating—there appears to be a passage in this case that goes: ‘Yet the gates of heaven remain closed…’” Housui inserted the word “gates” into a line from Milton’s *Paradise Lost* depicting Lucifer’s exile.

“However, as you can see,” Shinsai replied with an oddly stiff demeanor despite his calm composure. “There is no hidden door, no liftable lid, and no secret staircase. Therefore, it is certain that it will never open again—indeed.” “WAHAHAHA! No—rather, should one’s imagination run so wildly amok, one might even come to believe a man could become pregnant—or so it may be!” Housui erupted with booming laughter, and the atmosphere—which had until then seemed charged with something ominous and unnervingly tense—suddenly dissipated at that very moment. Shinsai too assumed a relieved expression,

“Rather than that, Mr. Housui—this old one believes the virgin became a vessel and called out thrice to seek the stopper—or so I would judge.”

At this bizarre poetic exchange, the two men beside them stood dumbfounded, but Inspector Kumashiro shot Housui a bitter sidelong glance and interjected with a procedural question.

“What I want to ask about is the actual state of the inheritance.”

“Unfortunately, that remains unclear indeed.” Shinsai answered with a somber expression. “Of course, it is precisely that point which casts a dark shadow over this mansion.” “Dr. Sakutetsu created his will approximately two weeks before his passing and had it stored in the mansion’s main vault.” “Furthermore, both the key and the cipher chart for character combination were entrusted to Madame Tsutako’s husband, Dr. Oshigane Dōkichi; however, it appears certain conditions must be met, as they still remain unopened.” “Though I may be designated as the estate administrator, in essence I am nothing more than a completely powerless individual.”

“Then who are those involved in distributing the inheritance?” “The strange thing is—besides Lord Hatatarou—four naturalized individuals have been included.” “However, while there are only those five individuals involved, when it comes to the specifics of their inclusion—whether aware or unaware—not a single one of them will utter even half a word about it.”

"Utterly astonished," Prosecutor Hasekura exclaimed, throwing down the pencil he had been using to jot down key points. "To think that apart from Hatatarou, it has excluded just one blood relative." "But there must be some cause akin to discord…"

“Because there is no such thing.” “Dr. Sakutetsu cherished Madame Tsutako above all others.” “Moreover, that unforeseen entitlement must have struck those four individuals like thunder from clear skies.” “Particularly in the case of someone like Mr. Levez—he went so far as to declare it might have been a waking dream.”

“Then, Mr. Tagou, let us arrange to have Dr. Oshigane summoned,” Housui said quietly. “Doing so should allow us to conduct something of a psychiatric evaluation of Dr. Sakutetsu.” “Now then, please take your leave with this.” “After that, perhaps we might have Mr. Hatatarou come next?”

When Shinsai left, Housui turned to face the prosecutor, "So that means two of your tasks have been accomplished now." "Issuing a summons to Dr. Oshigane and having the preliminary judge issue a search warrant for the premises—those are the two tasks." "After all, what could possibly dissolve our prejudices in this case other than unsealing the will?" "In any case, Dr. Oshigane won’t readily agree to this, you see." "By the way, about that poetic exchange you and Shinsai just had—" Inspector Kumashiro bluntly interjected. "Is that some product of grotesquerie?"

“No—how could that be? Such a circular argument is nothing of the kind.” “Either I’ve made a colossal blunder, or Jung and Münsterberg have turned out to be utter fools.” Housui obscured his meaning with ambiguous words, but at that moment, a whistle sounded from the corridor. When it ceased, the door opened and Hatatarou appeared. He was only seventeen, yet his demeanor was unnervingly mature, devoid of even the faintest trace of childlike innocence that should linger on the cusp of adulthood. What disrupted the gradation of his enchanting beauty were his restless eyes and narrow forehead. Housui politely offered a chair, and

“I’ve always considered ‘Petrushka’ to be Stravinsky’s most compelling work.” “Isn’t it a harrowing meditation on original sin?” “Even a mere doll finds itself stalked by an open grave in the end, you realize.”

At the outset, Hatatarou heard words he had not anticipated in the slightest, causing his pale, slender body to suddenly stiffen as he began swallowing nervously. Housui continued, "That said, this does not mean Thérèse's automaton springs to life when you whistle the 'Nurse's Dance' section." "And it is also established that around eleven o'clock last night, you visited Madame Dannenberg together with Kamiya Nobuko before immediately entering the bedroom."

“Then what is it that you wish to ask?” Hatatarou retorted rebelliously, his voice thick with defensive inflection. “In other words, it concerns the will of Dr. Sakutetsu that has been imposed upon you all, you see.” “Ah, if that’s what you mean,” Hatatarou replied with faintly self-mocking fervor, “I must say, I am grateful for at least having received a musical education.” “If it hadn’t been for that, I would have gone mad by now.” “I suppose so.” “Weariness, anxiety, doubt, decadence—my days are spent in nothing but these.” “Who could possibly live in such suffocating gloom alongside people dressed like antiquated Noh costumes?” “In truth, my father made me record human suffering—it was solely for that purpose that he taught me how to eke out a meager existence.”

“So does that mean the four naturalized individuals have taken everything else?” “That may well be the case,” Hatatarou replied in an oddly timid manner, “or rather—the truth is, the reason remains unclear to this day. After all, Ms. Gretä and the other four had no say in the matter whatsoever.”

“By the way, are you acquainted with this variety of Queen Anne-era epigram?” “For jurors to partake of the bishop’s supper, a sinner must be throttled—so runs the saying.” “Fundamentally, my father was precisely that sort of bishop-like man.” “Because even the marrow of his soul was swathed in secrets and machinations—it became insufferable.” “Yet Mr. Hatatarou, herein lies this mansion’s constitutional defect.” “That defect shall likely be excised in due course, but even you cannot claim possession of Dr. Sakutetsu’s psychical anatomy diagram, can you?” Housui reproved the other’s credulousness before recommencing his methodical interrogation.

“By the way—around what date did Dr. Sakutetsu question you regarding your naturalization?”

“That was about two weeks before he committed suicide.” “At that time the will was drawn up, and I was only read the portion concerning myself by my father,” Hatatarou began, but suddenly grew agitated and added, “However, Mr. Housui, I’m not at liberty to disclose that part.” “Once uttered, it would mean forfeiture of one’s share, you see.” “Moreover, the other four are the same—they too know nothing beyond the facts pertaining to themselves.”

“Not at all,” Housui said in a soothing, instructive tone. “Generally speaking, Japanese civil law is exceedingly lenient on such matters.” “But it’s impossible,” Hatatarou declared flatly, his face pale. “More than anything, I am terrified of Father’s eyes—it’s unbearable, you see. How could that Mephisto-like man not leave behind some insidious form of retribution for the future? It’s certain that Ms. Gretä was killed—in that regard, she must have committed some error.”

“So you’re saying this is retribution?” Inspector Kumashiro sharply interjected. “Yes. Therefore, I trust you now fully understand why I cannot speak of it. Not only that, but first and foremost—without the inheritance, I have no means of living whatsoever,” Hatatarou calmly declared and rose to his feet. Then, aligning all ten of his violinist’s characteristic slender, gleaming fingers along the edge of the table, he finally declared in an impassioned tone:

"I believe you have no further questions at this point, but I too find it impossible to answer anything more." "However, please remember this one thing clearly." "The mansion residents often call the Thérèse doll an evil spirit, but to me, it seems Father might be the one." "No—Father must undoubtedly still be alive within this mansion." Having only superficially touched upon the will's contents, Hatatarou once again followed Chinako's example by emphasizing the pathological psychology unique to Kuroshikikan's residents. After concluding his statement, he gave a desolate bow and walked toward the doorway.

However, blocking his path ahead, something bizarre lay in wait. The reason being, when he reached the doorway, he inexplicably froze in place as if nailed down, becoming utterly unable to advance even a single step further. It was not mere simple terror; an intensely complex array of emotions had manifested themselves in his movements. His left hand remained on the door handle, his other arm dangling limply, both eyes fixed ominously as he stared straight ahead. Clearly, he seemed to be aware of something dreadful beyond the door. Eventually, Hatatarou’s face twitched taut with tension, revealing an ugly visage of hatred. And he hurled a convulsive voice forward.

“M-Mrs. Krivov… You—”

The moment he spoke those words, the door was pulled open from the outside. And in the blink of an eye, as two servants took positions on either side of the threshold, Mrs.Olga Krivov’s figure emerged from between them with a bearing brimming with arrogant dignity. She wore a yellow short garment resembling swordsmanship attire with a high marten-fur collar, over which was draped a velvet sleeveless coat, and in her right hand she held an opulent ceremonial staff engraved with Blind Orion and the Count of Olivares (1587–1645), prime minister during the reign of Spain's Philip IV. The stark contrast of black against yellow lent vivid intensity to her red hair, making her entire form seem enveloped in flame-like passion. Her hair was carelessly swept back, earlobes jutting from her head at an angle exceeding forty-five degrees—their upper tips pointed like manifestations of her severe disposition. Her forehead, with its slightly receding hairline and prominent brow ridges, framed gray eyes containing an uncanny inner gleam—a piercing gaze so sharp it seemed to lay bare the very nerves of her ocular depths. Moreover, the cliff-like structure from her cheekbones downward formed a steep angular mass, while her straightly hanging nasal bridge—drooping beyond the nostrils—exuded an ineffable air of conspiratorial secrecy. As he brushed past, Hatatarou looked back over his shoulder,

“Mrs. Krivov, rest assured. Everything is precisely as you heard.” “I understand perfectly,” Mrs. Krivov replied magnanimously through half-lidded eyes, making a theatrical gesture. “However, Mr. Hatatarou, should I happen to be summoned first, you would do well to consider that eventuality. You would inevitably take the same course as we have.”

Though Mrs. Krivov’s use of the plural “we” struck us as somewhat uncanny, its rationale became clear moments later—for she had not been standing alone at the threshold. Mrs. Galibarda Serena and Mr. Ottokar Levez materialized in quick succession behind her. Mrs. Serena gripped the leash of a Saint Bernard whose luxuriant coat mirrored her own aristocratic bearing, her stature and features forming a diametric opposition to Mrs. Krivov’s severity. Her dark green skirt paired with a cord-trimmed bodice and white linen collar flaring to the elbows, while a snow-white wimple reminiscent of Augustinian nuns crowned her head. None beholding this elegant figure would ever divine her origins in Brindisi—that southern Italian city Lombroso famously branded a breeding ground for crimes of passion. Mr. Levez brought up the rear, his hulking frame clad in frock coat and gray trousers with wing-tipped collar, though his close proximity now revealed what distant observation in the chapel had obscured: the countenance of a middle-aged gentleman steeped in gloom, his anguished mien suggesting some inner torment rigidly suppressed. The trio advanced with ceremonial slowness, their procession evoking some petty eighteenth-century Württemberg or Carinthian court’s communion rite—an illusion that might have crystallized had long trumpets blared beneath tapestries and kettle drums throbbed to a herald’s call for silence. Yet their retinue of servants laid bare a pathological dread underlying the pageantry. And reflecting on Hatatarou’s vile silent confrontation with them moments prior, one sensed murky currents swirling beneath—dark eddies that whispered of criminal intent.

However, above all else, there had been no room for evidentiary doubt regarding these three from the very beginning. Eventually, Mrs. Krivov stood before Housui, tapped the table with the tip of her staff, and declared in a commanding tone.

“We have come because there is something we would like you to do.” “What exactly do you mean by that? In any case, please have a seat.” The reason Housui showed a moment of hesitation was not her commanding tone. Mrs. Krivov’s face—which from a distance had appeared reminiscent of Holbein’s portrait of Margaret Wyatt (sister of Sir Thomas Wyatt, chronicler to Henry VIII)—upon closer inspection revealed ugly freckles resembling smallpox vaccination scars.

“The truth is, we wish for you to burn the Thérèse doll,” Mrs. Krivov declared flatly, whereupon Inspector Kumashiro cried out in astonishment. “What did you say?” “It’s just a single doll.” “And why exactly is that?” “Well, if we’re speaking solely of the doll itself, it’s merely an inanimate object.” “In any case, we must take defensive measures.” “In other words, we want you to destroy the culprit’s idol.” “By the way, have you had the occasion to read Levenschtim’s *Superstition and Criminal Code (Note)*—?”

“So, you’re referring to Giuseppe Arzo, then?” Until then, Housui had worn a pensive expression, but now he interjected for the first time. (Note) This pertains to the first recorded crime of idol worship by King Pygmalion of Cyprus. Giuseppe Arzo, renowned in history as a hermaphrodite and often mentioned alongside the Roman Maccuneus, possessed two statues—one male and one female. When assuming his male aspect, he would worship the female statue; when in his female aspect, he would venerate the male statue. Thus, though he engaged in fraud, theft, conflicts, and such deeds, once the male statue was destroyed, it is said that his mysterious dual personality also physically vanished.

“Precisely so,” Mrs. Krivov nodded with a triumphant look, offering chairs to the other two before continuing, “I intend to blunt the culprit’s resolve—if only psychologically—through whatever means available.” “To prevent these successive tragedies from unfolding, we can no longer afford to await your intervention.”

Next, Mrs. Serena began to speak, but she clasped her hands tremulously to her chest and spoke in a rather imploring manner. “No, this is no mere matter of psychological idolatry.” “For the criminal, that doll is nothing less than King Gunther’s hero (Siegfried, who fought Queen Brunhild in place of King Gunther in the Nibelungenlied).” “If significant crimes are to be committed hereafter, the culprit will surely be lurking within insidious schemes, and only that Provençal will inevitably be the one to appear.” “After all, unlike Ekusuke or Ms. Nobuko, we are not defenseless.” “Therefore, even if they were to botch an attempt, should it be the Doll that gets apprehended, there’s no telling there won’t be another opportunity.”

“Indeed, this tragedy shall not end until three bloods have been shed.” Mr. Levez trembled his swollen eyelids and spoke mournfully. “Yet we are constrained by an ordained law.” “Thus it remains impossible to ward off calamity from this mansion.” “Regarding that law—might you deign to let us hear it?” Prosecutor Hasekura pressed pointedly, but Mrs. Krivov abruptly interposed,

“No, we are not at liberty to speak of that.” “Rather than making such futile inquiries—!” Her voice suddenly rose in vehemence, trembling as she cried, “Ah, thus we find ourselves in a pitch-dark abyss, amidst a sea of flames.” “And why do you watch with such eager eyes, awaiting fresh tragedy?” she cried in anguished tones, invoking Young’s verse. Housui Rintarou had been alternately gazing at the three, but soon rearranged his legs as if leaning forward, and as an eerie smile rose to his lips,

“Yes, precisely—perpetuity, endlessness,” he suddenly uttered words that made him seem possibly deranged. “The one who imposed such a cruel eternal punishment is none other than the late Dr. Sakutetsu.” “You likely heard what Mr. Hatatarou said, but Dr. Sakutetsu himself watches with triumphant delight as you come to call him father.”

“Oh, Father...” Mrs. Serena adjusted her posture and looked at Housui anew.

“That’s correct.” “‘Piercing the depths of sin and calamity, the plumb line of my cross descends’—you see,” Housui declared with self-satisfied grandiosity, quoting Hoichia, whereupon Mrs. Krivov responded with a sneer, “No—yet the abyss of the future lies deeper than the plumb line of that cross can measure,” she retorted, though her cruel expression began to twitch spasmodically as she added, “But ah, surely that man will have perished ere long—wouldn’t you agree?” “You have already exposed your helplessness in the two incidents involving Ekusuke and Ms. Nobuko.”

“I see,” Hou sui Rintarou nodded curtly—though now his manner turned increasingly combative and acerbic. “Yet regardless of who it may concern—measuring what little time remains until conclusion proves impossible.” “No—rather consider last night’s affair! Within yonder cool retreat of shadows—did not some uncanny presence seem poised at observation’s edge? Such at least strikes my perception.”

“Then, what did that person see?” “I haven’t the faintest knowledge of that verse.” When Mr. Levez asked in a dark, trembling tone, Housui smiled cunningly and, “But Mr. Levez—hearts are black and nights are black, drugs take effect and hands grow keen—or so it goes…” “And that place—had the timing been opportune and no one present—it would have…” The way he began speaking resembled at once a transparent demon mask and a deliberate exposure of thorn-like schemes lurking beneath the surface—yet his cunning declamatory technique created an uncanny atmosphere that made muscles stiffen and blood run cold. Mrs. Krivov, who until then had been toying with the Tudor rose (a six-petaled rose) on her breastpiece, brought her hands together on the table and began fixing Housui with a challenging stare. Yet the silence pregnant with an indefinable hint of crisis rendered the howling blizzard outside all the more audible, intensifying the ghastliness of the moment. Housui finally spoke.

“However, the original text states: ‘when day burns so fiercely that sparks scatter across the field at noon—’ yet, strangely enough, that world cannot be seen in daylight or brightness—nor even at night unless it is shrouded in darkness.” “Visible in darkness?!” Mr. Levez retorted as though he had forgotten caution. Housui did not answer that and turned toward Mrs. Krivov, “Incidentally, are you aware of whose work that poetic passage is?”

“No, I am not aware,” Mrs. Krivov answered with somewhat rigid formality, but Mrs. Serena maintained a calmness that seemed indifferent to Housui’s uncanny insinuations. “If I recall correctly, in Gustav Falke’s *Birch Forest*—”

Housui nodded with satisfaction, blowing smoke rings incessantly, but before long, an oddly malicious half-smile rose to his lips. "That's correct. Precisely *Birch Forest*," he declared. "Last night in the corridor before this room, the criminal must indeed have seen that birch forest. However—he dreams not, yet cannot speak of it—you see." "Then you presume to claim that man returned through the chamber of the dead as if it were some familial thoroughfare?" Mrs. Krivov adopted a suddenly animated, almost jovial tone as she quoted Lenau’s "Autumn Heart."

“No—gliding? How on earth did that wretch end up staggering off? Hahahaha!” Housui burst into uproarious laughter while glancing at Mr. Levez, “By the way, Mr. Levez—of course, by then that sorrowful traveler had found a companion—or so it was.”

“Y-you knew this all along!” Mrs. Krivov sprang to her feet as though unable to endure another moment, violently swinging her cane as she shouted. “That is precisely why we earnestly entreat you to burn that companion.”

However, Housui merely stared at the crimson tip of his cigarette as if silently hinting at his dissent, offering no reply. To Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro beside him, it felt as though Housui's endlessly ascending thoughts had finally reached their apex there. Yet Housui's efforts showed no sign of abating; in this mental drama, he persistently sought nothing less than a tragic development. He broke the silence and spoke in a sharply challenging tone.

“But Mrs. Krivov, I can’t imagine this mad theatrical production concluding simply with the doll’s burning.” “To tell the truth, there exists another puppet being manipulated through far more insidious and ambiguous means.” “After all, even Prague’s International Puppeteers Alliance has no recent records of *Faust* being performed.” “Faust⁉ Ah—you mean those characters on the scrap of paper Ms. Gretä wrote in her death throes?” Mr. Levez leaned forward forcefully.

“That’s correct.” “The first act featured a water spirit, the second a wind spirit.” “Even now, that delicate sylph has just performed an astonishing miracle and vanished, you see.” “And Mr. Levez—though the culprit has rendered Sylphus male—do you happen to know who that wind spirit might be?” “What—you think I don’t know?! No—let us both cease this charade.” Mr. Levez recoiled as if counterpunched, but at that moment, a rigid shadow abruptly fell across Mrs. Krivov’s hitherto insolent demeanor. Then—likely through impulse—emerged a voice not wholly her own.

“Mr. Housui, I saw him. “I most certainly saw that man. “The one who entered my room last night must have been that wind spirit.” “A wind spirit—?!” Kumashiro’s scowling face abruptly hardened. “Yet I take it the door remained locked at that time?”

“Of course it was.” “It had mysteriously been opened.” “And I saw a tall, lanky man standing before the dimly lit door.” Mrs.Krivov’s voice sounded oddly tongue-tied yet she continued her account. “It was around eleven when I entered the bedroom—I distinctly remember locking the door.” “After dozing briefly and waking up, when I tried checking the bedside clock...somehow my nightgown felt fastened at the chest, and this sensation like my hair being yanked taut made my head immobile.” “Since I always sleep with my hair down, realizing it might have been tied up sent numbness shooting from my spine through my skull—I couldn’t speak or move a muscle.” “Then cold air stirred behind me as faint gliding footsteps retreated downward.” “The maker of those footsteps entered my view before the door.” “The man turned around.”

“Who was that?” Having said this, the prosecutor inadvertently held his breath—

“No, I couldn’t tell,” Mrs. Krivov let out a plaintive sigh. “The desk lamp’s light didn’t reach that far.” “But I could make out the silhouette.” “He was about five feet four or five inches in height—slender and lanky in build.” “And only the eyes…” Though differing in appearance, the figure she described somehow evoked Hatatarou. “In the eyes⁉” Kumashiro interjected almost reflexively. Then, Mrs. Krivov abruptly reverted to a haughty demeanor,

“I believe there was a story about mistaking the eyes of a Basedow’s disease patient in the dark for small spectacles, wasn’t there?” she retorted sarcastically, then continued after maintaining a demeanor of groping through her memories for a moment.

"In any case," he interjected brusquely, "you'd best perceive those words through senses beyond ordinary nerves." "If pressed to describe them, I could only say their eyes gleamed with a pearlescent light." Then, as the figure vanished beyond the door, the handle slid soundlessly and faint footsteps receded leftward into the distance. "And so I finally regained my bearings, though it seemed my hair had come undone unnoticed, allowing me to move my neck freely at last." "The time was precisely half past twelve. Afterward, I relocked the door and fastened the handle to the wardrobe." "Yet once done, sleep became utterly impossible." "Come morning, however, I found no conclusive irregularities upon inspecting the room." "When I consider it now, it must undeniably have been that puppeteer." "That cunning coward couldn't so much as graze me with a fingertip once my eyes opened."

Though it left one major question unresolved, Mrs. Krivov’s murmuring voice caused the two beside her to grasp at nightmare-like visions. Both Mrs. Serena and Mr. Levez had nervously intertwined their hands and appeared to have lost even the will to speak. Housui—as if roused from sleep—hurriedly brushed away his tobacco ash, though his face remained turned toward Mrs. Serena.

“By the way, Mrs. Serena—we’ll investigate that wanderer in due course—but for now, are you acquainted with this Gottfried? Who could possibly hinder me from becoming one with the devil this instant—” “But that dagger…” Mrs. Serena began the next verse only to collapse into disarray, her speech shedding its poetic cadence from the initial syllable: “At that dagger’s engraving does my form quake and shudder—yet how… Oh, why must you pose such questions anew?” Her agitation mounted as she trembled violently. “Surely you seek it? But how could we possibly know that man? No—never, never could we know.”

Housui rolled a cigarette between his lips, gazing at his interlocutor with a smile that verged on cruelty. "I'm not fishing for your latent criticisms." "That wind sprite's mime show means nothing to me." "But rather this—'Where dost thou dwell, O shadowed resonance?—'" he invoked from Dämmel's Marsh Verses, yet never once relinquished his hold on Mrs. Serena's gaze.

“Oh, well then—” Mrs. Krivov began with an oddly timid inflection, “but surely you’re aware that Ms. Nobuko mistakenly repeated the morning hymn twice? In truth, she had played that Psalm 91 of David once this morning, but after the noon requiem music, she was supposed to perform ‘O fire, hail, snow, and mist—’”

“Actually, I’m referring to the chapel’s interior,” Housui coldly dismissed. “Actually, this is what I want to know. “At that time, I believe there were roses there, and no birdsong resounded nearby—” “Then, did you burn rose frankincense?”

Mr. Levez also spoke in a stiff, awkward tone, peering at the other person as if probing,

"That was Ms. Olga who burned it after halting the performance well into the latter half. However, I must now ask you to cease this ludicrous pantomime." “We need only inquire of you regarding the doll’s disposal.” "In any case, grant me until tomorrow to consider." Housui stated flatly. "But ultimately, we exist as machinery for safeguarding lives." “When it comes to protection, we shan’t permit that thaumaturgist to lay a finger upon them.”

The moment Housui finished speaking, Mrs. Krivov made no attempt to conceal her indignation, her movements overtly expressing it as she hastily urged the two to rise. And then, looking down at Housui resentfully, she spat out her words in a bitter, anguished tone.

“It cannot be helped. After all, you people only consider this history of massacres as mere statistical figures. No—in the end—our fate may be no different from that of the Albigensians (Note 1) or Vetlyanka County Residents (Note 2). But if there were any measures we could take… Ah—if that were possible—from now on we would handle it ourselves.” Note (1): Albigensians - A new religion that arose in Albi, southern France under Manichaean influence. Having rejected all aspects of the New Testament, they suffered approximately 470,000 deaths during the new Crusade advocated by Pope Innocent III between 1209 and 1229. Note (2): Vetlyanka County Residents - During the Black Death’s rampant spread through Russian-ruled Astrakhan in 1878, Vetlyanka County was blockaded by artillery-equipped cordons. Intimidated through blank cannon fire and executions by firing squad, the residents found no escape and nearly all perished from plague.

(2) The villagers of Vetlyanka County—During the rampant outbreak of the Black Death in Russian-ruled Astrakhan in 1878, authorities blockaded Vetlyanka County with an artillery-equipped encirclement line, intimidating the populace through blank cannon fire and executions, leaving the villagers unable to escape until nearly all had perished from the plague. “Now, I wouldn’t go that far,” Housui retorted with sardonic precision. “But Mrs. Krivov—if I recall correctly—wasn’t it Saint Ambrose who declared, ‘Death serves even the wicked’?”

The Saint Bernard dog—its chain forgotten—trailed after Mrs. Serena with mournful howls until they were gone. As soon as the three had departed, a plainclothes officer arrived just as they were leaving, having completed the backyard investigation ordered earlier. Then he handed the investigation report to Housui,

"There was indeed only that single armor-piercing dagger." After reporting, "I also delivered it to Dr. Otokone at headquarters as you instructed," Housui ordered photographs taken of the zodiac round window in the spire before dismissing the plainclothes officer. Kumashiro wore a perplexed expression and let out a faint sigh.

“Oh, not this door-and-lock business again. Is the culprit a curse master or a locksmith? Which one is it?” “It’s not like Dr. John Dee’s concealed-revealing doors are just lying around everywhere.”

“How surprising.” Housui cast a sardonic smile. “Where in that thing could there possibly be any creative technique?” “Well, if one were to step even a single foot outside this mansion, it would undoubtedly be a remarkable question.” “But didn’t you see that remarkable bibliography on criminal phenomenology in the library earlier?” “In other words, the technique that prevented that door from being locked constitutes part of this mansion’s spiritual life.” “Once you return to headquarters and consult Groß (Note), everything will become clear.”

(Note) When Housui mentioned "Groß," this referred to an example drawn from Appert’s *The Secret of Crime* in the chapter on criminal occupational habits within *The Manual for Preliminary Judges*. A certain criminal—formerly a servant and shoemaker—had infiltrated a banker’s room and inserted a cleverly crafted triangular prism-shaped wooden piece into the latch hole beforehand to prevent the door between that room and the bedroom from being locked. Consequently, when the banker attempted to secure the door before retiring, the latch refused to move, leading him to mistakenly believe it was already fastened—thereby allowing the culprit’s scheme to succeed perfectly.

The fact that Housui refrained from reiterating and instead accepted it as inevitable must have been profoundly shocking to the two who knew his habitually analytical nature. Yet ultimately, this could be considered the outcome of his having measured the case's profundity and mystery within the library.

Prosecutor Hasekura once again reproached Housui’s connoisseur-like interrogation demeanor.

“I am not Levez, but…” “What I want from you now is just the theatrics.” “Let’s put an end to these poetic duels of romantic fancy and finally examine the ghost of Hatatarou that Mrs. Krivov so casually alluded to.”

"Don't be ridiculous." Housui made a clownish yet casual gesture, his face now devoid of its characteristic disillusioned melancholy. "Why, though my psychological expression probing has concluded, that matter remains a historical conflict through and through." "However, it wasn't those three I've been wrestling with." "It's Münsterberg." "In the end, that fellow proved an utter fool."

At that moment, Metropolitan Police Department forensic doctor Otokone Kōan entered.

Part Four: Poetry, Armor, and Phantom Crafting

1. To the Ancient Clock Room

Dr. Otokone, who entered after concluding Nobuko’s examination, was an elderly man well past fifty—lanky and emaciated with a mantis-like face. His glittering eyes and a certain stalwart quality to his pattern of baldness left a striking impression. However, he was one of the most seasoned veterans in the department and had authored five or six works in the field of toxicology, making him naturally well-acquainted with Housui. He took his seat and unceremoniously demanded tobacco. After taking a sweetly savored drag, he spoke.

“Now, Mr. Housui, my mind-mirror proof method has regrettably resulted in perceptual loss.” “Ultimately, regardless of how that swivel chair was positioned, just seeing those pale translucent gums would make me stake my resignation.” “It can unequivocally be declared simple syncope.” “But Inspector Kumashiro—there’s something I must tell you specifically—when I heard that woman was clutching the armor-piercing dagger, I felt as if I’d glimpsed the hidden face of a fortune-telling tile.” “That syncope is truly an insidiously nebulous matter.” “Don’t you find everything aligns too perfectly?”

“I see,” Housui nodded as if disappointed, but continued, “In any case, let’s hear the specifics.” “After all, your senility might come flying out from within those details.” “Now then—your detection method?” Dr. Otokone presented his findings in an extremely businesslike manner, interspersing technical terms throughout.

“Of course, poisons with rapid absorption do exist.” “Moreover, in individuals with particular susceptibility, even strychnine far below the toxic dose can cause symptoms resembling flexor tremors or intermittent tetany.” “However, there are no peripheral findings indicative of poisoning, and the stomach contents consist almost entirely of gastric juice—this might seem somewhat suspicious.” “Yet if that woman consumed easily digestible food and perished approximately two hours later, there would be nothing whatsoever suspicious about the stomach’s emptiness.” “Furthermore, there are no reactive changes in the urine, nor anything quantitatively demonstrable.” “It’s simply overflowing with phosphates.” “I judge this elevated level to result from physical and mental fatigue—what’s your assessment?”

“An astute deduction,” Housui acknowledged. “Had it not been for that intense fatigue, I might have abandoned my observation of Nobuko altogether.” He hinted at some unspoken implication while affirming the doctor’s theory, then pressed further: “But tell me—were the reagents you administered truly limited to those?” “Don’t be absurd,” Dr. Otokone retorted. “Though ultimately fruitless, I conducted a gynecological examination factoring in her exhausted condition. Housui-kun, tonight’s forensic significance hinges entirely on Pennyroyal—that toxic herb.” His finger tapped the table for emphasis. “Administering compounds like X and XX to a healthy nulliparous uterus induces violent paralysis within an hour of ingestion. Syncope-like symptoms manifest almost instantaneously.” A frustrated sigh escaped him. “Yet we detected not even trace amounts of Oleum Hedeomae Apiol—its active component. Moreover, the woman shows no history of gynecological procedures nor organ-specific susceptibility to toxins.” Leaning forward, he delivered his verdict with a thump on the desk: “Thus, while my toxicological compendium proves inadequate here, I’ll stake my conclusion on this—the legal essence of that syncope resides in moral sentiment. Was this act deliberate... or innate?”

“Not at all—pure psychopathology.” Housui replied with a grim expression. “By the way, did you examine the cervical spine? I’m no Quincke, but ‘terror and syncope are matters of cervical spine pain perception’—now that’s an aphorism worth remembering.” Dr. Otokone gritted the end of his tobacco between his teeth, his face showing surprise rather than anger. “Well now, I’ve read Yannleg’s *On Pathological Impulsive Acts* and Janet’s *Sensory Field* myself. To be precise, when taking an impulsive breath under compression of the fourth cervical vertebra, spasmodic contractions occur in the diaphragm. But wait. That crucial kyphosis case doesn’t involve her. Before anything else, wasn’t there talk of a kyphosis patient being murdered?”

“But you see…” Housui said breathlessly. “Of course, it’s not a definitive conclusion. If one considers the position of the swivel chair and the mysterious harmonic performance, it’s probably not even worth a glance. However, as one possible explanation, I’ve come to consider hysterical repetitive sleep. I want to apply that to the course of syncope.” “Well, Mr. Housui, I’m fundamentally an unimaginative creature,” Dr. Otokone retorted sarcastically, wearing an expression that seemed to brush aside bewilderment. “Generally speaking, during a hysterical seizure, antitoxic resistance to morphine becomes heightened. However, no matter what you do, skin moisture remains unavoidable.”

There, when Dr. Otokone invoked morphine to discuss sedating hyperactive nerves, this was of course a sarcastic thrust at Housui—yet ultimately aimed at those fantasies of his that occasionally sought to transcend human cognitive limits. This stemmed from hysterical repetitive sleep being an extreme rarity among pathological mental phenomena, with Dr. Fukurai’s August 1896 publication during the Meiji era constituting Japan’s first documented case. Indeed, there existed a work by Kojō Gyotarō—a newly emerged detective novelist specializing in temple lore and pathological psychology—wherein a prison doctor plotting murder made his laborer-patient memorize medical terminology, later exploited during seizures to fabricate an alibi. When self-hypnotic fits occurred, patients would reenact and recite their most recent experiences with flawless precision—hence why the alternative designation “hysteretic non-suggestive post-hypnotic phenomenon” better captured its essence. Thus Dr. Otokone’s scathing objections—though inwardly acknowledging Housui’s perceptiveness—remained eminently reasonable.

Upon hearing this, Housui first let out a self-mocking sigh, but then an unusual manic excitement manifested in him.

“Of course it’s a rare phenomenon. But unless we bring that into consideration, how can we explain why Nobuko lost consciousness while gripping the dagger? Dr. Otokone, Henri Piéron has cited dozens of cases of hysterical sensory loss stemming from fatigue. Moreover, that woman Nobuko replayed the hymn she had played this morning—which she shouldn’t have performed at that time—just before losing consciousness. So, if someone had pressed her abdomen through some mechanism at that moment, wouldn’t you be inclined to believe Charcot’s experiment showing such manipulation could induce unconsciousness?”

“So, does that mean your concern with the cervical spine also stems from there?” Dr. Otokone had unwittingly been drawn in.

“That’s right. It’s possible I might be seeing visions of becoming Napoleon, but I’ve been holding onto a particular mental archetype since earlier. Don’t you think there’s a connection between Siegfried and the cervical spine in this case?”

“Siegfried⁉” Even Dr. Otokone was rendered speechless by this. “Though I myself know one specimen of a man who’s gone mad through inductive reasoning.” “No—ultimately, it’s a matter of proportion.” “However, I believe intellect possesses magical effects as well,” Housui said, his bloodshot eyes drifting into a dreamlike haze. “By the way, do you know that an intense tickling sensation has the same effect as electrical stimulation? “Furthermore, I believe you’re already aware from Arlutz’s writings that when an area with sensation remains at the center of a paralyzed region, an intense tickling sensation arises there.” “However, you claim there are no signs of impact on Nobuko’s cervical spine.” “But Dr. Otokone, there exists a single means to induce reactive movement in an unconscious person.” “There exists a method to induce—through mysterious stimulation—finger movements that physiologically should never be capable of gripping firmly.” “And that is expressed by the formula of Siegfried + tree leaf—you see.”

“I see,” Inspector Kumashiro nodded sarcastically. “That ‘tree leaf’ you mentioned must be Don Quixote.” Housui let out a faint sigh, yet still marshaled his resolve, mounting a desperate resistance against what seemed like divine artifice in Nobuko’s fainting spell.

“Now listen carefully,” Housui began breathlessly. “This involves a horribly demonic sort of humor. When ether is atomized and sprayed onto the skin, it causes permeation loss of sensation in that area. You’d apply this across the entire body of an unconscious person—but leave untouched only the region corresponding to the seventh and eighth cervical vertebrae controlling hand movement, precisely like Siegfried’s linden leaf.” He leaned forward intently. “Because even when cutaneous sensation is absent during unconsciousness, internal kinesthetic and articular senses—particularly ticklishness—remain acutely susceptible to stimulation. Naturally, this would induce violent itching at that precise location.” Housui’s eyes gleamed as he tapped the diagram before them. “Just like electrical stimulation, this would excite the targeted cervical nerves’ pathways—inevitably triggering unconscious finger movements. Through this mechanism alone,” he concluded triumphantly, “I believe we’ve grasped the fundamental formula explaining how Nobuko came to clutch that armor-piercing dagger.” His voice dropped abruptly as shadows deepened around his eyes. “Dr. Otokone—you framed this as intentional versus spontaneous causation—but I propose it’s either deliberate action...or something substituting for ether.” A tremor entered his whisper. “Yet unraveling its true nature demands infinitely more delicate analytical nerves than we currently possess.”

“Ah! I certainly did speak.” “But ultimately, the position of the swivel chair… what becomes of that harmonic performance?”

After doing so, Housui watched the smoke's trajectory for a while, appearing to subdue his heightened state, before eventually turning to Dr. Otokone and changing the subject.

“By the way, I did ask you to obtain Nobuko’s signature, didn’t I?”

“But hold on.” “This has more than sufficient value to serve as a prime example for questioning.” “Why did you make Nobuko write her own name the moment she regained consciousness?” As Dr. Otokone spoke and produced the slip of paper, the gazes of the three were suddenly drawn to it. For on it was written not Kamiya, but Furuya Nobuko. Housui merely blinked slightly and explained the ripples he had cast. “Indeed, Dr. Otokone, I wanted Nobuko’s signature.” “That said, it’s not as if I’m Lombroso or anything.” “To understand water sprites and sylphs, there’s no need to plagiarize *Crépieux-Jamin’s Graphology*.” “To tell the truth, there are cases where fainting leads to memory loss.” “Therefore, if Nobuko isn’t the culprit, I had privately been fearing that something might be buried in oblivion like this.” “By the way, my attempt originates from *Maria Brunner’s Memory*.”

(Note) Hans Gross’s *Criminal Investigation* cites an example pertaining to the subconscious. Namely, in March 1893, at the residence of schoolteacher Brunner in Dietkirchen, Lower Bavaria, two children were murdered, the wife and a maid sustained serious injuries, and the master Brunner was taken into custody as a suspect. However, when the wife regained consciousness and was asked to sign the interrogation transcript, she wrote not Maria Brunner but Maria Guttenberger. However, Guttenberger was neither the wife’s maiden name nor a name of any particular relevance to her, and even when urged to search her memory, she had no knowledge of it. From that moment on, it sank below the threshold of consciousness.

However, as the investigation progressed, the name was discovered in connection with the maid’s lover, resulting in his immediate arrest as the perpetrator. In other words, when she wrote “Maria Guttenberger,” the face of the perpetrator she had identified during the crime had been lost due to a head injury and unconsciousness, but in her dazed state upon awakening, it emerged from her subconscious mind.

It seemed that merely uttering "Maria Brunner..." had evoked something, for a shared expression appeared on the three faces.

Housui lit a fresh cigarette and continued.

“That’s why, Dr. Otokone—by making Nobuko’s moment of awakening the condition, I ultimately aimed to replicate Mrs. Maria Brunner’s dazed state and, if possible, capture her subconscious mind just as it was about to slip away.” “Yet even that woman could not escape inclusion in the compendium of legal psychology case studies.” “Well, Nobuko’s precedent can be found in Ophelia, I suppose.” “However, Ophelia merely recalled a lewd song she had heard from her wet nurse in childhood—(Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s Day)—after going mad.” “However, Nobuko—bestowed with the highly dramatic surname Furuya—performed a tremendous irony.”

There was something terrifyingly compelling about that signature. After being transfixed for a while, the impulsive Inspector Kumashiro was the first to raise his voice.

“In other words, Guttenberger equals Furuya Hatatarou.” “With this, Madame Krivov’s testimony gets neatly resolved.” “Now then, Mr. Housui—you must dismantle Hatatarou’s alibi!” “This assessment remains problematic.” “It’s still Furuya X,” the prosecutor countered without assent. As Prosecutor Hasekura obliquely alluded to Dr. Furuya’s enigmatic role, Housui nodded—his face twisting into disarrayed contortions as if parrying scathing sarcasm. If this were indeed a spectral subconscious manifestation, victory would likely belong to Housui. Yet if mere mental aberration, it could only be a fiend transcending all forensic calculus. Dr. Otokone checked his watch and rose—this master of venomous wit never neglected a parting barb.

“Well, no ‘Buddha’ will be making an appearance tonight.” “But Mr. Housui, the issue lies not in fantasy but in how one wields logical judgment.” “Should those two ever march in step, you might yet make a Napoleon.”

"No—Thomsen (the Danish historian who deciphered the ancient Turkic inscriptions upstream of the Orkhon River near Lake Baikal) will suffice," Housui retorted with equal sharpness, his words suddenly stirring a brewing storm beneath their surface. "Of course, I don't possess any profound expertise in historiography." "However, in this case, I have managed to decipher inscriptions more profound than those of Orkhon." "You shall remain in the hall and await the Greatest Excavation of This Century."

“Excavation⁉” Kumashiro was utterly flabbergasted. However, even if there was no way to know what Housui was plotting in his heart, the resolute determination etched between his brows made it abundantly clear that he was about to stake everything on an all-or-nothing gamble. Before long, in the suffocatingly tense air, Tagou Shinsai—summoned to appear—entered, passing Dr. Otokone on his way in. Immediately, Housui came straight to the point.

“I’ll ask you frankly—last night between eight o’clock and eight-twenty, you made your rounds of the mansion and locked the Ancient Clock Room at that time, correct? However, there should have been one person who vanished around that time. No, Mr. Tagou—last night during the Divine Judgment Council, there were indeed six family members present in this mansion, not five, weren’t there?”

The instant he did, Shinsai’s entire body shuddered as though electrocuted. And, in a posture as though searching for something to cling to, he restlessly looked around his surroundings, but suddenly adopted a retaliatory attitude,

“Hohou, to think you’d excavate Dr. Furuya’s remains in the midst of this blizzard—I see you’ve brought a warrant.”

“No—if necessary, I would not hesitate to break the law,” Housui retorted coldly. But deeming further exchanges with Shinsai unnecessary, he began to candidly state his own theory. “Generally speaking, I never dreamed you would readily open your mouth from the very beginning.” “Therefore, first I will externally demonstrate the existence of that vanished individual.” “By the way, are you familiar with the concept of a blind person’s auditory-tactile sensory model?” “Blind people utilize every sense except vision to synthesize the fragmented stimuli that reach them individually.” “Thus, they attempt to form a mental model of objects near themselves.” “Now, Mr. Tagou—of course there’s no reason for that person’s figure to appear before my eyes.” “Moreover, I have heard neither any sounds nor even the slightest fragment of speech concerning that individual.” “However, at the very start of this case, a certain centrifugal force came into play—and that force flung one individual far beyond the circle of those involved.” “When I first stepped into this mansion, I already felt what I might call a premonition.” “That, I was able to discern from the servant’s behavior.”

“Then, I asked—” Prosecutor Hasekura shouted with abnormal fervor. He then realized he had reached the moment when his doubts were dissolving away. Housui responded to the prosecutor with a smile before continuing. “In other words, according to this psychosomatic pantomime, the very genesis lies in when we were first led up the grand staircase by the servant.” “At that time, though the police car’s engine roared clamorously, whenever my shoes accidentally creaked and made a faint sound, the servant—despite walking ahead—would stiffen and sidestep to avoid me.” “When I noticed this, something surged uncontrollably through my nerves.” “Thus, until we reached the top of the stairs, I deliberately repeated the same action several times—and each instance, the servant replicated their evasive maneuver.” “Clearly, this silent reality strives to convey something.” “Therefore, I formed a deduction.” “‘Despite the engine’s din,’ I concluded, ‘they heard a sound that should have been drowned out—nay, one utterly inaudible under ordinary circumstances.’” “However, this was neither miraculous nor—needless to say—the result of hepatic dysfunction.” “In medical terminology, this is called Willis’ sign: a pathological hypersensitivity of hearing where even faint sounds concurrent with violent noise become perceptible.”

Housui slowly lit a cigarette, took a breath, and continued. "Needless to say, that symptom serves as a precursor to certain mental disorders. However, when we examine works like Thiéhen's *The Psychology of Dread and Aversion*, we find numerous experimental studies documenting the physiological phenomena that manifest under extreme states of terror. Particularly, the example that most piques interest would be one from Dormdorff's *Apparent Death and Premature Burial*, I suppose." "In 1826, Bishop Donnet of Bordeaux suddenly died, and after doctors confirmed his death, he was placed in a coffin and a funeral service was held. However, during that very process, Donnet revived within the coffin. Having lost the ability to speak and thus unable to call for help, he mustered all his strength to slightly open the coffin lid—but in doing so, he exhausted himself and became immobile within it once more." "Yet in that unspeakable terror of being buried alive—even as the solemn chorus of sutra hymns thundered around him—it's said his two friends heard the sound of someone whispering in secret." Then Housui transferred that phenomenon into the substance of this case.

“In that case, this of course presents a single enigma.” “Generally speaking, servants may exhibit bystander-like agitation, but even when an investigator—not yet having reached the crime scene—shows signs of approaching to ask questions, there’s no logical reason they should feel terror toward it.” “Therefore, at that moment, I was struck by an eerie premonition—something like the premise of an impending event.” “It was, if you will, a theatrical interplay of hypersensitive nerves—but I sensed an indescribable, eerily palpable atmosphere.” “Precisely because it lacked clarity, I felt all the more compelled by a force that demanded I writhe closer to grasp it.” “And soon after—the moment I realized it was a product of your verbal labyrinth—I succeeded in measuring even the height of that fated individual you so desperately tried to conceal.”

“Height?” Shinsai widened his eyes in astonishment, but now all three found themselves swept into an agitation unlike anything they’d experienced before. “Exactly. “That helmet’s front crest proclaims, ‘Behold this person.’” Housui drew his chair back with deliberate slowness and continued calmly. “You must have observed it too—among the antique armors in the arcade rests a savage black helmet with triple stag antlers atop scarlet-laced neck guards near the circular corridor’s door. “Furthermore, in the front row of suspended armor displays, one leather-bound cuirass bears a resplendent lion-biting base crowned by a narrow hoe-shaped helmet with star ornamentation. When compared with its counterpart, they reveal unmistakable signs of having been swapped. “Not merely swapped—through servant testimony we confirmed this exchange occurred after seven o’clock last night. “Yet this substitution reflects an exquisitely delicate psychological imprint. “Only when combined with two murals across the circular corridor does it unveil its true nature. “As you know, the right-hand mural depicts *The Virgin Conception* with Our Lady standing at left edge, while *Morning at Calvary* on the left shows Christ’s crucifixion at right extremity. “Without swapping those two helmets, we’d witness the inconceivable spectacle of the Holy Mother being nailed to the cross. “The cause proved simple to ascertain. “Tell me, Mr. Tagou—by the circular corridor’s door stood a hexagonal wall sconce of frosted glass alternating flat and convex panels, yes? “I discovered an air bubble in the flat panel facing the scarlet neck guards. “Are you familiar with Coccius’ ophthalmoscopic apparatus? “Light from the chandelier gathered in the concave panel, passed through this bubble in the forward flat panel, then projected onto the front crest beyond—precisely as one directs light through a perforated plane mirror into a patient’s eye. “Thus by determining where one must stand to receive that crest’s fierce reflection, we could measure eye level—and thereby stature.”

"But what did that reflected light do?" "It induces double vision," Housui answered with clinical precision. "Even during hypnosis, applying lateral pressure to the eyeball disrupts the visual axis and creates diplopia. Similarly, intense sidelight produces identical effects through photic interference." He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "The resulting optical convergence caused the Holy Mother figure to overlap with the crucifixion cross—an illusion of Marian impalement." "Meaning?" Shinsai's knuckles whitened around his cane. "The helmet-swapper was female." Housui's voice sharpened like a scalpel. "This spectral crucifixion represents the ultimate feminine desecration—a psychological assault leveraging primal religious terror." He paced before the arcade's armor displays, shadows elongating his silhouette. "Such atavistic dread resides in humanity's limbic substrate. No intellect, however formidable, can fully extinguish Augustine's legacy of punitive monotheism." The detective whirled abruptly. "Consider the perpetrator's mental state—fragile, suggestible, teetering on some aberrant precipice." His gaze pierced Shinsai's defenses. "She rearranged those helmets not from malice, but to shield herself from projected damnation." Housui produced a tape measure from his coat pocket. "The optical geometry reveals her stature—five feet four inches." The metallic rasp echoed through the vaulted chamber. "Neither servants nor foreign musicians match this height. Nobuko and Kuga Chinako fall short by inches." He advanced until his shadow engulfed the butler's chair. "Yet this woman still breathes Kuroshikikan's poisoned air." The words hung like a garrote wire between them. "Who could she be, I wonder?" Silence congealed thicker than embalming fluid. Shinsai's throat worked soundlessly as Housui's accusation reverberated through ancestral portraits lining the walls. When the detective spoke again, his voice vibrated with forensic fervor—the passion of a vivisectionist probing living tissue.

“And then within my mind, that single mental image gradually grew into a grand paradox—but just now, from your own lips, the truth was finally uttered.” “And my calculations had concluded.” “What did you say?” “From my mouth?”

Rather than being shocked and dumbfounded, Shinsai manifested anger as if mocked by his interlocutor's abruptly transformed tone.

“That is indeed the sole obstacle within you.” “Because of your distorted delusions, you’ve strayed beyond all reason.” “This old one will not be startled by your phantom beacons.”

“Ha ha ha ha—‘false beacon,’ you say?” Housui burst into uproarious laughter but then said in a quiet, refined tone: “Ah, but it is the stricken doe who weeps and departs, while the heartless stag prances on—that is the correct interpretation. However, when I recited the line from *The Murder of Gonzago*—‘Thou who plucked the herb’s breath-liquid in midnight’s dark’—you responded with the next verse: ‘Thrice withered by witches’ curses, steeped in venom’—did you not? At that moment, why did you lose the meter after ‘thrice’? And when you restated it for whatever reason—treating ‘With Hecates’ as a single stanza, combining ‘Ban’ and ‘thrice’—what’s more suspicious is that when you uttered ‘Banthrice,’ you suddenly turned pale. Of course, my purpose was not to engage in philological higher criticism. Because it perfectly mirrors the inception of this case—I sought to draw from your lips that thrice-witch’s... and what follows, with all its pompous idiocy meant to intimidate. In other words, I attempted to plagiarize Broodon’s hypothesis—that poetic language exhibits an especially intense associative action—and apply it in an altered form to the psychological examination of this murder case. So to speak, it’s a poetic form that conceals its armament. So I attempted to scrutinize your neural activity, but ultimately extracted from within it a single ghostly forte. Now, Barbage—a celebrated Shakespearean actor predating Edmund Kean—pointed out that the Bard’s works contain many metrically precise passages—that is to say, instances of Greek quantitative meter. In essence, the principle is that one long syllable equals two short ones in quantity. Through strategic arrangement of alliteration, end rhyme, and stressed accents to form metrical patterns, this creates a musical rhythm within the poetic structure. Therefore, if even a single word’s recitation is erred, the metrical rhythm will be thrown into confusion throughout all the verses. However, the fact that you were pressed at ‘thrice’ and lost the meter thereafter is by no means an accidental occurrence. That single word carries at least as much psychological impact as a dagger. So you realized it would provoke me, and in your panic, immediately tried to rephrase it—didn’t you? However, in that recitation, you had to ignore the metrical principles I just mentioned. That fell precisely into my anticipated pattern—yet instead precipitated irreparable chaos. The reason is this: by avoiding ‘thrice’ and combining it with the preceding ‘Ban’ to form ‘Banthrice,’ it resonates like ‘Banshrice’—the old man who transforms when a banshee (the death-heralding hag of Celtic legend) stands at the threshold of unnatural death.”

“Now, Mr. Tagou, the line I presented—‘Thou who plucked the herb’s breath-liquid in midnight’s dark’—had been rigged with double, even triple layers of pitfalls in precisely this manner.” “Of course, I don’t believe you were playing the role of the Banshrice in this case. However, what exactly does this ‘thrice’—steeped in the witch’s cursed poison—signify?” “Madame Dannenberg… Ekusuke… And the third?”

Having said that, Housui stared directly at the other man for a while, but Shinsai’s face gradually became enveloped in a hazy shade of despair. Housui continued, “Then I took the ‘thrice’ from *The Murder of Gonzago* and placed it back on the chopping block, this time observing it as a descending curve.” And at last, I was able to confirm that this single word possesses a dreadful power which thoroughly dominates the psychology of the testimony. “For that purpose, I extracted from Pope’s *The Rape of the Lock* its most farcical passage—where fantastical delusions run rampant, even to the belief that a man could become pregnant—and through it, hinted to you the complete absence of any scheming in your heart.” “However, when you responded with the next line—‘The virgin, believing she had become a jar, cried out thrice in search of a stopper’—you uttered it with such composure and impeccable recitation technique, almost as though unaware of the word ‘thrice’ within it.” “Of course, that is a typical blind spot phenomenon in a relaxed psychological state.” Furthermore, when comparing the two instances from before and after, I was able to measure a striking difference in psychological impact between how the single character ‘thrice’ appears in *The Murder of Gonzago* and its counterpart in *The Rape of the Lock*. Therefore, to further solidify my conclusion, I next attempted to extract from Madame Serena the number of family members present in this mansion last night. “However, in response to my recitation of Gottfried’s line—‘Who now could hinder me from becoming one with the devil?’—Madame Serena answered with the next verse: ‘At the dagger’s mark, my body trembles and quakes.’” “Yet when uttering ‘sech’ [dagger], Madame Serena inexplicably showed a flustered expression. Moreover, where she should have combined ‘dagger’s mark’ into a single syllable resonating with alliteration, she inserted an unnecessary pause between ‘sech’ and ‘Stempel’ [mark], thereby plunging the subsequent meter into chaos. Why would she employ such an absurd recitation method?” “That is none other than because she feared it would resonate as ‘Sechs Tempel’ [Six Temples].” “In the latter half of that legendary poem, it appears that through the magic of the lord of ‘God’s Fortress’ [near present-day Metz], something manifests in the Walpurgis Night forest—and it is said that any human who enters this sixth temple will never be seen again.” “Thus, the sixth figure Madame Serena implied without uttering a word... No—the fact that a sixth person vanished suddenly from this mansion last night can no longer be denied, even through the mental images of you both reflected in my nerves.” “Thus, my blind man’s construct was completed.”

Shinsai could no longer endure it; the hands gripping the armrest began to tremble eerily.

“Then, pray tell—exactly who is this person you harbor in your heart?”

“It’s Oshikane Tsutako.” Housui immediately declared with solemn dignity. “That person was once called Japan’s Maude Adams—a great actress.” “The figure of five feet four inches can only correspond to that person’s height.” “Mr. Tagou, when you discovered Madame Dannenberg’s unnatural death, you naturally turned your suspicion toward Madame Tsutako, who had been missing since last night.” “However, if you wished to prevent a criminal from emerging from your glorious family, you were compelled to cover it up through some measure.” “Therefore, you imposed a gag order on everyone and hid Madame’s personal belongings somewhere out of sight.” “Of course, when it comes to someone capable of taking such authoritative measures, there is no one but you.” “Setting aside the person in power of this mansion, could there possibly be any reason to seek another fitting candidate?”

Oshikane Tsutako—precisely because her name had been entirely absent from the case's periphery—must have struck them like a thunderclap from clear skies. Was this the culmination toward which Housui's neural currents had been subtly building? Yet both Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro sat with faces gone numb, words trapped in their throats. For even if this were Housui's divine technique made manifest, it remained a hypothesis edged with dread—too perilous to swallow whole as truth. Shinsai threw his weight against the wheelchair's armrests, rocking it near toppling as raucous laughter burst from him.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Mr. Housui, let’s have an end to these absurd occult rumors and groundless theories.” "The Madame Tsutako you speak of left this mansion early yesterday morning indeed." “Where exactly are you claiming she’s hiding?” “If it were a place accessible by human means, it would have been thoroughly searched by now.” “If she’s hiding somewhere, I’ll gladly drag her out as the culprit myself!”

“Why, far from being the culprit...” Housui replied with a cold sneer. “Instead, I need a pencil and a scalpel.” “Well, I too once viewed Madame Tsutako as a self-portrait of a sylph.” “However, Mr. Tagou, this too constitutes an excruciatingly tragic subplot.” “That person had lost the opportunity to receive applause even after becoming a corpse.” “That was before eight o’clock last night.” “By that time, Madame Tsutako had already been taken far away to the spirit world.” “Therefore, she—preceding Madame Dannenberg... that is to say—was the first victim in this case.”

“What? Killed?!” Shinsai seemed to have suffered a shock equivalent to an electric bolt. And he reflexively asked in return. “S-so, where are you saying that corpse is?” “Ah, if you were to hear that, you would surely feel a sense of martyrdom,” Housui said with an exaggerated sigh before declaring sharply, “The truth is, it was your own hands that closed the heavy steel door containing the corpse.”

The moment he did, it was no wonder all sensation vanished from the three faces. As if this case were his own phantasmal game, Housui continued layering bizarre ascent upon bizarre ascent with each successive argument. And it was precisely at this superlative peak that the sensory limits of the three became starkly apparent. There, Housui raised the curtain on this Northern-style tragedy's next act. "Now, Mr. Tagou—seven o'clock last night coincided exactly with the servants' mealtime and matches when the helmet was replaced in the arched corridor. Regardless, during that period, the two medieval armored samurai stationed at the grand staircase's base leapt up the steps in one bound to block the front of the *Dissection Diagram*." "Yet through that single fact alone, Madame Tsutako's corpse is proven to lie within the Ancient Clock Room." "Enough theorizing—let us see evidence. This time, you shall open that steel door."

And then—how interminably long the dark corridor leading to the Ancient Clock Room seemed. Likely, neither the wind violently rattling the windows nor the snow reached their ears. For those three—eyes bloodshot like fever patients, upper bodies straining forward, every vestige of bodily composure abandoned—Housui’s imperturbably measured steps must have felt agonizingly deliberate. Soon after the first iron-barred gate was thrust open on both sides, they stood before a steel door gleaming like a black mirror polished to lacquered perfection. Shinsai hunched over, produced a key to unlock the iron box beneath the right door’s handle, and began rotating the dial within. Right, left, then right again—a faint metallic click signaled the bolt’s release. Housui leaned close to examine the dial’s intricate engravings,

“Ah, this must be the compass ritual popular during the Victorian era (the dial’s perimeter bears the Four King Emblems of England’s Royal Dragoons Regiment). Henry V, Henry VI, Henry VIII—finely engraved with Queen Elizabeth’s sleeve emblems, and the handle bears a bust of the Right Hon’ble. JOHNLord CHURCHIL),” he said, though his words carried a hollow ring of disappointment.

For Housui, who placed almost no faith in the lock’s efficacy, this doubly secured ironclad door must have overturned a certain notion that had been entrenched in his mind. “Well, I don’t know its proper name,” Shinsai explained, “but if you trace the opposite direction of how the combination was locked, the door opens after three operations. In other words, the final character used when closing becomes the first character when opening. However, since Dr. Furuya’s passing, no one but this old one has known the method to operate this dial and the key to the iron box.”

The next instant—before they could even swallow—the group was gripped by breathless tension, for Housui had grasped both handles and begun swinging open the heavy iron door with symmetrical force.

The interior was pitch-black darkness, and damp air reminiscent of a subterranean vault brushed coldly against them. However, for some reason, midway through, Housui abruptly halted his motion and stiffened as if struck by a shudder. Yet his demeanor seemed to be straining to hear. Along with the sound of a pendulum languidly marking each moment, an eerie resonance that seemed to roar up from the earth's depths came flowing in.

2. Salamander sollgluhen (Fire spirit, burn fiercely) However, Housui restarted his interrupted motion and swung both doors fully open, revealing rows of bizarrely shaped ancient clocks lining both walls where they met the inner darkness. Where the fading exterior light mingled with the vault's shadows, several glass dials shimmered with an eerie scaly luminescence, their faint glow etching vitality into the air through the pulsing flicker of long narrow pendulums swinging intermittently throughout the chamber. In this tomb-like atmosphere heavy with sepulchral gloom, the dust-laden stillness of centuries and countless ticking seconds remained undisturbed—likely because not a soul dared exhale their held breath. Then the large doll clock atop the central inlaid pillar suddenly released a slackening spring's twang and began playing an antiquated minuet. The elegant tones from the rotating zither—an automatic instrument that plucked ladder-arranged steel bars using countless spines on two counter-rotating cylinders—seemed to dispel the funereal miasma, only for that same ponderous dragging sound to creep back into their ears.

“Lights!” Kumashiro bellowed as if snapping back to his senses.

When Shinsai turned the wall switch with his hand, Housui’s uncanny prediction proved accurate. For there atop the long coffer in the depths lay Madame Tsutako—hands clasped over her chest, her life staked upon the roll of four dice’s pips. That austere beauty could only be likened to a ceramic funerary effigy of Beatrice. Yet the dragging, dull sound undeniably issued from near where Madame Tsutako lay—an eerie seismic snoring interwoven with morbid wheezes... Ah! The woman Housui had presumed a corpse still clung tenaciously to life. Her skin had lost all vitality, her body temperature nearing cadaverous coldness, yet faint breaths persisted alongside a faltering heartbeat. Only her face remained exposed; her entire form lay swathed in blankets like a mummy. As the rotating zither’s minuet faded, the two cherub dolls alternately raised their right-hand hammers to strike the bell—thus proclaiming eight o’clock.

“Chloral hydrate.” Housui pulled his face away from her breath and declared in a vigorous voice. “The pupils are constricted too, and the odor confirms it.” “But I’m just glad she’s still alive.” “Hey Kumashiro—Madame Tsutako’s recovery might finally shed light on some corner of this case.” “I suppose the drug room investigation wasn’t a complete waste,” Kumashiro said with a face like he’d bitten into something bitter,

“But thanks to you, I’ve had to listen to such dire news.” “What a monumental letdown.” “That woman with motives sharp as an etching needle—what idiotic artillery she’s brought to bear.” “Shall I have you summon a spirit medium while we’re at it?”

As Kumashiro had stated, Madame Oshikane Tsutako—solely excluded from the inheritance distribution and thus presumed to possess the most compelling motive—appeared to harbor some fragile, exploitable flaw. At that very moment, not only had she emerged as a figure of brutal cruelty lost in a dreamlike state, but now—overturning Housui’s conjecture—she demanded delicate deductions through her inexplicable comatose condition. In this unforeseeable reversal and turmoil that defied all expectations—a case utterly unbearable not just to Kumashiro alone—the prosecutor also let out an exasperated sigh and said:

“Nothing but sheer astonishment,” Prosecutor Hasekura declared. “In barely over twenty hours, we’ve had two deaths and two unconscious individuals.” “In any case, the critical issue lies in the period before the dial was turned,” he continued, fixing Housui with a look of conviction. “The culprit must have brought Tsutako here after rendering her unconscious before that time. But Mr. Housui, if we can determine the approximate drug dosage, we should be able to estimate when it was orally administered.” “I think there might be something there.” “There must be layers upon layers behind this coma,” he added weakly, his words weighed down by the immovable gravity of motives surrounding Madame Tsutako.

“That’s an astute deduction.” Housui nodded with satisfaction but continued, “But the drug dosage isn’t what matters here.” “What’s crucial is that the culprit never intended to kill this person.”

“What?! No intention to kill?!” The prosecutor involuntarily parroted back in shock but immediately raised an objection. “However, we can’t simply dismiss the possibility of a dosage miscalculation.” “However, Hasekura, in this incident, the dosage isn’t the fundamental issue at all.” “All they had to do was put her to sleep and leave her dumped in this room—that alone would unquestionably become a lethal dose.” “Large amounts of chloral hydrate possess the property of drastically lowering body temperature.” “Moreover, this room is surrounded by stone and metal, and the temperature is extremely low.” “Therefore, simply opening a window to let in outside air would have made this room’s temperature the perfect condition for freezing to death.” “Yet the culprit not only avoided that safest method but also wrapped her like a mummy, as you see now, applying inexplicable means to prevent heat loss,” Housui declared, extracting yet another aberrant question from this bizarre enigma that defied all reason.

However, just as he had stated, the window latch was encrusted with stalactite-like rust, and yet within the cleaned interior, not even the slightest trace remained. Housui watched intently as Madame Tsutako was carried out, his face taking on a shuddering expression as he spoke. “I believe if we wait one more day, she’ll be able to withstand interrogation—but this one matter must be remembered no matter what.” “Why did the culprit deprive Madame Tsutako of her freedom and confine her—that is the question.” “Or perhaps it’s just my overactive imagination.” “I suspect that the insidious plot that led to employing such methods might lie within the words she utters after regaining consciousness.” “Because whenever there appears to be a vulnerability, a trap is invariably set there.”

Perhaps due to having encountered Housui’s astonishing revelation, Shinsai had become unrecognizably haggard within these ten minutes or so. While maneuvering the wheelchair with feeble hands, he made a pleading gesture as if about to speak. “I understand, Mr. Tagou,” Housui calmly interjected. “Regarding the measures you’ve taken, I’ll personally convey your regards to Inspector Kumashiro.” “By the way—around what time last night did Madame Oshikane Tsutako vanish from sight?”

“Well, it was rather late into the night.” “Since she was absent from the Divine Judgment Council, that was when we first noticed her disappearance,” Shinsai finally replied with visible relief. “Around six in the evening, we received a call from her husband, Dr. Oshikane.” “We were informed he intended to attend Kyushu University’s neurology conference via last night’s nine o’clock express train. At that time, one of the servants saw Madame Tsutako emerge from the telephone room—and from that moment onward, she vanished from our sight.” “However, this matter regarding the phone call only came to light when we confirmed his residence through their own account.”

“I see—from six to eight...” “In any case, investigate everyone’s movements during that period.” “Or who knows—we might even dig up a matchlock gun from all this,” Kumashiro declared almost intuitively. Housui looked back at him in surprise, “Don’t be absurd.” “Well, you certainly are physically robust.” “However, how could that mad poet’s actions possibly follow such a trite path as an alibi?” he dismissed outright. Then he adopted an appreciative attitude—as if he desired a monocle—and began casting a gaze brimming with curiosity at the ancient clocks standing in rows.

Among them were such pieces as a Chaldean Rossos sundial and a Bismarck Island Dakudaku Kosha palm-fiber clock. Among the water clocks were over a dozen varieties—beginning with the Ctesibius type and extending to fifth-century bowl-shaped clepsydrae of the Rouran tribe (a Western ethnic group driven into the Caucasus by the Göktürks at the end of the sixth century)—each frame carved with successive Ptolemaic Egyptian kings, deities like Osiris-Ma’at, and even the serpentine demons of Sebau-Naau. Next, though attention was drawn to rarities like a diabolo-shaped hourglass engraved with the crest of Frederick von Büren—founder of the Hohenstaufen dynasty—the eye lingered on artifacts extinct in medieval Spain: oil clocks and matchlock clocks such as spoils from Piyali Pasha (son-in-law of the Sultan who battled the Venetian Republic in the Levant in 1571) and offerings from Henri, Duke of Guise—leader of French Catholic zealots who massacred Protestants during the St. Bartholomew’s Day festivities. Furthermore, while over twenty clocks dated from the early weight-driven period, what stood out particularly was one mounted on the flank of an enormous pirate ship, equipped with timepieces and seven-day circles. According to its inscription, this had been presented by the Merchant Adventurers Company to Sir William Cecil—the politician who suppressed Hanseatic merchants after ascending during the Elizabethan era. Undoubtedly, these formed a collection of ancient timepieces unrivaled anywhere in the world. Yet enthroned at the center like a sovereign was one such piece—a doll clock forming a Coteray-style tower, placed atop a brass base whose pillar bore Ottoman-style masts and whose panels were inlaid with marine beasts. It lacked a dial like those of modern times. Within the circular railing atop the tower hung a single bell, flanked by boy and girl dolls dressed in Dutch harem-style attire facing each other. At each appointed hour, the automatically wound spring would slacken, and simultaneously, the internal rotating harp would begin to play. Once the music ended, the two child dolls would then take turns raising their mallets to strike the bell—a mechanism designed to announce the designated chimes. When Housui opened the double doors on the side, there was a rotating harp mechanism above, and below it lay the clock’s mechanical room. However, at that moment, on the back of the door, he unexpectedly discovered an unusual small-character seal engraving. Namely, on the right door…

――May 19, 14th year of Tenshō (1586 Anno Domini) - Received from King Felipe II of Spain along with the ladder-shaped harp.

Moreover, on the left-hand door, the following characters had been engraved.

――Tenshō 15, November 27 (1587 Anno Domini). At the Society of Jesus’ St. Paul’s Basilica in Goa, they received the entrails of Saint Francis Xavier, enshrined them within this reliquary, and made them one arm of the child figure. It was indeed one of those poems of fresh blood dripped from the annals of Jesuit martyrdom. However, in later developments, these entrails of Saint Francis Xavier would play a crucial role in a dramatic turn of events. But at that moment, Housui was simply struck by something of eternal vastness, feeling an indescribable pressure—as though some colossal hand had suddenly wrenched him into its grip. And then, he gazed at the engraved text for a while, until eventually—

“Ah, that’s right.” “Indeed, Saint Francis Xavier—who died on Shangchuan Island near Guangdong Province’s Pearl River estuary—had transformed into exquisite corpse wax.” “So those entrails and reliquary constitute the child figure’s right arm?” he murmured in a low, dreamlike voice before sharply turning to address Tagou. “By the way, Mr. Tagou—though I notice no dust here—when was this clock room last cleaned?”

“It was precisely yesterday.” “The cleaning occurs weekly by established arrangement.”

And so, upon exiting the Ancient Clock Room, Shinsai had no choice but to first resolve the doubts that had plunged him into a miserable defeat. Housui responded to Shinsai’s question with a lifeless smile. "So then, are you familiar with Day and Graham’s black mirror magic?" he pressed first, exhaling smoke before beginning to speak. "As I mentioned earlier, what constitutes this 'interpretive key' are those two suits of medieval armored samurai that stood at both ends of the staircase." "Of course, they were decorative pieces and not particularly heavy. But as you know, those very suits had been swiftly moved to the staircase corridor around seven o’clock—precisely timed to coincide with the servants’ dinner hour." "Moreover, both held long banners, but initially, I inferred from their crossed positions that it was the culprit’s declaration of murder." "However, something had struck a nerve, so I first compared the two banners with Gabriel Max’s 'Anatomy Diagram' located behind them." "Of course, there was nothing in the two figures depicted in the painting that indicated Madame Tsutako’s whereabouts—but at that moment, I suddenly noticed that the two banners were covering the far upper portion of the canvas." "There was a milestone indicating the road to Damascus." "In other words, that entire area—where various colors appeared as if dashed with a paintbrush, forming lines or coalescing into masses to create a chaotic cluster of hues—was precisely it."

“Now, are you familiar with the theory of pointillism? Instead of mixing colors together, by arranging fine lines and dots of primary colors alternately and having them viewed from a certain fixed distance—it synthesizes chromatic decomposition within the viewer’s vision for the first time,” Housui explained. “Of course, if you deviate even slightly from that distance, the unity instantly collapses and the canvas plunges into indescribable chaos.” He adjusted his posture slightly before continuing. “That was Monet’s technique when depicting Rouen Cathedral’s gate—not only formalized into a method but theoretically advanced and hidden within that very painting.” With a gesture toward the steel door behind them, he instructed an unseen attendant to seal it shut before addressing Kumashiro directly: “Now then—what lies concealed within that chaotic medley of colors? First, Inspector Kumashiro—turn those three switches on the wall.”

When Inspector Kumashiro promptly followed Housui’s instructions, first the light above the Anatomy Diagram extinguished, followed by another—slanting diagonally downward from de Trey’s *The 1720 Marseille Plague* on the right—disappearing as well. This left only a single illumination in the staircase corridor: one emanating horizontally from beside Gerard David’s *The Flaying of Sisamnes* on the left, its light barely grazing the Anatomy Diagram. The switch controlling this solitary light lay beneath the staircase. With this, the muted stability that had dominated the scene dissolved, replaced across the Anatomy Diagram’s surface by a searing glare that made eyes water. Then, as the final switch clicked off and the overhead light died, Housui brought his hands together in a sharp clap—

“This should do it.” “Just as I suspected.” However, even after they spent some time frantically searching the area of the painting before them, nothing but glare met the eyes of the three.

“What the hell is even here?!” snarled Inspector Kumashiro, violently kicking the floor in frustration. Yet when Shinsai casually turned toward the steel door behind them, there was something that had made Inspector Kumashiro’s shoulder reflexively seize.

“Ah, Thérèse!” It was a phenomenon of such unparalleled mystery and grotesquery that one might well have suspected it to be magic. Despite the front screen being engulfed in a blinding glare, upon the steel door behind them—which reflected its upper portion—there now appeared, in crisp definitive lines, the exquisitely elegant face of a young woman, though from where it had been projected remained unclear. What made it all the more eerie was that this figure could be none other than Thérèse Signoret, known in Kuroshikikan as a malevolent spirit. Unfazed by the astonishment around him, Housui Rintarou elucidated the cause of the eerie illusion.

“You understand now, Mr. Tagou—when those chaotic colors reach that distance, they achieve unity for the first time. However, what we call the theory of pointillism in this case merely indicates the distance at which fragmented colors are synthesized.” Of course, with just those colors alone, only something hazy would have been projected onto this lacquered door. In truth, several additional layers of technique had been required beyond that foundational theory. “What I mean is none other than the ‘dark-field illumination method’ developed by Schaudinn and Hoffmann at the beginning of this century as a staining technique for syphilis bacteria.” Syphilis bacteria were inherently colorless and transparent, so using ordinary microscopy under those conditions would not have allowed one to observe their true form beneath the microscope. So as one approach, they placed a black background beneath the microscope and altered the light source to send horizontal rays. As a result, for the first time, they had been able to observe the light reflected solely from the transparent bacteria. “In this case, it corresponds to the light originating from beside ‘The Flaying of Sisamnes’ on the left and grazing the screen horizontally.” “Then, of course, the essence shifts from color to luminosity.” Therefore, colors with relatively high luminosity such as yellow and yellow-green, or those that gained luminosity beyond their inherent properties through contrast phenomena, would likely have shone with a degree approaching white light. Meanwhile, those below must have formed gradations, gradually increasing in darkness. The difference in luminosity became even more pronounced when reflected in this black mirror. However, as a practical matter, colloidal paint needed to produce glare across its entire surface. However, what not only deprived it of color tones and absorbed that glare but also distinctly divided it into a monochrome image of black and white was precisely this lacquered door—that is, the black mirror. “Therefore, even colors that were somewhat similar would inevitably appear darker when contrasted against those with the highest luminosity—which is precisely why Thérèse’s face was delineated with such crisp, definitive lines.” “Now, Mr. Tagou—you’ve surely read the works of historians like Holcroft and antiquarians like John Pinkerton. But even the black mirror magic that Dr. Day and Graham used to bewilder the masses—when you strip away the mystery, its essence boils down to nothing more than this.” “Now then—when the three switches were turned and this area plunged into darkness—why must Thérèse’s image have appeared at that very moment?”

At this, Housui paused to take a breath and lit his tobacco, but then began to speak again as he resumed his methodical pacing. "That is the keystone of vanquishing falsehoods and manifesting truth." "Dr. Sakutetsu must have felt that merely placing the dial inside an iron case was insufficient to protect his world-class collection." "That’s precisely why he secretly installed such an extravagantly theatrical apparatus." "Because, consider this:" "The three lights that just flickered are usually left on all the time, you see." "Therefore, if someone were to attempt to infiltrate this room, in order to avoid their own form being recognized, they would first have to turn the three nearby switches and plunge this entire area into darkness." "If, on top of that, one were to open the iron-barred door, what had been obstructed by the overhead light until then would suddenly begin to shine in an eerie form upon the lacquered door." "However, when viewed from that position, the 'Anatomy Diagram' behind merely displays fragmented colors and is shrouded in such dazzling glare that one cannot discern where the source of that image lies—ultimately leaving behind an astonishing spectral phenomenon." "In other words, the timid and superstitious culprit, having once endured a bitter experience, must have indeed been threatened." "Therefore, last night they secretly hoisted up the armored samurai and used two banners to conceal the problematic section—that’s the reasoning here." “Well, Mr. Tagou, I must say this was the most inept courtier comedy ever performed by a sylph, wouldn’t you agree?”

When Housui finished speaking, Prosecutor Hasekura rubbed his cold hands and approached, saying—

“Splendid, Mr. Housui! You’re not merely a Thomsen—you’re an Antoine Rossignol (the greatest cryptanalyst in history, who served Louis XIII and XIV and was particularly favored by Cardinal Richelieu)!” “Ah, that’s just a sylph’s jest.” Housui’s complexion darkened as he sighed. “That man was mocked by the poet François de Boisrobert with a passage from Faust that wasn’t even a cipher.”

×　　　　　　　　×　　　　　　　　×

Thus, the first day of the case ended with contradictions piled mountain-high. But when morning came, every newspaper emblazoned their front pages with this incident, sensationalizing it through lurid prose as Japan's most unprecedented mysterious murder case. Most striking was how—despite the investigation being in its earliest stages—they had already procured some utterly inconsequential detective novelist turned practical man runaway, forcing him to spout tedious speculative commentary. Linking this to the Furuya clan's unfathomable mystique, they appeared determined to fan journalistic hysteria. Yet Housui remained sequestered in his study all day, never visiting Kuroshikikan—likely because Dr. Oshikane, summoned from Fukuoka to unseal the will, would not return until the following afternoon, and because Tsutako's condition still seemed too fragile for interrogation. These two factors appeared decisive. Still, judging by past precedents, one could speculate that Housui sought through quiet contemplation to reach some singular conclusion. That morning brought official autopsy findings from forensic authorities. Key points revealed Madame Dannenberg's cause of death as definitive cyanide poisoning—the dosage shockingly measured at 0.5 grams—yet both corpse luminescence and crest-like wounds defied biological explanation, leaving only proteinuria's discovery as established fact. Regarding Ekusuke, while time of death matched Housui's estimate, debates raged over his abnormal slow asphyxiation and discrepancies between death timing versus recorded vital signs—particularly given his rickets condition inviting prejudiced theories. Among these emerged heterodox views verging on vulgar conjecture—even invoking Caspar Riemann's near-classic self-strangulation method to suggest Ekusuke attempted self-asphyxiation before postmortem incisions.

However, the next morning—namely January 30th—Housui Rintarou abruptly notified every newspaper and news agency that he would announce the cause of Ekusuke’s death under the joint supervision of Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro, head of the investigation bureau.

Housui’s study was an exceedingly simple space, surrounded by haphazard mountains of books—and yet, its very existence had become renowned throughout society. The reason lay in what adorned its walls: a copperplate print now considered among the rarest of rarities—the 1668 edition of "The Great Fire of London." Normally, with this at his back, he would volubly expound upon his most eccentric passion—the history of great conflagrations across eras and continents—but on that day, when Housui opened the door clutching his manuscript, the room was packed with some thirty reporters, so densely crowded that movement became nearly impossible. Housui waited for the clamor to subside before commencing his reading.

First, I shall summarize the circumstances surrounding the discovery of Kawanabe Ekusuke's death—head servant of the Furuya household—and its immediate aftermath. Specifically, at 2:30 PM, he was found deceased within suspended armor in the cloister, formally attired in samurai regalia, having been asphyxiated with two linear postmortem incisions inflicted upon his throat. The corpse's evident signs conclusively proved death occurred within two hours postmortem; however, the method of suffocation appeared gradually applied, its pathway remaining wholly obscure. Moreover, one fellow servant not only reported confirming the victim's high fever and detectable pulse shortly after 1 o'clock but also claimed to have heard his respiration at precisely 2 PM—a mere thirty minutes prior to discovery—presenting an account of utmost peculiarity. Therefore, based on these established facts, I shall now elucidate my conclusions. Concerning the initially enigmatic asphyxiation, I maintain this constitutes not mechanical thymic death per se, but rather external mechanical compression applied to the thymus—Kawanabe Ekusuke indisputably possessed a singular constitutional anomaly: a persistently hypertrophied thymus gland into adulthood. The methodology stemmed primarily from two factors: cerebral anemia induced by carotid artery constriction via neck ring, precipitating mild stupor; and forceful compression of the upper clavicle by the breastplate's saizuchi ring due to sideways armor positioning, transmitting pressure to the left brachiocephalic vein. Consequently, this engendered congestion within the thymic drainage vein, propagating to the thymus itself and causing congestive hypertrophy—thereby naturally constricting the trachea and culminating in death through progressive asphyxiation over an extended duration. However, examination of published autopsy findings reveals complete omission of thymic documentation. Yet though dismissed without inquiry, these facts hold critical correlation to the victim's inexplicable respiration. Furthermore, regarding essential points—how could eminent forensic scholars overlook that both incisions avoided arteries in medium-to-large vessels, exclusively targeting thoracic cavity-bound veins? Herein lies incontrovertibly the culprit's stratagem—subverting fundamental physiological principles. The incisions' purpose was twofold: severing and contracting the hypertrophied thymus while utilizing postmortem arterial contraction (wherein venous transection immediately post-death causes no hemorrhage, but subsequent arterial contraction siphon-pumps blood into veins) to flood the thoracic cavity—compressing lungs and expelling residual air (postmortem residual air measures approximately twenty cubic inches per Wagner and McDougall's experiments). Regarding postmortem pulsation and pyrexia: Japanese execution records detailing strangulation-rotation-plummet sequences contain substantial documentation, while Hartmann's seminal *Buried Alone* alone references Terra Bergen's Miracle (a Farelusleben woman exhibiting cardiac tones and hyperpyrexia through precordial massage) and Hungary's Asvany hanged cadaver (Professor Bilbauer's 1815 account describing twenty-minute persistence of pulse and fever post-rotation). These demonstrate that corpse movement via rotation post-asphyxial death may indeed yield febrile pulsation. In Ekusuke's case too, does not postmortem armor rotation stand evidenced as contributory to discovery? Thus synthesizing these points: Ekusuke's death occurred circa 1 PM. As for his armor donning—battlefield expedients like Hojo-ryu suspended armor techniques hold no relevance here. One must conclude this feat exceeded the frail invalid's unaided capacity. Nevertheless, as an investigator I profoundly regret this announcement merely estimates cause of death without advancing inquiry.

When Housui finished reading aloud, the collectively held breath burst forth all at once. The room seethed with voices hurling excitement back and forth until Kumashiro scattered the reporters like autumn leaves, restoring the familiar realm of three. Housui sat frozen in contemplation, then lifted his face—unusually flushed—and broke the silence.

“Well, Prosecutor Hasekura, I’ve finally arrived at a certain conclusion.” “Of course, it’s superficial.” “I haven’t quite unraveled every formula yet.” "But what if," he continued, glancing fleetingly at their stunned expressions and casting a sidelong glance tinged with astonishment, "we could discern a common factor even from individual events? By the way, you were supposed to have prepared a list of questions about this case." “Then, let me elaborate my theory upon each of those items one by one.”

It was at that moment that Prosecutor Hasekura, gulping down his breath, took out a memorandum from his pocket. The door opened, and a servant handed a special delivery letter to Housui. Housui opened the square envelope and glanced at its contents, but without showing any particular expression, immediately threw it onto the desk in front of him in silence. However, the moment Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro laid eyes on it, they were seized by an uncontrollable shudder. Behold! Was this not the third arrow-pierced missive sent by Dr. Faust?! On it, inscribed in the customary Gothic script, stood the following passage.

Salamander sollgluhen (Salamander, burn fiercely)

Part Five: The Third Tragedy 1. The criminal's name lies among the war dead of Lützen.

Salamander sollgluhen (Oh fire spirit, burn fiercely) The invisible demon shrouding Kuroshikikan in jet-black wings sent a third message—this time posing as Dr. Faust, delivering a line of pentagram incantation. Above all, Inspector Kumashiro could not help but feel an unspeakable insult. In fact, the four remaining family members were armored by Kumashiro’s subordinates as if clad in Gothic plate mail, so thoroughly that they could not move a muscle. Nevertheless, wasn’t this culprit declaring an utterly audacious, fanatical plan and heralding a third tragedy to follow Madame Dannenberg and Ekusuke? In that case, what would become of the human rampart Kumashiro had constructed? Even a fortress so perfect as to render the continuation of crime nearly impossible was, to this fiendish mind, nothing more than a mote of derisive dust. Not only that—here was resolve so reckless it risked ruinous danger; madness made manifest through action. The sheer audacity left all three men dumbstruck, voices stolen away for some time. It was a clear day several days into the investigation. Gentle sunlight fell upon *The Great Fire of London* print adorning the wall—its rays pooling near Brixton before creeping across the Thames toward King’s Cross’s billowing smoke.

Yet in stark contrast, the air inside the room was so taut it seemed it might ring metallic if struck—but Housui, with a countenance suggesting he had some stratagem in mind, sat meditating with eyes gently closed, all the while maintaining a faint smile and nodding with calculated composure. At length, Inspector Kumashiro spoke in a voice that sounded forced with effort.

“I’m not Shinsai, you know.” “Phantom beacon fires won’t rattle me.” “That madman’s spree ends here.” “Consider this—” “My men have those four encircled like a shield wall.” “Yet that very cordon doubles as the fiend’s own ledger—recording every twitch.” “Ha! Mr. Housui, what delicious irony!” “We may have posted guards around our killer all along!”

Prosecutor Hasekura, his face still clouded with gloom, voiced an opposing view to Kumashiro’s overconfidence.

“Even if we split those four apart completely, this tragedy gives no indication of ending.” “It seems utterly impossible to stop through human means.” “In fact, I can’t shake the feeling there’s still someone unknown to us hiding somewhere in Kuroshikikan.” “So you’re saying Digsby didn’t die in Rangoon?” Kumashiro widened his eyes and leaned forward.

"Anyway, let's have you stop with the jokes," Inspector Kumashiro retorted. "If you're so concerned about Sakutetsu's remains, why don't we postpone their exhumation until after this case reaches its conclusion?" "Well, it might be nerves," Prosecutor Hasekura conceded, his voice trailing off before adding with renewed conviction, "but this is no literary fantasy." He swallowed hard, leaving unsaid the delirium-tinged thought that hovered at the edge of his consciousness: "In the end, I just feel this mysterious case might reach such a point..." Though unvoiced, a nightmarish force seemed to press against his words from some unfathomable depth. Even Housui—no stranger to flights of fancy—had momentarily sensed that searing intensity radiating from those twin propositions: Digsby's disputed survival and the potential exhumation of Dr. Sakutetsu's remains. Prosecutor Hasekura shoved his chair backward with abrupt force, the wooden legs screeching against floorboards as his sighs continued unabated.

“Ah, a salamander this time⁉ So, a pistol or an arquebus, then?” “Or are they planning to aim some antiquated Snider rifle or a forty-two-pound cannon?”

At that moment, Housui suddenly opened his eyelids and, as if prompted, leaned half his body over the desk.

“Forty-two-pound cannon!” “That’s right, Prosecutor Hasekura.” “However, if you intentionally made that remark, I must say that’s quite remarkable.” “I believe this salamander lacks the insidious obscurity we’ve seen until now.” “Given the criminal’s classical tastes, Rodman’s round shot will likely erupt with starfish-shaped white smoke.”

“Ah, still staging your grandiose comic opera, I see.” “Then it doesn’t matter,” Inspector Kumashiro clicked his tongue irritably before resettling in his chair. “But if there’s any substance to it, I’ll hear you out.” “There most certainly is.” Housui nodded casually, though his face betrayed unrestrained fervor. “The critical point is that this salamander alone shows no gender transformation—unlike the precedents set by undines and sylphs.” “Now consider the four spirits in that pentagram incantation: undine, sylph, salamander, and gnome—each representing one of the four great elements of material structure.” “Needless to say, these are precisely the elemental spirits imagined by medieval alchemists.” “Until now, we’d only recognized what might be called elemental correspondences—the undine with door-opening water, the sylph with harmonic resonance—mere fragmentary connections.” “Yet once we apply gender transformation theory, that which reeked of secret doctrine becomes instantly systematized.” “Tell me, Inspector—why couldn’t we have opened that door without transforming the undine into a male?” “Why did we overlook how part of the crime equation had been laid bare there with such exactitude?”

“What crime equation⁉” At Housui’s unexpected words, Inspector Kumashiro cried out, his chest turning to ash. Yet truth itself often proves nothing more than an absurd farce of forced connections. Does it not always lie at one’s feet in its plainest form? How Housui’s exposure of that particular aspect had rendered the two men utterly speechless…

“By the way, have you seen Böcklin’s decorative painting depicting the undine of Spirding Lake? In the depths of a dense fir forest, the waters of a glacial lake darkly shimmer—a color like ultramarine dissolved into raw clay, thickly viscous and stagnant. Upon that water’s surface—what one might mistake for a dragon’s coiled back—lies a mass of beautiful golden hair, undulating like water plants. However, Inspector Kumashiro—I’m no professional connoisseur, so I have no intention of urging meditation through hunting lodges or gnarled natural bridges. When transforming such an undine into a male, what exactly must first change?”

As a faint flush rose to Housui’s face, he uttered Mephisto’s line that pointed out the flaw in the pentagram—where a single error in the circle had created a gap Mephisto exploited to break through Faust’s binding spell and invade. “Behold!” “That seal hasn’t been fully drawn.” “The outward-facing angle is slightly open, just as you can see.”

“Ah! Hair, the key’s angle, and water!” “This is my greeting to the learned scholar.” “You’ve really put me through the wringer, I must say!” In the same witty tone, Prosecutor Hasekura chimed in with Mephisto’s theatrical line—yet found himself overwhelmed in twofold fashion: by both the criminal’s machinations and Housui’s deductions. ...the door of the room where Madame Dannenberg’s corpse had lain that night had concealed Dr. Dei’s hidden door mechanism, in which hair would expand and contract due to the humidity from water poured into the keyhole, causing it to automatically open and close. But that the water and hair required for it were concealed within the ancient Chaldean incantation was startling enough—an even greater surprise lay elsewhere. It was that the angle of the tumbler—which mechanically activated the device—had been indicated in Mephisto’s line that breached the pentagram’s seal, with a precision akin to that of a mechanical diagram, of all things. In that case, of course, the equation had to be pursued toward what was said to be the greatest mystery in the case—the next sylph. But on Prosecutor Hasekura’s face—the one who had sought that answer—there appeared an excruciating disappointment.

“So, what connection does the sylph of the carillon chamber have with that harmonic resonance? And what of λ and θ?” Prosecutor Hasekura gasped out the question. At this, Housui abruptly shifted his demeanor and shook his head with tragic gravity.

“Don’t be ridiculous. How could that be the product of some frivolous impulse? That reveals the devil’s most solemn visage. Don’t you agree, Prosecutor Hasekura? Obsession and overexertion invariably unleash this terrifying humor! Therefore, this sylph’s humor can’t be crushed through mere logical pursuit like ours. It must be violently fantastical—utterly divorced from anything resembling an undine. Moreover, sylphs are inherently invisible gaseous spirits.” With icy dismissal, he turned to Kumashiro, his face radiating lethal intensity. “Consequently, they lack any distinguishing features whatsoever.”

“In short, the criminal’s sneering habit has ultimately dug their own grave.” “Try comparing the undine with the salamander that hasn’t undergone gender transformation.” “The solution must undoubtedly take a criminal form utterly inverted from the precedents set by those two.” “The criminal will forgo covert means, boldly reveal themselves, and unleash the pinnacle of Brackenberg Pyrotechnics.” “Of course, they would never attempt something like connecting the sight and trigger with a thread to achieve automated firing in the opposite direction, nor resort to such crude methods as wrapping Rettinger paper—which shrinks with liquid—around a finger to leave forged fingerprints on the trigger.” “In other words, it’s a chivalric spirit that has cast aside all underhanded schemes, you see.” “However, had we not made these preparations, eyes accustomed to the complex and subtle techniques evident in the two precedents would undoubtedly have fallen into illusion.” “In other words, that’s where the criminal’s intended reverse implication lies—but this time, I’ll laugh in their face.”

Of course, that single remark undoubtedly provided a decisive guideline for future protective measures. However, even as Housui’s intellectual prowess appeared to have wholly preempted the criminal’s next move—particularly with the salamander’s line seemingly poised to bring about the culprit’s ruin—when one considered the trail of stratagems that had unfolded between him and the criminal thus far, it still felt premature to base everything on Housui’s deductions. However, his pursuit of the Pentagram Incantation was by no means limited to that alone.

"However, I had still believed that within that Pentagram Incantation lay something far more profound—a core element at its deepest depths." "In other words, this might have been connected to the incident’s origin—something perhaps more profound than mere criminal motive." "No—to put it more broadly, beneath Kuroshikikan lay several secret roots spreading extensively throughout its depths." "I had wondered whether one could come to know the form of where those intricately intertwined roots overlapped through some motivation." “So I tried projecting that incantation from various angles, testing each one methodically.” As he spoke these words, Housui’s face finally betrayed signs of fatigue, and he began recounting the grueling efforts he had expended over the previous day.

According to this, Housui—who believed the criminal to be a kind of exhibitionist—had initially directed his analytical focus toward legend studies. He even researched works like Anatole Le Braz’s *Brittany Legend Studies* and Gould’s *Old Nick*, attempting to find something lurking within Central European death god legends that aligned with criminal motives in the depths of gender transformation. He also sought to understand the etymological shifts in fairy names through Schelchauhen’s *Schwarzburg Castle* and other works. In other words, if correspondence existed between undines and water demons, he thought he might discover an uncanny dual-persona significance within the White Lady legend—said to be an incarnation of the goddess Freya (that is, the wife of the god Wodan, who was united with Nicaea or Nyx and possessed dual aspects of good and evil). Furthermore, he attempted comparisons between the *Volksbuch*, Gottfried von Strassburg’s mystical poetry, Hagen and Heisterbach’s works, and Goethe’s first, second, and third drafts of *Faust*. Yet ultimately, only in that first draft did the earth spirits—those nature elementals comprising the lineages of Undines, Sylphs, Salamanders, and Kobolds—manifest in their grand philosophical form, a clarity absent from subsequent revisions. However, Housui's explanation regarding this Pentagram Incantation resembled an academic lecture more than anything else. Thus, the air thick with piercing tension gradually eased, and between the two men basking in sunlight behind them, a warm cloud-like drowsiness began to drift.

Prosecutor Hasekura said with an ironic sigh.

“At any rate, let me just state this one thing—that this very gathering is an ammunition tower.” “At any rate, let’s save such discussions for the Rose Garden, shall we?” However, in the next instant, a radiant light flashed across Housui’s face, and suddenly, like an iron whip, a ferocious roar swept away the lethargy. He took a few sweet puffs of tobacco and said— “Don’t be absurd! How could such a magnificent demon king’s costume possibly belong in ammunition towers or gun emplacements?” “Prosecutor Hasekura, my magical-historical research was not in vain after all.” “The true identity of the pentagram incantation that had so relentlessly tormented us was discovered—of all places—within the Louis XIII-era Secret Cabinet Archives.” “No—let me rephrase that.” “Although he maintained an ambivalent stance at the time, it was none other than the renowned Bishop-Cardinal and statesman Richelieu who confronted Gustavus Adolphus—Protector of the Protestants and King of Sweden.” “Truly, the essence of this case lies entirely within those insidiously cunning clandestine maneuvers.” “By the way, Prosecutor Hasekura, do you know the contents of Richelieu’s Secret Cabinet Archives?” “What about cryptanalysts like François Viète and Rossignol?” “What about Ochiriyu, the alchemist-magician and assassin?” “In other words, the problem lies with this rogue bishop Ochiriyu... Ah, what an eerie coincidence!” “Both the victim’s name and the culprit’s name appear among the war dead of the Battle of Lützen who felled that Dragoon King, you see.”

(Note) In 1631, Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, fought against the Catholic League in Prussia to protect German Protestants, captured Leipzig and Lech, and battled Wallenstein's army at Lützen. Though the battle ended in his victory, he was shot in the post-battle encampment by a light cavalryman orchestrated by Ochiriyu, and the assassin was immediately shot dead on the spot by Marquis Sachs-Lowenberg. The date was November 16, 1632.

In an instant, Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro were swept into a maelstrom of bewilderment beyond their control. The criminal’s name—that signified the falling of this incident’s curtain. However, even if one were to exhaustively survey the entire history of criminal investigations across all ages and nations, could there ever have been even a single mythical instance where a culprit was identified and a case resolved solely through historical fact? Thus it was that the two men were left aghast and bewildered—particularly Prosecutor Hasekura, who sternly condemned Housui’s immersion in this realm of impossibility, his face flushed with vehement reproach.

“Oh, this again—your pathological mental derangement, I presume?” “In any case, spare us the jests.” “If you insist pot-helmets and hand-cannons can resolve this case, then by all means—let’s hear this method of proof unparalleled in history.”

“Of course, its legal value isn’t entirely flawless,” Housui said quietly, trailing tobacco smoke. “However, the aspects most worthy of suspicion lie scattered among the many doubts that had been confounding us. In other words—what if we were to discover a common factor from each of these elements and then inductively synthesize them all into a single point? And if that were to happen,” he declared, slamming the table for emphasis, “you wouldn’t dismiss it as mere coincidence. By the way—I’ve concluded this case is a Jewish crime! What do you say to that?”

“Jewish—ah, what are you saying?” Inspector Kumashiro squinted his bleary eyes and barely managed to squeeze out a hoarse voice. He likely felt as though hearing a thunderous dissonant roar of strings.

“So you see, Inspector Kumashiro—have you ever seen Jews assigning numbers starting from the Hebrew letter ℵ on a clock face? That is the Jewish creed. To strictly execute their ritual code and preserve the rites of their lost kingdom. Ah, am I not the same? Why would anyone have ever thought that ethnology of indigenous peoples could solve this profoundly complex case? At any rate, let’s use Prosecutor Hasekura’s list of questions as our foundation and calculate the parallax of those eerie red eyes,” Housui declared as the light in his eyes faded. He opened the notebook on the desk and began reading it.

1. Concerning the Four Foreign Musicians The circumstances under which the four individuals—beginning with the victim Madame Dannenberg—had come to Japan in their youth, along with their utterly baffling naturalization and household registration processes, remained entirely impervious to scrutiny. These secrets stayed bolted shut like an iron door.

2. Three Past Incidents of Kuroshikikan

In the same room where three suicides with unclear motives had occurred, Housui appeared to have completely abandoned observation. Particularly regarding last year’s Sakutetsu Incident—though it served as a means to intimidate Shinsai—was it truly an entirely separate matter from this case, as his view suggested? When Housui extracted Woods’ *Heredity of Royal Houses* from the Kuroshikikan library catalog, was it not to genetically examine that legendary sequence of events?

3. The Relationship Between Sakutetsu and Kuroshikikan’s Construction Engineer Claude Digsby

Sakutetsu had been awaiting in the Drug Room a certain drug-like substance that was supposed to be provided by Digsby but ultimately never materialized. He left that will in a small vial. Furthermore, through deciphering the coffin shrine cross, Housui proved Digsby’s will of a curse. When synthesizing these two points, would it not suggest that some unusual relationship had already arisen between the two parties even before Kuroshikikan’s construction?

4. Sakutetsu and the Uichigus Curse Method Five years after construction, Sakutetsu renovated Digsby’s design. At that time, it is thought that the door to the Ancient Clock Room—applying Dr. Digsby’s theories of hidden panels and black mirror magic—came into being. However, even considering Sakutetsu’s eccentric nature, one can hardly believe those medieval heretical contraptions were limited to just the two mentioned above. Moreover, might we not speculate that the burning of the book of curses immediately before his death sowed the seeds of today’s turmoil and confusion?

5. The Atmosphere Prior to the Incident’s Outbreak

Following the naturalization and household registration of four individuals and the drafting of the will—culminating in Sakutetsu’s suicide—a blood-tinged mist-like atmosphere abruptly began saturating the air. With the turn of the year, this miasma was said to have grown increasingly venomous in character. One could not entirely dismiss that its cause lay solely in the psychological conflicts surrounding the will.

6. Before and After the Divine Judgment Council

Madame Dannenberg collapsed, crying out “Sakutetsu!” the moment the corpse-light candles were lit. Furthermore, it is said that during that incident, Ekusuke witnessed an unusual figure on the projecting veranda of the adjacent room. However, not a single person among those present had left the room. And on the ground directly below, two lines of shoe prints defying anatomical principles were imprinted, while at their convergence point lay scattered fragments of photographic plates whose intended use remained utterly unfathomable. The four mysteries listed above, though temporally proximate, each possessed isolated natures and could not possibly converge.

7. The Dannenberg Incident Corpse-light and heraldic wounds carved with the Furuya crest— It was truly a transcendent spectacle. Moreover, Housui stated that these heraldic wounds had been created in mere one or two minutes. Furthermore, as part of his theory, he attributed both phenomena to the trajectory of a Western orange containing 0.5 grams of potassium cyanide—a dosage barely sufficient to suggest impossibility of fatal poisoning—as it traveled into the victim’s mouth. In other words, he inferred this constituted a reinforcing effect that rendered the impossible possible—nothing less than the manifestation of that very result. Yet even assuming his observations were flawless, proving this and identifying the culprit would amount to nothing short of divine intervention—would it not? Moreover, there appeared nothing particularly noteworthy about the family’s movements at first glance, and the path through which the Western orange had materialized remained entirely obscure.

Thérèse’s clockwork doll—. In her death throes, Madame Dannenberg recorded the name of the late Madame Sakutetsu—now regarded as a malevolent entity—on a scrap of paper. Beneath the carpet at the crime scene, the doll’s footprints stood vividly imprinted, having trodden through water spilled from an opened door. Yet though this doll possessed a special chiming mechanism, Kuga Chinako—one of those present—testified she had heard no bell-like tones. Of course, Housui retained lingering doubts about the room where the doll had been placed. But even he could not confirm them definitively; one might say without exaggeration that the boundary between denial and affirmation rested entirely upon that exquisite tremolo.

8. Analysis of the Apocalyptic Diagram Housui’s inference that it was an idiosyncratic constitution diagram proved an astute observation. For Ekusuke’s diagram—sandwiched between the body’s upper and lower extremities—had manifested in his cadaveric phenomena as well, had it not? Yet why did Nobuko’s collapsed form bear such striking resemblance to Madame Serena’s? Moreover, while Housui’s assertion—that an unknown half-leaf existed in the apocalyptic diagram, deduced from hieroglyphs—maintained logical coherence, it remained sorely lacking in plausibility, leaving no alternative but to deem it a product of deranged fancy.

9. Faust’s Pentagram Incantation (abridged)

10. The Kawanabe Ekusuke Incident Housui’s elucidation of the cause of death simultaneously revealed the culprit’s presence at the site where the armor had been donned. When investigating this timeline, only Nobuko lacked an alibi. Moreover, she had collapsed while clutching the armor-piercing dagger that gouged her throat, with harmonic overtones—nothing short of miraculous—emanating during the final verse of the sutra chant. Another critical question arose: whether the culprit had killed Ekusuke as a co-conspirator—a matter permitting no facile conclusions. Ultimately, even when deduced from circumstances surpassing such convoluted peculiarities, the evidence gradually converged on interpreting Nobuko’s collapse as part of the culprit’s theatrical performance. Yet rendering impartial judgment left no doubt: Kamiya Nobuko remained the sole—and most plausibly suspected—individual.

Eleven: The Confinement of Oshikane Tsutako in the Ancient Clock Room This was nothing less than the shock of all shocks. Moreover, what Housui had inferred to be a corpse had been placed under baffling thermal preservation measures and lay in a comatose state. Of course, there was no need to belabor why she had left her marital home to reside with her birth family—but regarding the fact that the culprit had refrained from killing Tsutako, Housui harbored misgivings, sensing a snare lying in wait. However, the figure Ekusuke witnessed on the projecting veranda of the adjacent room during the Divine Judgment Council could absolutely not have been Tsutako. For at 8:20 PM that very night, Shinsai had rotated the dial of the Ancient Clock Room and secured its iron door.

Twelve: Who was the person said to have intruded into Madame Krivov’s room at half past midnight that night? Here lay Ekusuke’s account—the same utterly specter-like invisible figure that had appeared on the projecting veranda in the evening now manifested itself in Madame Krivov’s chamber at midnight. According to Madame’s account, it was indeed a male; though differing in height, all other characteristics pointed to Hatatarou. If that held true, then Nobuko—at the moment of regaining consciousness—had affixed the surname Furuya to her signature. Interpreting this through the lens of subconscious activity with precedent in the Gutenberg case, the sylph said to have struck down Nobuko most strongly suggested Hatatarou’s form. And was it not precisely within this contradiction between presumption and Nobuko’s exposed unconscious body that this incident’s greatest conundrum lay concealed?

Thirteen: Analysis of Motives

Everything came down to circumstances surrounding the inheritance. The primary point was that Hatatarou’s uncontested succession had become impossible due to the naturalization and household registration of four foreigners. Next, attention was drawn to how the sole blood relative besides Hatatarou—namely Oshikane Tsutako—had been excluded. Thus while an irreparable estrangement had already arisen between Hatatarou and the three foreigners, above all else there remained one insurmountable contradiction: those who possessed motives lacked any phenomena warranting suspicion, while those who evoked culprits—such as Nobuko—conversely showed not even a shadow of motive.

After finishing reading, Housui spread it out on the desk and first placed his fingertip on Article Seven (the matter of corpse-light and heraldic wounds). By that time, the sunlight streaming through the transom window rose to the area directly above the Thames River in "The Great Fire of London" painting—and began stirring the overhead black smoke with ominous vitality. Even without this, Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro—their lips cracked and saliva dried—could only desperately dream of the moment when the preposterous, inverted world Housui had conjured would execute one great dragonfly loop and send fantasy’s wings tumbling down. In that murderously charged atmosphere, Housui lit fresh tobacco and slowly opened his mouth.

“Now, regarding those mysterious corpse-light and heraldic wounds first mentioned—the issue still lies in their circular reasoning structure.” “By what path did that Western orange make its way into Madame Dannenberg’s mouth—I believe an empirical explanation remains impossible unless we clarify that trajectory.” “However, a criminal superstition resembling the generation of that corpse-light and heraldic wounds is recorded in the renowned *Anatomical Evidentiary Theory of Jewish Crime (by Goldfeld)*,” he said as he pulled the volume from the shelf—but it contained only brief example notes documenting Jewish criminal customs.

On a certain night in October 1819, a wealthy farmer residing in Königgrätz, Bohemia, was pierced through the heart upon his bed, after which flames erupted within the chamber, reducing both corpse and room to ashes. This incident bore witness testimony—at precisely half past eleven that night, someone claimed to have seen the victim making the sign of the cross through slightly parted window drapes. Thus establishing the crime’s occurrence after eleven-thirty, the Jewish miller—viewed as having the strongest motive—unwittingly secured an alibi. Consequently, the case became enshrouded in impenetrable fog. Yet six months later, Prague’s auxiliary gendarme Denicke exposed the criminal artifice, culminating in the arrest of that very first suspect—the Jewish miller. Moreover, what precipitated this revelation proved to be nothing more than a crime custom unique to Jews, deriving from an interpretation of Hammurabi’s Code. Specifically, it originated from the superstition that encircling a corpse or wound with lit candles would eternally conceal the crime. That these candles caused the conflagration requires no elaboration.

Ah, what a lackluster example Housui had presented in that opening scene! Yet when he subsequently supplemented it with his own insights to refine the solution, a light began to pierce through—emerging unexpectedly from that originality—as if to breach even that cyclical reasoning at its weakest point. “Now, based on that single passage alone, Gendarme Denicke’s line of reasoning remains entirely unclear—but I attempted to analyze it.” “The number of candles said to have surrounded the corpse was actually five.” “Moreover, to make the corpse appear to cross itself, they could not simply surround it with candles. Instead, they had to arrange four short candles—shaved down on one side like bamboo—around it, then place a single candle in the center with half its wax removed to leave only a long wick, thereby creating an enclosure.” “Because when the four hands of the wind chicken device are arranged alternately, what phenomenon occurs?” “In this case, they arranged the sides that had been shaved diagonally in alternating directions, so that when lit, the heated wax vapor would rise diagonally along the slopes.” “Therefore, since each has been shaved in a different direction, they generate an airflow pattern above them.” “It rotated the long central wick, creating an illusion through the shadows cast by its light that made the corpse’s hand appear to cross itself.” “As we pursue the origins of the corpse-light and heraldic wounds, I cannot help but feel we must inevitably trace our path back to the Divine Judgment Council.” “Could it not be that within the candles lit in Königgrätz, Bohemia lies concealed the phantom of Dr. Sakutetsu that manifested solely to Madame Dannenberg?” “Listen, Prosecutor Hasekura—mathematical truths often emerge from the heart of coincidence.” “Because constants are fundamentally assumptions in their initial formulation—only afterward do we determine their immutable factors.” Housui’s face momentarily clouded with what seemed like confusion, but he pressed on, clarifying geographically peculiar coincidences related to the corpse-light. However, such isolated contrasts merely served to exacerbate the confusion in the end.

“Next, I turned my attention to the corpse-light phenomenon associated with Catholic saint-monks,” Housui continued. “However, upon reading Avrino’s *Miracles of Saint-Monks*, I found records stating that during the five years from 1625 to 1630—when conflicts between old and new believers peaked—four individuals emitted light posthumously: Doviatel of Schönberg in Moravia, Grogow of Zittau in Prussia, Arnoldin of Freistadt in Upper Austria, and Muscovites of Plauen in Saxony.” He leaned forward intently. “Therein lies a coincidence defying chance, Inspector Kumashiro—when connected, these four points form a near-perfect rectangle enclosing Bohemia’s Königgrätz region where that earlier incident occurred.” Housui’s fingers traced invisible lines in the air before collapsing into a gesture of frustration. “Ah, what numerical truth hides here? The more I speak, the murkier it grows.” His head fell back against the chair as he sighed—a frail exhalation misting the sunlight. “Yet this Jewish custom of corpse illumination... it must represent the killer’s superstitious psyche.” Prosecutor Hasekura’s pen clattered against the desk. Lips twisting into a sneer, he yanked Walter Hart’s *Gustavus Adolphus* from the shelf behind him—a Westminster Abbey monk’s dry historical treatise. Pages rustled like autumn leaves until he stabbed a finger against an open spread, thrusting it toward Housui with venomous precision. The gesture hung suspended—a scholar’s rebuke sharper than any blade.

(Wilhelm, Duke of Weimar’s inferior troop quality, having been defeated in competition against Arnhim, delayed the king’s support. Moreover, even when severely criticized within Neuenhohen Castle for this matter, Duke Wilhelm did not so much as change his countenance.) Moreover, not satisfied with that alone, Prosecutor Hasekura venomously spat out in an obstinate manner. “Ah, what a lamentable passage—or rather, your signature study-induced delirium, I suppose.” “That astonishing phenomenon you speak of is nothing more than child’s play.” “How can this be called a matter of profundity? It holds no value even as a frivolous diversion.” “Now then, if you can’t provide precise stage directions for the carillon chamber scene, I’ll have you end this lecture.”

“However, Prosecutor Hasekura,” Housui said, returning the other’s sneer with a calm smile. “How could they have induced waxy flexibility in Nobuko at that time if the culprit isn’t a Jew?” “At that moment, Nobuko stiffened as if turned to stone.” “Therefore, under those circumstances, the position of that rotating chair is naturally not an issue.” (Note) (Note) A type of rigidity. This seizure suddenly deprives the patient of consciousness, stiffens their entire body, and renders all voluntary movement by their own will utterly impossible. However, they offer no resistance to external movement; like flexible wax or gutta-percha dolls, their limbs remain forever frozen in whatever position they are placed. This is why it was given the intriguing disease name “waxy flexibility.”

“Waxy flexibility⁉” Even Prosecutor Hasekura was compelled to violently shake the table and shout. “Nonsense! Even your sophistry becomes farcical when taken to extremes.” “Housui, that’s a rarity among rarities!”

“Of course, it’s undoubtedly a disease documented only in literature,” Housui initially affirmed, yet his voice carried a mocking resonance. “But what if someone could artificially create such a rare neural arrangement? By the way, do you know the term ‘kinesthetic amnesia’ coined by Duchenne? If you make a hysteria patient close their eyelids during a seizure, it induces a full-body rigid state exactly like waxy flexibility.” He declared with astonishing conviction: “In other words, if we exclude a certain custom unique to Jews, it would be impossible to make someone perform that pathological acrobatics.”

Kumashiro had been silently smoking tobacco until then, but suddenly raised his face,

“Ah, Nobuko and hysteria…” “Indeed, your penetrating insight remains formidable.” “But let’s turn the problem elsewhere—away from the asylum,” he said with uncharacteristic sharpness.

Moreover, Housui attempted an unprecedented pathological dissection on the Kuroshikikan building itself, persistently emphasizing its potential. “Now, now, Inspector Kumashiro—it’s I who must insist you pay attention to the fact that this incident occurred at Kuroshikikan.” “Generally speaking, crimes do not arise solely from motives.” “Moreover, intellectual murder crimes are often driven by a warped inner perspective.” “Of course, when that happens, it takes on a form of sadism... But there are cases where it arises not merely from emotion, but from being unable to free oneself from some sensory illusion while enduring constant suppression.” “In that gloomy, fortress-like structure of Kuroshikikan, I can recognize an abundance of such non-moral—no, rather demonic—capabilities.” “Now then, how might this solemn-faced prankster go about rearranging human neural pathways? There happens to be a perfect example here,” he said, attempting to strip away the dogmatic appearance from his grotesque reasoning by first presenting an illustrative case. “This is an incident that occurred in Göttingen at the beginning of this century, in which a sensitive boy named Otto Bremer—quintessentially Westphalian—enrolled in the affiliated academy of the Dominican Order located there.” “However, that Bonhöffer-style building—with its low-hanging arches and oppressive darkness—immediately began corroding the fragile nerves of his adolescence.” “At first, the stark contrast in light levels between the building’s interior and exterior would occasionally show him afterimages too uncanny to be mere coincidence.” “And the reason his symptoms progressed to the point of hearing auditory hallucinations was that his room overlooked railway tracks, where the sound of passing trains was perpetually heard repeating ‘Resend Blehmel’ (meaning ‘Crazy Bremer’).” However, when the father, alarmed by his son’s condition, took him home, Bremer’s mental state there narrowly avoided collapse. “That, again, is nothing short of a miracle.” “The moment he left the dormitory, his hallucinations—both visual and auditory—ceased, and before long, he was able to regain his healthy youth, you see.” “Now, Inspector Kumashiro—since you’re not a criminal law scholar, you might not know this—but depending on prison architectural styles, custodial psychosis can become rampant… or remain entirely absent.”

Housui took out fresh tobacco and paused for a breath there, yet still remaining within his lofty intellectual bastion, he proceeded into an even more scathing illustrative example. “The era is the mid-sixteenth century, during the reign of Philip II—but this particular case could be called an exceptional specimen—no, rather an anomalous one—of sadistic bloodlust.” “In the Spanish Inquisition of Seville, there was a young monk and assistant inquisitor named Foscolo.” “However, not only were his interrogation methods woefully inept, but he even felt terror toward the heretic burning processions held on All Saints’ Day—so in the end, Deputy Inquisitor Espinoza had no choice but to send him back to his native manor in Santonia.” “However, one or two months later, Espinoza received such a letter from Foscolo. But upon seeing the mechanized mattiola—a depiction of the most bestial punishment from medieval Italian carnivals—on the enclosed paper scrap, he could not help but be struck with astonishment.”

In the public execution grounds of Seville, crosses and torture instruments stood juxtaposed. Yet should God desire to kindle hell's shadow-flames and make them blaze eternal without end, He must first banish from these scaffolds those Islamic-styled arches soaring high. Since coming to Santonia, I have dwelt in an ancient shadowed manor left by Gothians of old. Verily, this estate possesses singular properties. For it itself already embodies thoughts deeply pondered on mankind's manifold agonies, and here—through combining and comparing diverse torments—I have at last become a consummate technician of that art——.

“Now, Inspector Kumashiro—what do you suppose compelled such a ghastly soliloquy in the first place? Why did Foscolo’s bloodlust not arise amidst the array of brutal torture instruments, yet emerge within Biscay Bay’s natural beauty? I must emphatically assert,” Housui concluded with impassioned intensity, “that in this case too, we must never overlook the architectural disparity between the Seville Inquisition and Santonia Manor.” He then endeavored to correlate these two historical examples with Kuroshikikan’s reality, seeking to expose the dreadful occult power latent within its architectural style.

“In fact, even though I’ve only been there once—and under that gloomy sky—I noticed various phenomena defying normalcy manifesting in Kuroshikikan’s architectural style.” “Of course, such sensory illusions contain an unfathomable, mysterious power.” “In other words, never escaping them ultimately breeds pathological traits.” “So Inspector Kumashiro, I’ll make an extreme declaration.” “The people of Kuroshikikan—though varying in degree—must, in the strictest sense, be psychological neurotics.”

In every corner of the human mind—without exception—there must lurk neurotic elements, varying in degree though they may be. In extracting these and arranging them into the focal plane of criminal phenomena lay the unparalleled nature of Housui’s investigative method. But in this case, were not Nobuko’s hysterical episode and Jewish-type crimes so fundamentally disparate that they could never possibly coincide? (However, since Waldstein’s left wing was far more spread out than the king’s right wing, [someone] commanded Prince Wilhelm to realign the battle formation. At that moment, the prince once again committed an error, resulting in a delay to deploy the cannons.)

Prosecutor Hasekura continued his wordless sarcasm, likening Housui to the sluggish Prince Wilhelm, but Inspector Kumashiro—as if he could bear it no longer—opened his mouth.

“Anyway, whether it’s Rothschild or Rosenfeld—just let me see the face of that Jew.” “And you don’t mean to write off Nobuko’s fit as some random accident, do you?”

“Don’t be absurd. Then why did Nobuko repeat the morning hymn at that moment?” Housui retorted with heightened intensity.

“Listen well, Inspector Kumashiro—that woman played the hymnal chant three times on a carillon requiring immense physical strength.” “Under such conditions, even without invoking Mosso’s ‘fatigue,’ it creates supremely favorable circumstances for hysterical episodes or hypnotic induction.” “Therein lay the mechanism that lured her into that trance-like state.”

“Then what manner of monster do you mean?” “After all, the bell tower’s death register contains not a single human specter’s name inscribed.”

“Far from being a monster—it’s not even human. That, you see, is the carillon’s keyboard.” Housui produced a sharp metallic click—an ornamental note—once again catching both men off guard. “Now, this constitutes an optical illusion phenomenon. For instance, take a sheet of paper with an oblong vertical slit, then move a circular cutout behind it. As the circle moves rapidly, it gradually transforms into an ellipse—precisely the same phenomenon manifested across the keyboard’s upper and lower tiers.” “Suppose there existed a frequently used lower-tier key here. When observing these perpetually moving lower keys through the gaps between stationary upper ones, both ends of the lower keys distort toward the side vanishing beneath the upper keys’ shadows, creating the illusion of gradual narrowing.” “In essence, when such perspective-induced illusions occur, a mind already rendered hazy by fatigue becomes wholly absorbed. This inevitably triggers the characteristic seizure.” “Therefore, Inspector Kumashiro—to speak plainly—the instant we identify who commanded Nobuko to repeat it thrice at that juncture, we shall indisputably have our culprit.”

“But your theory isn’t the least bit abyssal,” Inspector Kumashiro pressed sharply, seizing the moment. “First of all, what forced Nobuko’s eyelids shut at that time? The process that turned her entire body into waxy flexibility—like a wax doll—remains unexplained.”

Housui wore a grandiose smile, appearing to pity the other’s lack of originality, but immediately began drawing a diagram on a scrap of paper on the desk and started his explanation. “This is what’s called the cat’s forelimb—the knotting method unique to Jewish criminals.” “Now, Inspector Kumashiro—within this single method of knotting lay the means that produced both muscular amnesia contradicting the swivel chair’s motion and that state resembling waxy flexibility.” “As you can see, when the lower string is pulled, the knot gradually descends.” “However, when the object caught in the knot comes loose, the string snaps and unravels into a single strand.” “Therefore, the culprit, having first measured in advance both the number of keys to be used and the initial height at which they would be tied, had attached a bundle of daggers to the upper part of the string connecting those keys to the bell striker.” As the performance progressed, they rotated the daggers while causing the knot to gradually descend. And as Nobuko played in her dazed state—around the second repetition of the hymn—before her eyes, the daggers descended, their blades flashing and vanishing like twisted paper streams in a water performance, turning horizontal and vertical as they fell. In other words, they vertically stroked down the eyelids with flickering light. “This is called dazzling manipulation—Liegois’s technique to make the hypnotized woman close her eyes.” “Therefore, the moment her eyelids were closed, her body—having completely lost muscular sensation just like waxy flexibility—instantly lost its balance and collapsed backward on the spot like a statue.” “And then, at that moment, they kicked the keys and strings from behind, causing the daggers to fly out of the knot and fall onto the floor.” “Of course, Nobuko fell into a deep coma the moment her seizure subsided,” Housui retorted to the prosecutor’s venomous scorn, but then his face suddenly contorted with anguish,

“But however—” “Why did Nobuko grasp that armor-piercing dagger?” “And why was such a harmonic performance—one might call it the pinnacle of bizarre perversity—orchestrated in the first place?” “To such realms beyond imagination, not even a single finger can yet reach,” he uttered with a feeble sigh, but then his exhausted expression shifted thrice until finally, he raised a triumphant cry. “Ah—I was calculating the parallax of Sirius!” “And there’s delta as well as xi!” “If only I could induce and synthesize all those into a single point!”

Then the air grew unnaturally hot. That they were nearing a resolution now seemed something the two men—who had long been around Housui—could physically sense. Inspector Kumashiro fixed his eyes with eerie intensity and leaned forward until his face hovered close as he demanded.

“Then, point out Kuroshikikan’s monster straightforwardly.” “Who exactly is this Jew you keep mentioning?” “That would be light cavalryman Nicholas Brahe,” Housui began with an unexpected name, “though his opportunity to approach Gustavus Adolphus came when the king entered Landstadt City—where he encountered thunder near the Jewish Quarter Gate and subdued his panicked steed.” Housui then took up Heart’s *Gustavus Adolphus* that Prosecutor Hasekura had been toying with and indicated a page near the Battle of Lützen’s conclusion. Simultaneously, looks of astonishment flashed across both men’s faces. Prosecutor Hasekura groaned “Uun…” and dropped the pipe clenched between his teeth.

The battle raged for nine hours—the Swedish forces suffered three thousand casualties while the allied forces fled in defeat with seven thousand remaining—yet night's darkness prevented pursuit, and that evening the wounded soldiers lay sprawled upon the earth through the small hours, sleeping. At dawn came frostfall, and all who could not escape were slain by the cold. Before that event—after his demise—Brahe had accompanied Colonel Ohem to inspect the four-windmill site where combat had raged most fiercely when he identified those who had become targets of his fierce sniping. They say: Count Bertolt Wallenstein, Duke of Fulda and Grand Abbot Pappenheim...

When it reached that point, Inspector Kumashiro recoiled as if struck in the face. And then, he found himself unable to speak.

The prosecutor remained motionless for a while, then began reading the next passage in a voice so low it was nearly inaudible. “Prince Dietrichstein Dannenberg, Commander Serena of the Duchy of Amalte, ah, Judge Levèz of Freiberg…” He swallowed hard and turned his clouded eyes toward Housui. “In any case, Mr. Housui, please explain this fairy garden scene you’ve brought up.” “I simply can’t grasp the meaning behind this casting—why did the massacre at Kuroshikikan have to unfold with the Battle of Lützen as its framework?” “And also, this might be nothing but groundless anxiety on my part.” “I think that between Hatatarou, whose name is not listed here, and Krivov, the criminal’s signature lies with one of them.”

“Yes, that’s an exceedingly devilish joke,” Housui replied. “The more I think about it, the more horrifying it becomes. First of all, the author who orchestrated this grand play isn’t the culprit themselves. That framework itself constitutes the essence of the pentagram spell.” He paused, then continued with growing intensity. “In the Battle of Lützen’s context—where light cavalryman Brahe’s relationship with his progenitor Occulié, the assassin-magician-alchemist, formed the core—this case transforms that dynamic into a formula of ‘culprit plus X.’” Though postponing full interpretation of this sorcerous parallel until after resolving the incident, Housui’s eyes blazed as he identified Kuroshikikan’s demon.

“Now, when it becomes clear that Brahe was an assassin dispatched by Occulié, I believe it becomes necessary to elucidate his true nature.” “That is precisely a double betrayal.” “The assassination of King Gustavus—who remained relatively tolerant toward Jews while opposing Catholics—wasn’t this a double betrayal? Both in recompense for favors received from Protestants and in violation toward his own race.” “In other words, though not found in Heart’s historical text, Dava—the chronicler of King Frederick II of Prussia—exposes that the light cavalryman Brahe was a Polish Jew born in Plock.” “And that real name is Rurie Kurofumaku Krivov!”

At that moment, everything seemed to freeze. At last, the mask was torn away—this theater of madness had reached its end. Housui’s investigative method, never forsaking aestheticism, had once again crafted here an utterly brilliant conclusion, adorned with the religious wars of early pyrotechnics. Yet Prosecutor Hasekura still wore an expression of lingering doubt, his pipe slipping from his lips as he stared vacantly at Housui’s face. Housui responded with an ironic smile, flipping through Heart’s historical text before thrusting its pages toward the prosecutor.

(After King Gustavus’s death, when Wilhelm, Duke of Weimar’s vanguard musketeer Hoyerswerda appeared, it first became evident that he harbored ambitions in Silesia.) “Now, Prosecutor Hasekura—Wilhelm, Duke of Weimar was in truth a sarcastic and mocking monster. However,” Housui continued, bathed in sunlight that stained the black smoke of the grand fire painting behind him crimson like flames, “even the ramparts Krivov has erected cannot withstand my siege engine.” He placed the culprit Krivov under scrutiny and began dissecting the evidence piece by piece.

“First, I attempted to observe Krivov from a folk-ethnological perspective. Even without invoking the writings of Israel Cohen or Chamberlain, one could assert that those features—the red hair, freckles, and nasal bridge shape—each distinctly indicate the characteristics of Amorite Jews (the Jewish archetype closest to Europeans). However, what makes that even more certain is the belief in the restoration of the Jewish Kingdom—a tenet said to be peculiar to Jews. The Jews often employ that shape in cufflinks and collar studs, but in Krivov’s brooch, the hexagonal form of the Shield of David manifests as a six-petaled Tudor rose.”

“But your line of reasoning is exceedingly vague,” Prosecutor Hasekura objected with a displeased look. “Admittedly, I feel as though I’m looking at a rare insect specimen, but you haven’t touched upon any substantive elements of Krivov herself.” “I want to hear the heartbeats of that woman from your lips and catch the scent of her breath.” “That would be the birch forest—from Gustav Falke’s poem,” Housui declared offhandedly, attempting to acrobatically juggle the bizarre remark he had once uttered before the three foreigners there as well. “By the way, first I want you to recall that apocalyptic diagram. “As you know, Madame Krivov has both eyes covered with a piece of cloth.” “Therefore, if we interpret that diagram as an illustration of a specific constitution—as I have argued—then the corpse-like figure depicted there must undoubtedly represent what Madame Krivov is most susceptible to.” “However, Prosecutor Hasekura—being struck down with covered eyes—that is spinal tabes.” “Moreover, there are cases where the relatively inconspicuous symptoms of the first stage persist for over a dozen years.” “However, even among those, the most prominent one would be none other than Romberg’s sign.” “When her eyes are covered or when her surroundings suddenly plunge into darkness, she loses all sense of balance in her body and staggers unsteadily.” “That is what occurred that night in the midnight corridor.” “In other words, Madame Krivov opened the partition door and entered that front corridor in order to head to the room where Madame Dannenberg was.” “As you know, rectangular wall lamps recessed into niche-shaped alcoves illuminate both sides of the corridor.” “Therefore, to prevent her own figure from being recognized, she first turns the switch beside the partition door.” “Of course, the moment darkness fell, Romberg’s sign—which she had unwittingly neglected to pay attention to until then—would manifest itself without fail.” “However, as she stumbled repeatedly in this manner, countless afterimages of the rectangular wall lamps began overlapping upon her retina.” “Now, Prosecutor Hasekura, having come this far, there’s no need to elaborate further.” “When Madame Krivov finally regained her footing, what did she see in the darkness that spread across her entire field of vision?” “The afterimages of those countless wall lamps standing like a forest are none other than that eerie birch forest sung by Falke.”

“Moreover, Madame Krivov herself has confessed to it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” “I never thought you’d see through that woman’s ventriloquism,” said Kumashiro, discarding his pipe weakly and laying bare the disillusionment in his heart. Then, Housui smiled quietly and said: “However, Inspector Kumashiro, it’s possible I heard nothing at that moment. Because I was solely focused on scrutinizing Madame Krivov’s hands.” “What? Her hands?” This time, Prosecutor Hasekura was taken aback. “But if we’re talking about the thirty-two physical marks of Buddha statues or esoteric Buddhist rituals, I believe I once heard about those at Jakko-an (the author’s previous work, *Murder in the Dream Temple*).”

“No—even if they’re both sculpted hands, I’m referring to Rodin’s ‘The Cathedral’ here,” declared Housui with undiminished theatricality, hurling this supremely eccentric statement like a curved kemari ball. “At that moment when I mentioned the birch forest, Madame Krivov softly joined her hands as if in prayer and placed them on the table.” “Of course, while it may not reach the level of esoteric Buddhism’s Three-Pure-Leaves mudra of incantation, it at least approaches Rodin’s ‘The Cathedral.’” “Moreover, because her right palm’s ring finger was bent into an extremely unstable shape—I who had been constantly attempting to discern some expression emerging from Madame Krivov’s psyche—could not help but raise a triumphant cry upon seeing it.” “For though that hand had not so much as twitched when Madame Serena spoke of ‘the birch forest,’ when I then uttered the subsequent line—‘yet he dreams not’—hinting at the man’s implication, a strange tremor arose in that unstable ring finger, and Madame Krivov’s demeanor shifted to one of visible agitation.” “Probably, the several contradictions manifesting there must have been so inverted that they could not possibly be governed by any law.” “Generally speaking—why didn’t the excitement of that time manifest outwardly unless she was released from tension?” Here he paused mid-sentence, unlatched the window, and continued as the thickly accumulated smoke swayed and streamed outward. “However, between ordinary people and those with abnormal nervous systems, there are cases where psychological expressions manifested in peripheral nerves become entirely inverted.” “For example—during hysterical episodes—if left unattended, patients’ limbs move freely in random directions. Yet once attention is directed to any part, movement there ceases abruptly.” “In other words—what manifested in Madame Krivov was the opposite case—she likely strove not to let inner turmoil show through behavior.” “However—from my utterance of ‘yet he dreams not—’—her tension accidentally dissolved—so suppressed elements burst forth all at once—finally enabling her to focus attention on her own palms.” “Needless to say—it was only then that instability emerged in her right palm’s ring finger.” “And thus—that inexplicable tremor was induced.” “Now Prosecutor Hasekura—that woman confessed to the birch forest visible only in darkness—with but one finger—without uttering a word.” “In that descending curve invoking (‘the birch forest—he dreams not’)—how exhaustively Madame Krivov’s psyche becomes laid bare.” “Prosecutor Hasekura—didn’t you once call our poetic exchanges ‘Tsuruvēru-esque bouts of wit?’” “On the contrary—far from that—it constitutes refutation aimed at psychologist Münsterberg—no—at Harvard’s experimental psychology laboratory itself.” “Even if they deploy such grandiose electrical instruments and recorders—they’d likely prove trivial against cold-blooded criminals.” “Moreover—should they confront individuals who—like physiologist Weber—can halt heartbeats at will—or Fontana types contracting irises freely—what then would become of those mechanical psychological tests?” “Yet I exposed the criminal’s psyche merely by making one finger twitch—with a single poetic phrase—even fabricating falsehoods through verse lines.”

“What? You fabricated falsehoods with poetic lines⁉” Inspector Kumashiro interjected with an audible gulp, at which Housui gave a slight shrug and flicked the ash from his tobacco pipe. His elucidation was so thorough that one might have thought this tragedy had already concluded. First, as his premise, Housui pointed out that Jews possess a characteristic self-defensive propensity for falsehood. He began with the story of Michal—daughter of King Saul of Israel—from the Mishneh Torah (the fourteen-volume foundational text of Judaism; see annotation), then gradually descended to modern times, extending his analysis to the elder councils organized within Jewish communities—these councils employing mutually supportive falsehoods involving evidence destruction to protect criminal members of their ethnicity. And in conclusion, Housui determined this to be an ethnic predisposition. However, following that propensity for falsehood, a close connection with sylphs was exposed.

(Note) Michal, daughter of King Saul of Israel, learned that her father intended to kill her husband David, devised a scheme to help him escape, and when this was exposed, Michal falsely answered: "David spake: 'If thou dost not let me escape, I shall slay thee.' Therefore, I, fearing, did let him flee." The sin of Saul’s daughter was forgiven. “For this reason, Jews grant a kind of religious tolerance to it.” "In other words, they must permit the lies necessary for self-defense—you see." "However, of course, I do not intend to judge Krivov based solely on that." “After all, I despise statistical numbers.” "But here's the thing—" "That woman fabricated an entire fictional scenario and claimed that a person she hadn’t even seen had entered the bedroom." “Indeed, that part alone is the truth.”

“Ah, so that was a fabrication!” Prosecutor Hasekura raised his eyebrows and shouted. “So at which religious council did you learn that?” “How could it be something so prosaic?” Housui retorted vehemently. “By the way, there exists a work titled *The Psychology of Testimony* by forensic psychologist Stern.” “However, within it, that professor from Breslau University issues this admonition to examining magistrates: ‘Be cautious with the terminology used during interrogations.’” “‘For those who can be called truly intelligent criminals possess such skill in instantly synthesizing individual words from their interrogator’s statements to construct an elaborate fabricated narrative.’” “That’s why I attempted to inversely utilize those molecular associations and binding forces at that time.” “And then, as a test, I posed a question about sylphs to Levèz.” “Now, as for why—when I had previously investigated the library, I discovered that poetry collections by Pope, Falke, Lenau, and others had been recently perused.” “In other words, Pope’s *The Rape of the Lock* contains descriptions about sylphs that are perfectly suited for constructing fabrications.” “Of course, what I sought was the criminal’s innate disposition.” “Gathering all impressions of sylphs within that into one and giving form to contemplative observation—that is the world of charade.” “Because I believed that rhapsodist would never be satisfied merely by painting a single commemorative image.” At that moment, I held my breath. “And from within those sinister and brutal statements of Krivov, I finally managed to grasp the criminal’s form.” Fatigue tinged with the fervor of that time surfaced on Housui’s face. However, he continued his discourse and applied the blade of analysis to the passage from *The Rape of the Lock* in his imminent attempt to identify Madame Krivov as the culprit.

“However, the answer is remarkably simple.” “In the second canto of *The Rape of the Lock*, four small fairies—subordinates of the sylphs—appear.” “The first is Crispissa, a fairy who combs hair.” “This corresponds to the passage where a suspicious man bound Madame Krivov’s hair during her shampooing.” “Next comes Zephyretta—that is, the gentle breeze—appearing in the description of how the man retreated toward the door.” “The third is Momentilla—something moving moment by moment—corresponding to the bedside clock Madame Krivov tried to observe upon waking.” “Finally, Brilliante—the shining one—was what Madame Krivov used to describe the suspicious man’s eyes gleaming like pearls.” However, another perspective emerges: once recognizing ‘pearl’ as archaic terminology for cataracts, Oshikane Tsutako—who retired from performing due to right-eye cataracts—aligns strikingly with this description. “Nevertheless, something further cemented Madame Krivov’s psychological profile as conclusive.” “Those four known factors converged toward one point…Madame’s unique pathological condition—spinal tabes.” “She claimed feeling her nightgown fastened around her chest upon waking.” Considering this disease’s annular sensation—the symptomatic perception of a constricting ring around one’s chest—we might trace her embellished statement’s origin to daily sensory experiences.” “I believe this formed the foundational constant underlying that fabrication.”

Kumashiro smoked his tobacco while sinking into rigid contemplation, but eventually his eyes turned toward Housui bore a look thick with condemnation. However, he spoke with unusual calmness. “I see. Your theory makes perfect sense.” “But above all, what we need is even one instance of complete legal significance. That is to say—it’s not Sirius’s maximum parallax that matters, but the actual material composition constituting it.” “To rephrase—I want your elucidation for each criminal phenomenon.”

“Well then,” Housui nodded with satisfaction and took out a single photograph from the desk drawer. “I suppose it’s time to play my final trump card. Now, this photograph shows the Zodiac Signs’ circular rose window open above the carillon chamber—but I realized something the moment I glanced at it. This too, like the Coffin Niche Cross, is a secret cipher left by the designer Claude Digsby. Because normally, Aries—where the vernal equinox lies—would be positioned at the circle’s center, yet here Capricorn has taken its place. Moreover, I considered that these crisscrossing zigzag gaps must hold significance beyond merely reducing the carillon’s reverberations. But Kumashiro—fundamentally, things like Zodiac Signs are nothing more than age-old superstitious products. First off—since this isn’t a textual cipher—none of the essential materials needed to uncover the crucial secret ABC are provided here at all. However—I am no Rangei (a peer of Macbeth and Jiiviruje in this field—who published *Cryptographie* in 1918)—though I am not. The phrase ‘assume’ might as well be scripture for cryptanalysts. Because while each Zodiac Sign—like Virgo or Leo—has its own unique code, I attempted to apply Jewish exegetical methods to them. For instance—there exists a historical account from 1881 where Jews in Grojec, Poland projected light onto Zodiac Signs to warn neighboring villages during a massacre… And when examining Buxtorf (Johann or Johannes, 1564–1629 of Basel)—that great Hebrew scholar who worked alongside his son—his *Hebrew Abbreviations Study* details methods like Athbash (substituting Aleph with Tav, Bet with Shin), Albam (dividing the alphabet into halves), and Atbakh (numerical substitution)—alongside mathematical principles for astronomy. Records also show ancient Hebrew astronomers assigned letters to forms like Leo’s sickle or Virgo’s Y-shape. Of course—some became origins for our modern ABCs. But when considering all twelve Zodiac Signs—four lack such physical symbols—and there I collided with an unexpected barrier.”

However, when tracing Jewish cipher methods through history, it was in the sixteenth century that elements to complete the missing pieces were discovered within the cryptographic systems of Jewish labor unions and Freemason societies (Freemason societies—though widely known by name, their essence lies in secret conclaves; that they are fundamentally Jewish organizations is evident from Shield of David patterns painted over on Masonic church floors, their foundational role in Masonic symbols like the compass and square, and eight-pointed stars adorning obituary notices—identical to those in Jewish synagogue stained glass windows). “Well now, Inspector Kumashiro—what’s astonishing is that within these Zodiac Signs lies embedded the entire history of Jewish secret cipher methods.” “Then there can be no objection to considering that enigmatic figure Claude Digsby as a Welsh-born Jew.” “To rephrase, this case spans both hidden and visible realms, culminating in the appearance of two Jews,” Housui declared, then began deciphering the Zodiac Signs by assigning Hebrew letters one by one to the constellations’ shapes.

“Namely: Sagittarius’s bow was assigned to; Scorpio; Virgo’s Y-shape; Leo’s great sickle form; Gemini’s twin shoulder configuration; and of course Taurus—in accordance with Aldebaran’s Hebrew epithet ‘Eye of God’—became Aleph (ℵ), occupying the first position.” “Then Pisces derives its etymological origin from the fish shape in Chaldean hieroglyphs.” “And with Aquarius’s water vessel shape—the final Zodiac Sign—taking position, the entire physical deciphering concludes.” “Now then—after converting those eight Hebrew letters into their modern ABC equivalents following etymological roots (in the previously established order)—the result becomes (S. L. Aa. I. H. A. N. T.). Yet four Zodiac Signs remain: Capricorn, Libra, Cancer, and Aries.” Housui then applied the Freemason ABC according to the diagram above.

According to this, Capricorn’s L-shape became B, Libra’s form became D, Cancer’s form became R, and Aries’s became E. Housui then employed another Freemason cipher method—the crisscross line technique (zigzag notation— This method originated from its documentation in Chapter 31 of *Poliorcetes* by Aeneas the Tactician of Athens— where one arranges ABCs arbitrarily on grid paper, shares this arrangement with recipients beforehand, and communicates solely through connecting zigzag lines). Tracing the linear gap starting from Capricorn’s B, he finally organized the chaos into a coherent arrangement of the secret ABC. There, Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro suddenly discerned a shaft of light piercing through darkness in the labyrinth’s depths. This divine radiance would surely overturn the overwhelming irrationality manifesting as criminal reality. Through Housui’s astonishing analysis, the Kuroshikikan Murder Case had perhaps entered its long-despairing final act— for the answer lay “Behind stairs,” meaning the grand staircase’s reverse side. When he completed the decryption, Housui spoke quietly.

“So, regarding the meaning of ‘behind the grand staircase’—I investigated it, but there is almost no room for doubt.” “Because over there lies only the room housing the Thérèse doll and its adjacent chamber.” “Moreover, I suspect that answer itself amounts to nothing more than an antiquated secret fortification tableau—hidden doors, tunnels.” “Hahahaha! Ultimately, what motives drove Digsby to embed ciphers in the Zodiac Signs—such trifles hardly matter now.” “Now then, let us proceed directly to Kuroshikikan and extract Krivov’s confession,” Housui declared, grinding his cigarette stub into the ashtray. At this, the prosecutor flushed like a maiden as he addressed Housui.

“Ah, today you are Lobachevsky—founder of non-Euclidean geometry!” “Indeed, for Sirius’s maximum parallax has been calculated!” “Well, if we’re speaking of credit, let’s attribute that to Schnitzler.” Housui made an exceedingly theatrical gesture. “Alibis, evidence collection, detection—those things hold no meaning in investigative methods since the Vienna Fourth School.” “Psychological analysis.” “To explore the criminal’s psychopathic nature and observe the world of their delusions as a mirror of mental imagery—those two points are all that matter.” “Well now, Prosecutor Hasekura—isn’t mental imagery a vast country?” After murmuring an improvised adaptation of Schnitzler—“It is both chaos and yet a mere fabrication”—he gave a great stretch and stood up.

“Now then, Inspector Kumashiro, kindly raise the final curtain.” “For this act will likely become my coronation.”

However, at that moment, ovation erupted from an unexpected quarter. Suddenly the telephone rang—in that instant, circumstances veered violently. Even Housui's superhuman analysis, meticulously extrapolated toward Madame Krivov, amounted to naught but a transient interlude within this fathomless theater of horror. Housui quietly replaced the receiver. Then turning his bloodless visage toward the two men, he spoke with unutterably anguished inflection.

“Ah, I may not be Schleiermacher...” “I poured my passion into seeking suffering—only to stage this blood-drenched pantomime.” “And of all people, Krivov was shot,” Housui murmured hollowly, his gaze fixed on the dimming depiction of conflagration as sunlight faded. It seemed he watched the catastrophic collapse of his monumental edifice of knowledge—crumbling with dreadful ease. Housui’s historic retreat—was this not investigative history’s most sublime spectacle?

II. Suspended in Midair… Shall Be Killed

It was around the time when Housui was attempting to link Madame Krivov to Jewish massacres while busily deciphering the secret cipher of the Zodiac Signs...

Meanwhile, at Kuroshikikan—surrounded by a shield of plainclothes officers—a phantasmagorical tragedy unlike any other in the world had occurred, though how the perpetrator slipped through their defenses remained unclear. This occurred at 2:40 PM. The victim, Madame Krivov, had been reclining against a stone table by the window in the second-floor armory—located precisely at the main building’s center facing the front garden, directly beneath the spire—basking in the afternoon sunlight that poured through as she read. Then, suddenly from behind, someone’s hand fired a Finnish-style fire crossbow—one of the decorative pieces. By fortune, the arrow merely grazed her head and threaded through her hair. And that fierce direct force instantly suspended her in midair and struck the armor-clad door directly ahead. Triggered by the mechanism, Madame Krivov was flung out the window like a ball. However, as the barbed arrow—shaped like a demon’s trident—had embedded itself firmly between the window bars, and as her hair tangled in the arrow’s fletching refused to detach, Madame Krivov’s body remained suspended by that single shaft. Moreover, in the void of air, she began rotating like a whirring top. Truly, it was a blood-soaked fairy tale scene—Madame Dannenberg and Ekusuke continued. Wielding that unfathomable sorcerous power, the perpetrator once again manipulated Madame Krivov like a marionette on this day. And thus, they staged yet another dazzlingly colorful mythological drama—one that transcended both reason and sensuality. The spectacle likely appeared as if Madame Krivov’s crimson hair—whipped by sunlight into a whirling frenzy—had become a fiery top, while also evoking such harrowing brutality that it might have recalled the serpentine locks of an enraged Gorgon (Medusa and her sisters). And had Madame Krivov not instinctively thrown out a hand to grip the window frame in that dazed moment, perhaps the arrowhead would have eventually torn free from the fletching, leaving her shattered upon the ground nine meters below. However, though Madame Krivov was immediately pulled up upon her screams being heard, her hair had been almost entirely torn out, and with the bleeding from the roots, the face of the unconscious woman was said to have lost all semblance of its original appearance—as if red ochre had been poured over it.

A mere thirty-five minutes after the tragedy had occurred, Housui and his party arrived at Kuroshikikan. Upon entering the mansion, he immediately went to visit Madame Krivov at her sickbed. Then, fortunately, her consciousness had been restored by the doctor’s efforts, and he was able to hear the aforementioned circumstances—albeit intermittently. However, any truth beyond that lay in the culprit’s grasp within distant chaos. At that time, she had positioned her chair facing the window with its back to the door; thus she naturally could not see whoever stood behind her. Moreover, though one plainclothes officer each had been stationed at the bends in both left and right corridors leading to that room, none reported witnessing anyone entering or exiting. To rephrase—the room was nearly equivalent to a sealed box-like chamber; therefore, escaping even peripheral notice from the officers would have been utterly impossible for any corporeal being.

After concluding the interrogation, Housui left Madame Krivov’s sickroom and promptly proceeded to inspect the problematic armory.

When viewed from the front, the room was situated precisely at the center of the main building, flanked by two projecting wings. Its two glass windows—unique in their design—were constructed in a late eighteenth-century two-tiered style. Moreover, the interior had been built in a Northern Gothic style using stacked basalt in dry stone masonry, with surrounding walls constructed from cornerstones each large enough to embrace—evoking the dark, crude barbarism and weighty grandeur reminiscent of Theodoric’s reign. Within the room, aside from exhibits, there remained nothing but a massive stone table and a single high-backed chair lacking a canopy. It was the ancient weapons adorning every wall surface that rendered the already gloomy atmosphere even more ominous. Though containing nothing from true antiquity, the collection ranged from smaller combat engines like radial catapults of the Morgarten War era and scaling ladders standard among military colonists to larger war machines resembling Yuan Dynasty fire projectors—alongside saddle-shaped shields for hand cannons and twelve or thirteen other shield types, Theodosian iron flails, Aragonese war hammers, German flails, and over a dozen varieties of spears and halberds mixing long/short/straight/tined designs spanning from Norman-style great spears to sixteenth-century lances. Western swords from various eras were also present alongside infantry battle-axes, with particularly rare specimens including Burgundian sickle-swords and Zabern swords. Here and there stood displayed medieval armors—Neuchâtel suits, Maximilian-style pieces, along with Farnese and Bayard types—while firearms were limited to a mere few early hand cannons. However, while inspecting these exhibits, Housui must have regretted not bringing his treasured copy of Gross’s Ancient Military Weapons Book on this occasion. For he would occasionally sigh or bring narrowed eyes close to examine fine carvings and crests—indeed, the allure of these evolving armaments had so entranced him that it made him forget his duties entirely.

However, after circling the entire room and finally arriving before a Northern pirate-style helmet adorned with water buffalo horns and seals, he turned his gaze—which had been fixed on an incongruous space on the adjacent wall—and immediately picked up a single fire crossbow from the floor before it. It was a Finnish-style weapon measuring three feet in total length (see figure above), designed to launch demon arrows wrapped with gunpowder into enemy fortifications—a brutal armament capable of killing, wounding, and incinerating all at once. To outline its structure: the bow-shaped frame had a twisted cord serving as a string that was drawn back to a central handle, with the firing mechanism involving tilting this handle sideways—a design that appeared utterly primitive compared to early firearm winding mechanisms, clearly dating back to thirteenth-century counterparts. In other words, it was the demon arrow fired from this single fire crossbow that had forced Madame Krivov into performing a grand acrobatic feat between life and death. However, the position on the wall where it had been displayed aligned precisely with Housui’s chest level. At the same time, Inspector Kumashiro brought over the demon arrow that had been on the stone table. Its shaft measured over two centimeters, with a four-pronged bronze arrowhead and fletching made from swan feathers—a design so robust and ferocious in appearance that the sheer force required to both suspend Madame Krivov midair and propel her forward could be sufficiently inferred from its construction. Not only were there no fingerprints—let alone any traces of contact—on either the crossbow or the arrow, but furthermore, it was Inspector Kumashiro who first raised the question, rendering the natural discharge theory untenable from the outset. For just before the incident occurred, the fire crossbow had been hung with its arrow nocked and tip aimed toward the window—an operation not entirely beyond a woman’s capability. Inspector Kumashiro first drew a straight line with his finger from the half-open right armor-clad door to the wall surface.

“Housui, the height matches perfectly,” Inspector Kumashiro began, drawing a line in the air with his finger. “But the angle to the armor-clad door deviates by over twenty-five degrees. If this crossbow had discharged naturally, the bolt would’ve struck that equestrian armor in the corner—parallel to the wall. No doubt about it—the culprit crouched to fire this thing.” “Yet they missed the target.” Housui bit his thumbnail, his expression clouded. “That’s what baffles me most. First, the proximity. Second, this crossbow has a calibrated sight.” He gestured at the weapon’s mechanism. “Krivov had her back turned, only her head visible above the chair. Aiming for her occipital should’ve been simpler than Teru skewering an apple with an insect pin.”

“Now then, Mr. Housui—what exactly are you thinking?” Prosecutor Hasekura, who until then had been nursing some expectation, had been inspecting the surrounding stacked stones while attempting to find any telltale cracks in the plasterwork. However, when he returned empty-handed, he pressed Housui sharply. Then Housui abruptly walked to the window and pointed through it at the fountain ahead as he began to speak.

“By the way, the problem lies with that startling fountain. That is a product of questionable taste that flourished in the Baroque era, but it utilizes water pressure so that when someone approaches within a certain distance, the statues on that side suddenly emit a spray of water.” “However, looking at this windowpane, traces of fresh splashes still remain.” “Considering this, within an extremely recent timeframe, there must have been someone who approached that fountain and caused its water spray to rise.” “Of course, if that were all, there wouldn’t be anything particularly suspicious about it.” “However, there isn’t even a gentle breeze today.” “In that case, the question arises: why did the spray reach this far?” “Prosecutor Hasekura, that’s yet another truly fascinating case example,” Housui began to continue, but as he spoke, a shadow rapidly spread across his face, and his eyes gleamed with hypersensitivity. “In any case, if we were to let the Leipzig school have their say, today’s criminal circumstances would be deemed extremely simple—that’s how they’d put it.” “Someone performed a spectral infiltration and aimed for the back of that red-haired Jewish old woman’s head.” “And at the very moment they missed their shot, their figure vanished into thin air—or so it goes.” “Of course, regarding that utterly inexplicable intrusion, the single term ‘Behind stairs’ would offer a glimmer of hope.” “But as long as my premonition holds true, even if it’s phenomenologically resolved—” “With today’s events as the trigger, I believe the veil over this case will grow even thicker.” “That water spray—if one were to speak mystically, the water spirit replaced the fire spirit, and moreover, they missed their shot—or so it goes.”

“Are we back to fairy mountain scenery again?” “But are you seriously saying such a thing?”

Prosecutor Hasekura bit down hard on the end of his cigarette and fired an accusatory barb. Housui moved his fingertips nervously, tapping the window frame while,

“Absolutely.” “That lovable contrarian increasingly tends to ignore the Apocalyptic Diagram’s revelations.” “In other words, they’re toying with even the foundational text of the Kuroshikikan Murder Case.” “Garibalda should be slain inverted—that principle manifests in Nobuko’s unconscious form.” “Then Krivov—who ought to have been killed with covered eyes—nearly met her end levitating midair.” “At that moment, the startling fountain’s spray soaring skyward was guided by an invisible hand.” “And then something abruptly drifted toward this chamber’s window.” “Mark this, Prosecutor Hasekura—that constitutes this case’s demonology.” “Could such pathological yet formulaic signs possibly converge through mere coincidence?”

That single matter had once been significant enough for Prosecutor Hasekura to include it in his list of questions—a mist-like entity eluding capture that stood between the monumental and the essential. Yet when Housui laid it bare like this, they found themselves shuddering more at the miasma-like presence drifting with shadowed form through these events than at the criminal phenomena themselves.

But at that moment, the door opened, and Madame Serena and Mr. Levèz entered, escorted by plainclothes officers. However, upon entering—seemingly catching a glimpse of the three’s gloomy demeanor—the ostensibly gentle Madame Serena did not properly return their greetings. Instead, she slammed a hand violently on the stone table and said...

“Ah, this remains such an elegant gathering, doesn’t it?” “Mr. Housui, you have investigated that heinous puppeteer—Tsutako-san—” “What? Oshikane Tsutako?!” Even Housui seemed genuinely startled by that.

“Did you say you intended to kill us?” “In fact, there exists an insurmountable barrier that cannot be destroyed for that person.”

Moreover, Mr. Levèz interjected. And still rubbing his hands together, he spoke in an unctuous tone tinged with a dull softness. "But Mr. Housui, you see—that barrier you mention has been psychologically built by us." "As you must know, that person has been staying in this mansion for about a month now, despite having both a husband and her own residence." "Generally speaking—to leave one’s dwelling without reason... Or rather, this is entirely a childish fancy of mine."

Housui cut him off. “No—it’s precisely that child. After all, in life, nothing is as cruel as a child,” he thrust the piercing sarcasm at Mr. Levèz before continuing, “By the way, Levèz—didn’t I once ask you about Rilke’s *Autumn Heart*? ‘There lies the rose, and nearby no birdsong echoes’—wasn’t that it? Hahahaha, do you remember? However, I’ll give you one warning—next time, it will be *your* turn to be killed.” Housui uttered a strangely eerie remark that sounded prophetic yet concealed his characteristic paradoxical twist. At that moment, an impulsive look of anguish rose to Levèz’s face, but he gulped down his saliva and retorted with regained composure.

“It’s exactly the same as that—an unfathomable approach is far more terrifying than an overt threat,” he continued, “but the reason we’ve come to bar our bedroom doors and fortify them like a fortress isn’t some recent development.” Mr. Levèz’s face tightened as he began recounting, seemingly having already forgotten the wordless drama that had unfolded with Housui mere moments earlier. “In truth, an incident identical to that night’s Divine Judgment Council occurred once before.”

“It was shortly after the passing of the former master—early May of last year. That night’s rehearsal of Haydn’s G minor string quartet had been scheduled in the chapel.” As the music progressed, Gretä suddenly emitted a faint cry—her bow clattered to the floor while her left hand went limp, eyes fixed on the open doorway. “Naturally, we three halted our performance upon noticing this.” “Then Gretä thrust her inverted violin toward the door and shrieked—‘Tsutako-san! Who stands there?!’” “True enough, Tsutako-san appeared beyond the threshold—yet wore only bewilderment as she answered ‘No one.’” “And what words do you imagine escaped Gretä then?” “In a voice coarsened by dread—words that froze our very blood—” When he uttered “Surely Dr. Sakutetsu was present—”, Madame Serena’s body stiffened in terror, fingers digging into Levèz’s forearm. Levèz cradled her shoulder with counterfeit solicitude before turning toward Housui a gaze that mocked all ignorant of secrets’ depths.

“Of course, I believe the answer to that riddle manifested through that Divine Judgment Council incident.” “No—she was never one predisposed to spiritualism from the beginning.” “In such mysterious occult coincidences, there must assuredly exist a systematic instructional formula—so I maintain.” “Now listen well, Mr. Housui—the Rose Knight you pursue aligns uncannily with those two mysterious occurrences.” “Needless to say—it can be none other than Tsutako-san.”

Meanwhile, Housui silently gazed at the floor, then let out a feeble sigh—as if anticipating the possibility of some event. "In any case, I will assign particularly strict security detail to your person going forward. "And once again, I must apologize for having questioned you about *Autumn Heart*," he said. After uttering this cryptic remark—one that would be utterly inscrutable elsewhere—he shifted the discussion to procedural matters.

“By the way—where were you at the time of today’s incident?”

“Yes, I was cleaning my room—Gioconda’s room,” Madame Serena answered without hesitation, then turned to Levèz. “And if I recall correctly, Mr. Ottokar was by the startling fountain at the time.” At that moment, an extraordinary look of panic crossed Mr. Levèz’s face, but he covered it with an unnaturally shrill laugh and said, “Ah—Garibalda-san, if you were to reverse the arrowhead and nock, the crossbow’s string would likely snap.” After continuing to harshly criticize Tsutako’s actions at tedious length, the two of them left the room. As their figures disappeared beyond the door, almost in the same moment, alibis for Hatatarou and four others were provided by plainclothes officers. According to this, it was proven that Hatatarou and Kuga Chinako had been in the library, and Oshikane Tsutako—who had already recovered—had been in the downstairs hall at the time. Yet strangely, even now, Nobuko’s movements remained unaccounted for, with not a single person having witnessed her presence. After hearing the above investigation from the plainclothes officers, Housui wore an intensely complex expression and proceeded to voice his third bizarre theory of the day.

“Hey Hasekura, Levèz’s dramatic figure keeps clinging to me with such persistence.” “That man’s psyche truly reaches the height of complexity.” “It might be a chivalrous spirit trying to protect someone, or perhaps such severe mental conflict has already driven him across the boundary into madness.” “But what feels most vivid is the image of that man riding in a corpse transport cart,” he offered this bizarre interpretation of Levèz’s utterly mundane behavior. Then, as his gaze shifted to the fountain statues, he hastily withdrew the tobacco he had begun to take out. “Then, let us proceed to investigate the Startling Fountain.” “Not in the sense that he is the culprit, but today’s incident undoubtedly has Levèz as its central figure.”

The summit of that Startling Fountain was crowned with a brass Parnassus group statue. Around the basin's four sides lay stepping stones designed to trigger a mechanism: when stepped upon, four streams of water would shoot high into the air from above each side of the statue's head. It was further established that this water discharge lasted approximately ten seconds. However, frost-thawed mud on the stepping stones had left clear shoe prints, revealing through their pattern that Mr. Levèz had traversed each stone along a complex path—stepping on each only once. Specifically, he first approached from the main building's direction to tread upon the frontmost stone, then moved to the opposite one, third to the right-side stone, and finally concluded with the left-side stone. Yet as for what meaning lay within these labyrinthine actions—even Housui found himself utterly unable to discern it at that moment.

After returning to the main building, it was decided that Nobuko would be summoned first as the initial interrogatee in that sealed room—the one used as the interrogation chamber the day before yesterday—where Madame Dannenberg’s corpse had been found. And during the interval before her arrival, an uncanny premonition—one that would later compel Housui to nod in recognition—brushed against his nerves from some indeterminate source. What drew him was that bed which had reigned over this room for decades: locked and unlocked countless times, witness to repeated bloody tragedies. He merely peered in from beyond the curtain when he involuntarily gasped and froze. It was because he had been seized by a mysterious impulse that he had not felt in the slightest during the previous investigation. Just by one corpse disappearing, within the curtain-partitioned area, an uncanny vitality had awakened. Or perhaps, with the corpse gone altering the composition, it was a psychological effect arising from observing the pure interplay of angles and lines.

Yet this felt different somehow—even in its coldness, it was akin to touching the skin of a living fish. From this partitioned area’s air came a sense that one might hear a faint pulse, and he was deeply aware of some mysterious force manipulating living tissue. However, when Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro entered, Housui’s fantasies vanished without a trace. And he wondered if it was indeed due to the composition after all. Housui Rintarou had never scrutinized the bed as intently as he did now.

The four pillars supporting the canopy were crowned with pinecone-shaped finials at their tops, while from beneath these down the entire length was carved in relief a fifteenth-century Venetian thirty-oared galley displaying astonishingly precise sword marks. And at the center of its prow, a headless "Brandenburg Wild Eagle" spread its wings against the polar winds. Such was the composition adorning this peachwood bed—a strange amalgamation that at first glance resembled historical motifs. And it was when Housui finally pulled his face away from the relief carving of the decapitated eagle that a quiet sound of a handle turning echoed, and Kamiya Nobuko, having been summoned, entered.

Part Six: The Night of Sakutetsu's Burial

I. That Migratory Bird... A Rainbow Split in Two

Kamiya Nobuko’s entrance—that marked the ultimate climax of this case. Simultaneously, it became the final boundary separating realms of demonic miasma from humanity’s limits. For every figure entangled in these events had been sifted away—Madame Krivov serving as the last sieve—until only Nobuko remained as the solitary seed of hope. Moreover, what she had enacted in the carillon chamber defied any semblance of ambiguous human expression. No aberration or distortion could constrain it... To rephrase—it stood unmistakably as a theatrical mask embodying with utmost intensity the innate visage of a murderer. Thus should Housui fail to leverage this appraisal of Nobuko for reversal, that blackened drape of malice would assuredly descend by the killer’s hand to close this tragedy. Nay—permitting such an outcome would confirm the supernatural dominion of that wyrm-like monstrosity coiling through these crimes—a convergence even Housui’s reason stood helpless against. Therefore when Nobuko’s ashen countenance materialized from behind the door, the chamber’s atmosphere constricted abnormally. Within Housui surged a nervous compulsion he struggled to contain. And in that moment, he remained powerless against the anxiety clawing through his flesh like icy talons.

Nobuko appeared to be twenty-three or twenty-four years old, with a supple plumpness to her figure. Both her facial features and the lines of her body evoked the women depicted by the Flemish school. However, her face was rich with finely chiseled shadows—unusually rare for a Japanese person—and this seemed to vividly convey her inner depth. Not only that, but the most striking feature was her pair of large, glistening eyes that resembled grapes. From them burst forth an intellectual fervor with gazelle-like alertness, yet there was also an unnervingly morbid light that seemed to crouch within the depths of her psyche. Overall, she lacked the peculiar, oddly dark and phlegmatic quality characteristic of Kuroshikikan residents. However, whether from three days of battling despair and enduring grueling anguish, Nobuko now appeared haggard beyond recognition. She seemed to have completely exhausted even the strength to walk, and her gasping, labored breath—the rapid rising and falling of her clavicle and throat cartilage—was clearly visible from where the three observers sat. However, after staggering over and taking her seat, she closed both eyes as if to quell her agitation, clasped her chest tightly with both arms, and remained utterly motionless for some time. Moreover, the sharp points of the large pampas grass pattern standing out prominently against the black ground surrounded her neck in a shape exactly like crucifixion spears. Therefore, from that uncanny composition created by chance, a strangely medieval-like accusatory atmosphere emanated. And around the gloomy death chamber wrapped in oak and cornerstones, it began to swirl and spread like a vortex. Just as Housui’s lips began to quiver slightly, about to break the silence—or perhaps she was trying to preempt him—Nobuko’s eyes suddenly snapped open. And then, something suddenly burst forth from her mouth.

“I will confess.” “When I lost consciousness in the Bell Chamber, I was indeed gripping an armor-piercing dagger.” “Furthermore, around the time Mr. Ekusuke was killed and even during today’s incident involving Madame Krivov—strangely enough—I alone was not granted an alibi.” “No, I have been placed at the endpoint of this incident from the very beginning.” “Therefore, no matter how much we continue this absurd debate here, there will ultimately be no room for criticism of this situation,” Nobuko pressed repeatedly, drawing a deep breath before adding, “Moreover, I have an inherent mental disorder and occasionally suffer hysterical episodes.” “That must be the case, wouldn’t you agree?” “This is something I heard from Ms. Kuga Chinako, but criminal psychopathologist Krafft-Ebing, quoting Nietzsche, emphasizes the genius’s immoral predatory nature.” “Throughout the Middle Ages, the highest characteristic of humanity was considered to be the ability to induce hallucinations—in other words, to possess the capacity for profound mental disturbances.” “Hohohoho, this is how it is, isn’t it?” “Everything lines up perfectly—so perfectly clear it’s overwhelming. I’ve grown weary of insisting that I’m not the culprit.”

It was a voice that somehow didn’t seem to be her own. ――An almost desperate recklessness permeated her demeanor. Yet within it lay an oddly childish defiance, through which one could glimpse the ghastly struggle of writhing upward from despair. As she finished speaking, the ligaments that had stiffened Nobuko’s entire body abruptly slackened, and utter exhaustion flooded her face. At this, Housui inquired in a composed voice.

“No—if that’s the mourning attire in question, it will soon no longer be necessary.” “If you can name the person you saw in the bell chamber—” “Then… who are you referring to?” Nobuko parroted back with feigned innocence. However, her subsequent demeanor suggested not mere suspicion or bewilderment, but rather something latent—a fear-like consciousness—that seemed to be compelling her. However, the impetuous Inspector Kumashiro—apparently no longer able to maintain his composure—promptly produced the matter of her autograph (a subconscious signature with precedent in the Gutenberg case) that she had signed during her dazed state. And after briefly explaining that, he reversed his stance and sternly pressed Nobuko to speak.

“Let me make this clear,” “What we want to ask amounts to only this.” “However reluctant we may be to designate you as the culprit, we’ve no alternative unless new evidence overturns this conclusion.” “In short, these two points alone matter—there’s no need to inquire about other matters.” “For you, this moment determines your life’s trajectory.” “Do not disregard the gravity of this warning—!” Inspector Kumashiro pressed with grim urgency, his somber expression deepening. Prosecutor Hasekura then interjected in a chastising tone.

“Of course, in such cases—no matter how innate a delusional person may be—we cannot exclude them.” “Even so—no matter how innate—they become mentally sound in that very moment, you see.” “Now then, state the actual name of X.” “Furuya Hatatarou… Indeed.” “No—just who exactly are you referring to?” “Furuya... Ah...” she muttered faintly—and Nobuko’s face rapidly paled. It was a gruesome struggle, as though something were clashing violently in the depths of her soul—too pitiful to behold. However, after swallowing five or six times, what seemed like an intellectual insight suddenly flashed—and Nobuko spoke in a high, trembling voice. “Ah—do you have business with that person?” “In that case, hibernating bats were hanging from the recessed ceiling where the keyboard is located.” “Also, I know that one or two large white moths still remained alive.” “Therefore, if you are aware of the phototaxis of hibernating animals…” “Then if you were to direct light upon them, those creatures would turn their faces toward it and tell you everything.” “Or should I say—in accordance with this case’s official account—that it was the late Dr. Sakutetsu...?”

Nobuko made her resolute determination clear. She seemed determined to maintain silence on a certain matter, even at the cost of her own fate.

However, when she finished speaking—for some reason—she stiffened as if bracing for dreadful words. Perhaps even she herself was seized by an impulse to clap hands over her ears at her own words steeped in self-mockery. Inspector Kumashiro bit his lip until it whitened and glared at her with venomous intensity, but at that moment a sinister glint surfaced in Housui’s eyes as he thudded his folded arms onto the table. Then came the sort of cryptic question only he would pose.

“Ah, Sakutetsu…” “That ominous plow—the King of Spades?”

“No, if it’s Dr. Sakutetsu, he would be the King of Hearts,” Nobuko reflexively replied before letting out a deep sigh.

“Ah, if it’s Hearts, that would signify affection and trust,” Housui’s eyes flickered with hypersensitivity for an instant, “but regarding this bat that supposedly tells tales—exactly which end was it on?”

“From the center of the keyboard, it was directly above,” Nobuko answered without hesitation, her tone restrained. “However, there was a moth—its favorite prey—right beside it.” “Yet as long as that moth kept silent, even that cruel bat wouldn’t needlessly harm it.” “But in reality, that allegory worked inversely.” “Well, if it’s such a fairy-tale dream,” Inspector Kumashiro sneered venomously, “you can revisit it at leisure—next time in a prison cell.” Housui shot him a reproving glance before addressing Nobuko.

“Please continue without concern.” “I’ve always detested works like those of Shelley’s wife—Mary Godwin, the poet Shelley’s second spouse and author of *Frankenstein*.” “I’ve grown utterly weary of such sensations that stir up visceral secretions, you see.” “By the way, when did that white-feathered boa begin to sway?” “In what scene of the bell chamber did that send a breeze your way?”

“To tell the truth, that moth ultimately fell prey to the bat.” “Because it was Madame Krivov who ordered me to undertake that ordeal—to ‘row a thirty-oared warship alone,’ as it were.” For an instant, a cold fury grazed Nobuko’s face—but it vanished without a trace moments later. And she continued. “But Madame Krivov ordered me—a woman—to play that heavy carillon instrument three times each, the one that Mr. Levèz usually performs.” “So by the time I reached the middle of the first sutra hymn I played, my hands and legs had already gone completely limp, and my vision gradually grew hazy.” “Regarding those symptoms, Ms. Kuga refers to it as a faint delirium—” “She refers to it as a shipwrecked state of pathological passion.” “At that moment, something extremely ethical would arise—like a warhorse pricking up its ears—she says.” “Moreover, she stated that while it may be the moment of supreme purity and bliss—and while it is certainly ethical—it is by no means moral, and within that, one cannot deny the impulse to murder.” “Ah, so even this—does it qualify as the poetic admission you so elegantly conceive?” After directing a cold look of scorn at Inspector Kumashiro, she began to recount her memories from that time.

“So perhaps this corresponds to part of such phenomena—though I was in a trance, unaware of what I was playing, I could somehow perceive with strange clarity how the cold wind swept across my face in patches.” “So to speak, it was a sensation akin to a cold pain.” “However, since it kept flickering incessantly without giving respite from the stimulation, I was finally able to complete the third repetition of the sutra hymn.” “And even during the breaks, it was the same.” “The sound of requiem music welling up from the chapel below began to fade first from the cello and viola and low strings, gradually receding from my ears... But just when I thought it had gone, it came rushing back, this time swelling overwhelmingly to fill the entire room.” “However, that rhythmic repetition—like listening to a precise metronome—gradually alleviated the pain of fatigue.” “And although it was very gradual, it slowly lulled me into a pleasant drowsiness.” “Therefore, even after my limbs began to move again once the piece ended, to my ears, the sound of the bells could not be heard—only a pleasant rhythm, devoid of that sound, continued to resonate.” “However, it was at that very moment.” “Suddenly, something struck the right side of my face.” Then, a burning sensation arose in that spot, and it felt feverishly hot as if it had flared up. “But in that instant, my body twisted to the right, and with that, everything became unclear.” “It was at that moment—when I saw the moth on the recessed ceiling.” “However, when I went to check this morning, the moth had vanished without a trace, and in its place hung only a bat with an utterly innocent look.”

The moment Nobuko's testimony concluded, the gazes of the three men collided involuntarily. Moreover, an indescribable look of bewilderment appeared within them. For the person suspected of inducing Nobuko's episode by ordering the carillon performance was none other than Madame Krivov—she who had recently staged an ironic reversal. Furthermore, if Nobuko had indeed fallen to the right as claimed, it must be said that the enigma surrounding the swivel chair would only deepen.

Inspector Kumashiro narrowed his eyes slyly and inquired. “If we accept that something attacked you from your right side, there just so happened to be a door at the stairway’s summit there, did there not? In any case, you ought to cease this futile self-sacrifice…” “No—I myself absolutely refuse to indulge in such perilous games,” Nobuko declared with unyielding resolve. “Absolutely not—approaching that terrifying dragon monster. But do consider this: suppose I were to name that individual. Yet with such shallow premises alone, how could you possibly construct hypotheses about that mystical force? On the contrary, I demand your legal interrogation regarding the armor-piercing dagger—that critical point.” “No—even I myself believe that I am, in an analogous sense, the culprit. Moreover, today’s incident follows the same pattern. Even in that hunting tableau where that red-haired monkey lord was shot—I alone possess no alibi whatsoever.”

“What do you mean by that?” “You just referred to ‘the red-haired ape lord,’ did you not?” Prosecutor Hasekura interjected with a scrutinizing gaze, though secretly he thought to himself, *This woman is unexpectedly formidable for her age...*

“That is, again, a solemn issue.”

Nobuko twisted her lips in an oddly suggestive gesture, yet beads of sweat formed on her forehead, through which her inner turmoil seemed to seep into view. How desperately she writhed to break free from despair—Nobuko had already exhausted every ounce of her strength, and the hue of her fatigue could be perceived in the heavy movement of her eyelids. However, she stated bluntly. “To begin with, even if Madame Krivov were to be killed, there likely wouldn’t be a single person who would mourn her.” “Truly, being killed would be better than being allowed to live…” “I believe there are plenty of people who would consider that far preferable.”

“Then please tell us who that person is.” Inspector Kumashiro maintained sufficient wariness toward this girl’s confounding demeanor, yet found himself irresistibly drawn to the topic she had broached. “If there truly exists someone who particularly wishes for Madame Krivov’s death...”

“For example, I am one such person.” Nobuko answered unflinchingly and without hesitation. “Because I am the one who inadvertently created that very reason.” “Though previously confined to our inner circle, there was an instance where I published Dr. Sakutetsu’s posthumous manuscripts through my own hands as his secretary.” “However, within them lay detailed records concerning the Khmelnytsky Great Persecution.” “That…” she began—but with a sudden expression as if struck by an impulse—Nobuko sharply clamped her mouth shut. For a while, she seemed to wrestle intensely with whether to speak or remain silent before finally declaring: “That matter is something I cannot speak of under any circumstances.” “But from that moment onward—how utterly wretched I became!” “Of course, Madame Krivov tore up and discarded those records on the spot. Yet ever since then, I have endured her capricious hostility.” “Even today remains no different.” “To think she summoned me merely to open a window—how many times must I have adjusted it up and down before settling on that position!”

The Khmelnytsky Great Persecution—. Of its details, only Housui among the three knew. Namely, it stood as the most extreme instance of those frequent persecutions of Caucasian Jews said to have occurred throughout the seventeenth century—the very event that became the catalyst for intermarriages between Cossacks and Jews. Yet though he had already discerned Madame Krivov’s Jewish heritage, it seemed only natural that the contents of those destroyed records would pique his interest. At that moment, a plainclothes officer entered and announced that Tsutako’s husband—Dr. Oshikane—had arrived at the mansion. They had abruptly summoned Dr. Oshikane from his ongoing trip to Fukuoka to open the will, forcing them to temporarily suspend Nobuko’s interrogation there.

Thereupon, Housui set aside the Dannenberg incident and immediately sought to learn about the day’s developments.

“Now, we shall revisit the previous matters later...” “At the time of today’s incident, why were you unable to establish an alibi?” “Why? Because it was two misfortunes consecutively,” Nobuko lamented with a tinge of complaint, her voice tinged with sorrow.

“But I was in Juhikitei—located near the left end of the main building—at that very moment.” “That place is surrounded by Bidankatsura’s sleeve fence and couldn’t be seen from anywhere.” “Moreover, even the window of the armory where Madame Krivov was hanged—precisely that area alone is blocked by the Bidankatsura hedge.” “Therefore, I had absolutely no knowledge that such animal acrobatics had even occurred.”

"But surely you heard Madame’s scream?" "Of course I heard it." Nobuko answered immediately as if reflexively. Yet beneath her lips, a strange turmoil surfaced in her expression, her voice abruptly gaining a tremble. "But no matter what... I couldn’t leave that Juhikitei." "And why is that? Such statements only deepen groundless suspicions." Inspector Kumashiro pressed harshly at this critical juncture. Nobuko’s lips spasmed as she clutched her chest, barely containing her turbulent emotions. Yet from that mouth emerged words cold as ice.

“I absolutely cannot tell you—no matter how many times you ask, my answer remains the same.” “Rather than that—just moments before Madame Krivov uttered her scream—I saw something strange by that window.” “It was something colorless and transparent that seemed to glow, yet its form remained indistinct—almost like a gas.” “However, that bizarre thing appeared from the air above the window and, floating lightly, drifted diagonally into that window.” “An instant after that, Madame Krivov let out a scream that could tear through the air,” Nobuko said, her features awash with vivid terror as she stared at Housui’s face as if probing for his reaction. “At first, since Mr. Levèz was present at that moment, I thought it might have been spray from the Astonishment Fountain.” “But when I consider it, there’s no reason to think the spray would flow without even a breeze.”

“Hmph, another ghost...” Prosecutor Hasekura muttered with a grimace, while simultaneously adding deep in his throat—or perhaps it was Nobuko’s lie—a thought that followed naturally. However, Inspector Kumashiro rose with extraordinary resolve. And then, he solemnly addressed Nobuko.

“In any case, I can imagine your sleepless anguish these past few days. However, starting tonight, we’ll ensure you get proper rest.” “Why, this is practically paradise for the accused!” “With the arrest cord binding your wrists tightly,” “they say a pleasant lightheadedness spreads through your whole body—you’ll gradually drift off.”

At that moment, Nobuko’s gaze dropped heavily. She covered her face with both hands and collapsed forward onto the table. However, just as Inspector Kumashiro was about to call for a police car and picked up the receiver— Housui—for reasons unclear—pulled out the wall plug connected to the cord with a pop and placed it on Nobuko’s palm. Having done so, he disregarded the stunned trio and began expounding his idea with rapt delight. Ah, the situation had reversed once again.

“Actually, that—the apparition unfortunate for you—has provided me with poetic inspiration.” “If this were spring, that area would be a sea of pollen and fragrance.” “However, even in the withered depths of midwinter, that natural stage of the fountain and Juhikitei—it compelled me to acknowledge your alibi.” “Both you and Madame Krivov were saved by those migratory birds... the rainbow.”

“Ah, the rainbow…” “What are you saying?” Nobuko suddenly sprang up and turned her tear-glistened beautiful eyes toward Housui. However, that very rainbow had plunged Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro into the abyss of despair. For those two, that instant must have been when they intuitively grasped the futility of all their power. Yet there remained an uncanny sensation about the vividly colored, sonorously resonant painting Housui had presented—one they simply could not resist being drawn into.

Housui said calmly. “The rainbow… It was indeed a rainbow like a leather whip.” “However, while we were playing at being the culprit or donning Kuga Chinako’s pedantic mask, we were obstructed by those acts and couldn’t see that rainbow.” “I sincerely sympathize with the position you were in, having endured such extreme hardship.” “Then, borrowing Ms. Kuga’s words—a shift in motive.” “Now, that must be the case, mustn’t it?” “But I’ve already washed off that disguise.” “Hypocrisy, pedantry... Such vices were indeed too heavy a garment for me.” What had been pent up since day one now burst forth uncontrollably, leaping beyond her restraint in a single moment. Nobuko’s body sprang forth like a fawn, both elbows raised horizontally, fists pressed to her ears’ roots. Swaying them left and right, with eyes ecstatic in rapture, one could only wonder what characters she traced in the air. The arrival of joy—so unexpected and unimaginable—had rendered Nobuko utterly mad.

“Ah, how dazzling….” “I… I truly believed this light would come someday… But that darkness—” As she began to say this, Nobuko closed her eyes as if trying not to see and violently shook her head. “Yes, I’ll show you anything at all—whether I dance or stand on my head—” She stood up, stepping in a Polish round dance’s three-quarter time as she began spinning like a top. But when she thrust both hands against the edge of the table, her cascading hair flipped backward like a lotus leaf as she spoke. “But please don’t ask about the truth of the Bell Chamber or why I couldn’t leave Juhikitei. You see, the walls of this mansion have strange ears. The day those are breached, who knows how long your sympathy will last?” “Well then, please begin the next interrogation.”

“No, you may take your leave now.” “There are still some matters regarding the Dannenberg case I’d like to ask about for reference,” Housui said, finally having Nobuko—who remained unable to tear herself away from her ecstatic frenzy—taken away. A long silence and sharp black shadows—the room after her departure resembled the aftermath of a typhoon, yet it was filled with an indescribably anguished air. For with Nobuko’s release as the turning point, they had been stripped of all hope in the human world. Was it not that the course of events was being recklessly channeled into that great magical power lurking in Kuroshikikan’s terrifying undercurrents—a force that cast its shadow even over each and every minor criminal phenomenon? Kumashiro’s face contorted with rage as he ground his teeth for a while, but suddenly Housui slammed the plug he had pulled out onto the floor. Then Kumashiro stood up and began pacing violently around the room, but to this, Housui calmly interjected.

“Well now, Inspector Kumashiro, this truly marks the end of the second act.” “A literal labyrinth of chaos and entanglement, of course.” “But mark my words—Levèz will likely make his entrance at the start of the next act, whereupon this case shall plummet headlong into catastrophe.” “Solution—? Spare me your nonsense!” “I haven’t even the strength left to tender my resignation.” “The stage directions probably dictated this from the very beginning.” “The first two acts were earthly scenes,” Kumashiro murmured despondently, “but from the third onward, we enter the realm of divine augury and summoned spirits.” “In any event, your remaining task is to comb through those pre-sixteenth century texts you hoard.” “Then compose our epitaphs.”

“Well, about those pre-16th century texts…” “In fact,” said Prosecutor Hasekura without abandoning his grave demeanor, glaring at Housui with prosecutorial sharpness, “there exists an equally baseless theory.” He continued: “Now then—a carriage laden with dried hay passed beneath a rainbow.” “And then a girl wearing wooden clogs danced—and thus every human element vanished from this case.” “I cannot fathom what this pastoral tableau signifies.” “First and foremost—what phenomenon’s strained metaphor does this ‘rainbow’ represent?”

“Don’t talk nonsense. “It’s certainly not a grammar book—nor a poem. “Of course, it’s neither analogy nor correspondence.” “But in reality, an authentic rainbow manifested between the culprit and Madame Krivov,” Housui declared, his eyes still clouded by lingering visions, when the door silently opened. Then without warning, Kuga Chinako’s gaunt, thorn-like visage materialized. In that instant, a stifling pressure engulfed them. This erudite mystic theorist—with her neutrally intense persona—would surely render this aberrant case devoid of human suspects even more desolate. Chinako gave a curt nod before speaking in her customary frigid tone. Yet her words carried extraordinary vehemence.

“Mr. Housui, I can scarcely believe it. However, you surely don’t take those migratory birds’ words at face value, do you?” “Migratory birds?!” Housui’s eyes widened in astonishment as he reflexively retorted. For Chinako had just repeated—whether by coincidence or design—the very words he himself had uttered moments earlier regarding the rainbow’s symbolism. “Precisely—the three surviving migratory birds,” she declared, fixing him with an unblinking stare. “No matter what defensive stratagems those people employ, Lady Tsutako is absolutely not the culprit—this I maintain to the bitter end. Though she has risen from bed since morning, she remains unfit to withstand interrogation. You must surely know—what symptoms does an overdose of chloral hydrate induce? Recovery from such anemia and optic nerve fatigue within a single day would be nigh impossible. No—I cannot shake the dread that she may share Mary Stuart’s fate.” Here Chinako’s voice lowered as if reciting scripture. “That saintly queen of sixteenth-century Scotland... later beheaded by Elizabeth on February eighth, 1587. In short—it is your prejudice I cannot help but fear.”

“Mary Stuart?!” Housui’s eyes lit up with sudden interest as he leaned halfway across the table. “Are you speaking of that saintly simpleton’s excessive virtue—or Queen Elizabeth’s Machiavellian schemes... aimed at those three?” “In both meanings.” Chinako replied coldly.

“As you are aware, Lady Tsutako’s husband, Dr. Oshikane, has nearly exhausted his personal wealth for the charity hospital he himself operates.” “Therefore, to ensure its future maintenance, Lady Tsutako must step back into the limelight—no matter what it takes—even if she must press through that single-eyed adversity.” “The acclaim she receives will likely bring succor to tens of thousands who have lost hope in medicine.” “Truly, those gentle in judging others may be blessed—yet even so, those who stand at the gate obstruct people—I tell you.” “Mr. Housui, do you grasp this Solomon’s meaning?” “That gate—the one with the keyhole casting this lurid light upon our case—is what I mean.” “Therein lies Kuroshikikan’s Secret Key of Eternal Life.”

“Could you elaborate on that in more concrete terms?”

“In that case, are you familiar with Schulz (Fritz Schulz—a German psychologist from the previous century) and his Theory of Spiritual Germination? This theory—peculiar to fanatical psychiatrists—is a form of reincarnation doctrine. That is to say, after death, the spirit separates from the physical body and persists eternally in an unconscious state. Though incapable of manifesting consciousness at such a low level, it allegedly retains the power to generate impulsive actions. While claiming to drift between life and death, occasionally emerging in the subconscious—it remains among the most rational theories of its kind.” “Even I would not assert this without firm evidence.” With an audacious smile, Chinako once again summoned a baleful wind into the case.

“Wh-what? The Theory of Spiritual Germination?!” Housui suddenly took on a fierce expression and shouted with a stammer. “Then, where is the basis for that…? Why do you insist on applying the theory of immortality to this case? So, are you saying Dr. Sakutetsu is still continuing his inexplicable survival—or what? Or… Claude Digsby—” Spiritual Germination—that eerie term was first uttered by Chinako, then annotated by Housui with the designation “theory of immortality.” Of course, that which formed the pulsating link between these two points was undoubtedly something that had grown in the darkness at the heart of this incident—spreading soundlessly and gradually pushing back its boundaries. However, given the circumstances, Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro now felt as though that terror and fantasy were materializing before their very eyes, experiencing a sensation as if their hearts had been seized without warning. However, when Housui’s mouth uttered the name Digsby, a skeptical expression welled up on Chinako’s face as though a riddle had been hurled at her—and it appeared to have seized her heart with certainty. Generally speaking, individuals strongly prone to possession—once seized by a single doubt—fall into a near-unconscious trance-like state, during which bizarre involuntary movements manifest. Perhaps exemplifying this, Chinako began pulling the ring from her left middle finger, spinning it around her finger, then removing and replacing it—repeating these nervous movements incessantly. Then, a suspicious light appeared in Housui’s eyes, and in that momentary lull when voices had ceased, he stood up. And with his hands clasped behind his back, he began pacing the room with measured steps until he came behind Chinako, whereupon he suddenly erupted in raucous laughter.

“Hahahaha! That’s beyond ridiculous. “That the King of Spades is still alive…!” “No, if it’s Dr. Sakutetsu we’re speaking of, he would be the King of Hearts,” Chinako nearly reflexively shouted, but at the same moment—as if struck by terror—she abruptly shoved the ring onto her little finger. And, letting out a deep sigh, she continued: “However, what I referred to as spiritual germination is ultimately a metaphor. “Please do not interpret that in a pictorial manner. “On the contrary, that meaning might be closer to the spirituality spoken of by Eckhart—Johann Eckhart, 1260–1329—a Dominican monk from Erfurt who was considered the greatest mystic of the Middle Ages and a pantheistic theologian. “From father to child—the boundary between life and death through which the human seed must undergo transmigration at least once; in other words, that wilderness where storms rage in darkness. “Shall I explain it in more concrete terms? “The reason we cannot find the demon is that its form lies entirely beyond what we can seek within our own portraits—and of course, the deepest mystery of this case resides within that ultra-essential philosophical path—one that defies both description and content, transcending language itself. “Mr. Housui, that is a cruel punishment severe enough to shake the pillars of hell.”

“I understand perfectly.” “Because at the end of that philosophical path lies a single question I have already discerned,” Housui retorted defiantly, raising his eyebrows. “Ms. Kuga, even the Treaty of Saint Stephen merely relaxed minor provisions regarding Jewish treatment.” “Yet why were they permitted land holdings exceeding half-village districts in the Caucasus—where persecution was most severe?” “In essence, the problem lies in that unknowable negative value.” “However, the Jew in this case—allegedly the district landowner’s daughter—proved ultimately innocent.”

At that moment, Chinako’s entire body began to tremble as if beginning to crumble. For a while, she drew staccato, high-pitched breaths before managing a faint cry: "Ah, you terrifying man…" Yet this mysterious old woman, as though pushed beyond endurance, explicitly defined the culprit’s parameters. “This case might as well be concluded. “It concerns that circle of negative value. Within the pentagram circle that tightly envelops the motive, not even Mephisto could find a crevice to infiltrate. “Therefore, if you grasp the wilderness’s meaning I described earlier, there remains nothing more to say.” As she suddenly tried to stand, Housui quickly restrained her,

“However, Ms. Kuga, that wilderness you speak of was indeed the light of German theology. But that fatalism is the false light into which Tauler and Seuse once fell. I discovered within the Theory of Spiritual Germination you mentioned a certain astonishing clinical depiction—something so bizarre that merely hearing it could drive one mad. Why are you fixated on Dr. Sakutetsu’s heart—that great demon... the King of Hearts? Hahahaha! Ms. Kuga, I may not be Lavater, but I have mastered the art of discerning a person’s inner self through their external appearance.”

Dr. Sakutetsu’s heart—not only Chinako but also Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro had stiffened as though instantly fossilized. It was clearly—having begun to shake the very pillars of their minds from the foundation—likely the greatest horror of this entire case. However, Chinako said with a feigned scornful expression.

“Then, are you attempting to compare human and animal faces in the same manner as that Swiss pastor?”

After leisurely lighting his tobacco, Housui unveiled his intricate reasoning. Then, the numerous irrationalities that had been dispersed like a hundred flowers with a thousand petals were rapidly drawn into that singular focal point. “Perhaps this may be nothing more than a product of hypersensitive nerves—but regardless, you did refer to Dr. Sakutetsu as the King of Hearts.” “Naturally, from that moment I sensed an uncannily palpable atmosphere.” “The reason being that I had heard those exact same words from Ms. Nobuko’s lips as well.” “This serendipitous convergence may well hold value as the final trump card in this case.” “It could be a monster capable of overturning—from its very foundations—the orthodox deductive framework we’ve pursued thus far.” “In your case particularly, accompanied by that pantomime-like psychological effect, I was able to leverage it to probe even deeper into your psyche’s recesses.” “Now according to the Vienna New Psychology School, this is termed a symptomatic attack—during prolonged unconscious movements devoid of purpose, the most deeply buried subconscious elements tend to surface. To rephrase: secrets one wishes to keep hidden in their heart’s depths may manifest externally in some form. Alternatively, when subjected to suggestive impulses, associative reactions often emerge even within language itself.” “That suggestive impulse was precisely when I called Sakutetsu the King of Spades.” “Yet even prior to that, my mention of Digby—though you remain ignorant of his true nature—had already ensnared your mind.” “Then unconsciously, symptomatic attacks manifested through you—removing the ring, replacing it, spinning it restlessly.” “Thus I employed an artfully suggestive pause.” “That interval proves essential—not merely in theater, but particularly during interrogations.” “Consider this, Ms. Kuga—though the culprit may be a scriptwriter, they never provide a single stage direction.” “In that sense, investigators must above all become masterful directors.” “Ah, but forgive my verbosity.” “What I must foremost apologize for is probing your psyche’s depths and intruding without awaiting your consent...”

Thereupon, Housui took out a fresh cigarette and began to elaborate on the depiction of his masterful direction. “However, that interval is one of chaos. Yet within it, various psychological phenomena cluster in a cross formation, billowing and floating across the plane of consciousness like a cumulonimbus cloud. That state was undoubtedly so fragile that if any impulse were applied there, it would likely collapse in an instant. So I brought up the term ‘King of Spades’. Because if we consider the entire mind as a single organic entity, then naturally there must be something that physically arises from it. By that highly suggestive remark, I expected some kind of reaction. Then, indeed, you rephrased my words as ‘King of Hearts’. That is indeed the King of Hearts. At that moment, I received an abnormal revelation akin to madness. However, next, a second impulse arose within you—suddenly losing composure, you inadvertently slipped the ring onto your little finger. How could I possibly overlook the look of terror in that moment?” Housui sharply cut off his words mid-sentence, his face becoming enveloped in a shuddering grimace.

“No—it was I who felt an even heavier terror.” “For when you examine the court cards, every figure has its upper and lower torso joined diagonally with a leftward bevel—in each case, the crucial cardiac portion lies concealed beneath their opponent’s resplendent sleeveless surcoat.” “And that—the heart absent from the image—is it not positioned as an emblem at the upper right margin?” “If this holds true—though it may be my overactive imagination—how could one overlook that ghastly light gleaming within? Ah, the heart resides on the right.” “Therefore, if we interpret ‘King of Hearts’ precisely as your heart articulated it—that is, if we posit Dr. Sakutetsu as an anatomical anomaly with dextrocardia—then perhaps this very interpretation may become the dawn that sweeps away all these utterly fragmented irrationalities in one stroke.”

This astonishing deduction—following the unearthing of Oshikane Tsutako—was indeed the second grand theatrical act in this case. Captivated by that superhuman logic, both Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro wore numb expressions, unable to even muster a word. Of course, there was one concern there. However, Housui proceeded to present examples, imbuing them with an eerie vitality. “Now, if that were indeed fact, we could no longer remain composed.” “Because at that time, Dr. Sakutetsu had pierced through the left ventricle of his left chest—a portion nearly at its very edge—yet the circumstances of his suicide were so conspicuously evident that it never came to demanding an autopsy of the corpse.” “Then, the first question is whether piercing through the lower lobe of the left lung would truly be sufficient to cause instant death—that is the issue.” “As evidence, even during the South Asian War when surgical techniques were relatively rudimentary, in cases where the evacuation distance was short, almost all of them recovered completely.” “Ah yes, that South Asian War...” Housui gritted the end of his tobacco between his teeth, his voice lowering as his face assumed a hue closer to dread. “By the way, there exists a report compiled by Meykins titled *Compendium of Military Medicine from the South Asian War*, within which is listed a miracle closely resembling Sakutetsu’s case.” “It states that a dragoon corporal who had been stabbed in the upper right chest with a saber during combat was revived in his coffin sixty hours later.” However, Meykins, the renowned surgeon and editor, provided the following perspective on it. “The cause of death was likely due to the compression of the superior vena cava by the back of the saber, which temporarily constricted the vessel and severely reduced the blood flow to the heart.” “However, those engorged and swollen blood vessels likely suffered a kind of physical effect because whenever the corpse’s position changed, the hemothorax blood would flow.” In other words, it is thought that this effect was a certain kind of friction-like action that often revives the heart of a corpse. For the heart is fundamentally a physical organ, and as Professor Brown-Séquard asserted, even during apparent death, subtle pulsations—undetectable through auscultation or palpation—must have continued uninterrupted (Professor Brown-Séquard of the University of Paris and Lecturer Cio reported dozens of cases where they listened to human hearts that still maintained their pulsations. That is to say, it proves that the heart still possesses sufficient strength—or in other words, it does not prove the complete cessation of cardiac motion. “(Of course, those pulsations cannot be heard externally)—thus Meykins has made this inference.” “If that’s the case, Ms. Kuga, what on earth am I to do with this paranoia?”

From Sakutetsu’s anomalously positioned heart, Housui heightened a concern far more scientifically grounded than fanciful notions of resurrected corpses. Yet in that moment, as Chinako waged her anguished internal battle, a desperate resolve flashed through her. She—steadfastly committed to truth—had overcome all terror and anxiety.

“Ah, I will tell you everything. Indeed, Dr. Sakutetsu was an individual of anomalous constitution who possessed his heart on the right side. However, more than anything, I find it suspicious that Dr. Sakutetsu would have had the will to pierce his right lung when committing suicide. Therefore, as a test, I administered an ammonia injection into the subcutaneous layer of the corpse. However, upon doing so, a distinct redness characteristic of living tissue welled up, did it not? And what a terrifying thing it was. That thread had been severed by the morning after the burial. However, I ultimately did not have the courage to visit Dr. Sakutetsu’s tomb.”

“That thread you mentioned—” Prosecutor Hasekura sharply pressed.

“It is as follows.” Chinako promptly continued. “In truth, Dr. Sakutetsu was someone who harbored an intense dread of premature burial—so much so that even during the mansion’s initial construction, he had a large-scale underground tomb built.” “And within it, he had secretly installed an anti-premature burial device resembling the Kornitse Karnitsky style—that of an attendant to Russian Emperor Alexander III.” “Therefore, on the night of the burial ceremony, I did not sleep a wink and waited in vain for that electrical bell to ring.” “However, since nothing occurred that night, I waited until dawn broke after the heavy rain and went to inspect the underground tomb in the rear garden as a precaution.” “The reason is that within the thicket of horse chestnut trees surrounding it, there lies concealed a switch to activate the electrical bell.” “And what do you suppose I found?” “Caught between that switch was a mountain tit chick, and the string to pull the handle had been severed.” “Ah, that string was undoubtedly pulled from within the underground coffin.” “Moreover, both the coffin itself and the lid of the above-ground burial compartment can be easily opened from within.”

“I see—so when viewed that way,” Housui swallowed his saliva and adopted a tone tinged with visible perturbation. “Who precisely comprises those privy to this fact?” "In other words, who possesses knowledge of Sakutetsu’s cardiac positioning and the anti-premature burial device’s location?" “In that event, I can unequivocally declare it to be solely myself and Dr. Oshikane.” "Therefore, what Ms. Nobuko referenced—this ‘King of Hearts’ business—must assuredly constitute nothing beyond fortuitous coincidence."

When she finished speaking, Chinako’s face abruptly took on a look of terror—as though dreading Sakutetsu’s retribution. Then, with a demeanor utterly transformed from when she had entered, she demanded personal protection from Kumashiro and exited the room.

The night of heavy rain—it would erase all traces that had strayed from the tomb. And if Sakutetsu were indeed alive, he could bring all these bizarre inversions—which had plunged the case into obscurity—directly into the realm of empirical reality. Kumashiro let out a rough, exhilarated shout.

“I’ll try everything I can do—no matter what.” “Come on, Mr. Housui! Whether there’s a warrant or not, we’re excavating Sakutetsu’s tomb this time.” Housui responded with a troubled look, his words halting as if uncertain how to proceed. “No—it’s still far too early to question the investigation’s legitimacy.”

“Come on, think about it.” “Just now, Chinako said the only ones who know about it are herself and Dr. Oshikane, didn’t she?” “If that’s true, how could Levèz—who shouldn’t have known—aim the rainbow at someone other than Sakutetsu and achieve such a spectacular effect?”

“A rainbow?!” Prosecutor Hasekura muttered irritably. “Now Mr. Housui—you who discovered Sakutetsu’s cardiac anomaly—I’d rank you alongside Adams and Le Verrier.” “Come now, isn’t that so?” “In this affair, Sakutetsu plays Neptune, you see.” “After all, that planet first scattered celestial irregularities before being discovered—precisely our situation here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would that rainbow be something so lacking in plausibility? Is it coincidence… or Levèz’s grandiose delusion?” “To rephrase—it’s that man’s noble spirit of classical philology.” As always, Housui employed words of utmost eccentricity. “By the way, Prosecutor Hasekura, Levèz’s footprints remained on the Astonishment Fountain’s stepping stones, did they not? First, we must interpret that pattern as verse.” “Initially, among the four stones, he stepped on the one aligned with the main building. Then he moved to the opposite one, concluding with left and right placements.” “Yet the profound meaning within that cycle lay in the fifth step we had overlooked.” “That was the first stone along the main building—meaning Levèz completed a circuit and returned to his starting point, effectively stepping twice on the initial stone.”

“But in the end, what phenomenon did that cause?” "In other words, it compelled us to recognize Nobuko’s alibi—or phenomenologically speaking, it induced convection in the mist droplets that had risen skyward." "For when considering the sequence from one to four, the right side of the last-ascended droplet would be highest, with those following descending in order to nearly form a question mark shape." "Then, when the fifth droplet rose, stirred by that motion, the four droplets that had been about to fall ascended once more while maintaining their configuration." “Thus, a convective relationship necessarily arose between them and the final droplet.” "That—within air so still it scarcely quivered—set the fifth droplet drifting languidly onward." “To put it precisely, those numbered one through four served to channel the final ascended mist toward a specific point—they were essential for determining its singular direction.”

“I see—so that’s the mist that generated the rainbow?” Prosecutor Hasekura nodded while biting his nails. “Indeed, through that single fact alone, Nobuko’s alibi will be corroborated. That woman saw an unusual gas entering through the window—because she said so.” “However, Prosecutor Hasekura, that location isn’t where the window was open,” Housui countered. “You’re aware the lattice remained horizontal with the armored door half-open at the time, aren’t you? In other words, the fountain’s mist entered through the lattice gaps.” He meticulously restated this before identifying the rainbow’s sole victim. “Otherwise, such vividly colored hues could never have appeared. It originated not from airborne mist, but from dewdrops accumulated on the lattice. The crux lay in what formed the seven colors’ backdrop—...but the decisive factor was the viewing angle. To rephrase, it corresponds to where the fire crossbow fell—the culprit’s position at the time. Moreover, that one-eyed leading actress...”

“What the—Oshikane Tsutako?!” Inspector Kumashiro shouted, losing his composure. “They say there’s a golden jar at both feet of a rainbow,” Housui began. “That particular rainbow could likely be captured.” “Because generally, Inspector Kumashiro, the red color in a rainbow first appears at an angular radius of approximately forty-two degrees.” “Naturally, that position corresponds precisely to where the fire crossbow had fallen.” “Furthermore, if we consider that crimson hue symmetrical to Madame Krivov’s red hair, one could imagine an intense glare capable of disrupting all standards of perception.” “However,” Housui paused, then continued as a triumphant smirk blossomed across his face, “a rainbow observed at close range splits into two bands, its colors growing pale and feeble.” “But Inspector Kumashiro—for Oshikane Tsutako alone, this axiom crumbles.” “The reason being that monocular vision perceives only a single rainbow.” “Moreover, the violent contrast between light and dark renders colors so vivid that distinguishing them from adjacent objects of matching hue becomes utterly impossible.” “Ah—those migratory birds first manifested as Levèz’s love letter soaring through the window.” “And when we consider how this phenomenon—which fortuitously enveloped Madame Krivov’s scarlet-haired neck—contained precisely the flaw required to miss its mark, we find no candidate but Tsutako.”

“I see.” “However, you just now referred to the rainbow as Levèz’s love letter, didn’t you?” Prosecutor Hasekura listened intently and asked with an expression as if doubting his own ears, to which Housui responded with an air of lamentation, expounding his characteristic psychological analysis. “Ah, Prosecutor Hasekura, you know only the dark aspect of this case.” “Because you forgot that Nobuko appeared at the windowsill just before that red-haired Krivov was suspended midair.” “Therefore, after Levèz saw that and believed Nobuko was in the armory, he then composed his ideal rose by the fountain.” “By the way, do you know the final verses of *The Song of Solomon*?” “‘O my beloved, I beseech you, make haste.’” “‘Hanging over fragrant mountains, be thou like a deer, like a young deer—’” “It contains within its heartfelt love a profound longing for God—truly the greatest love literature in the world—and within it, it sings of the lover’s heart by likening it to a rainbow.” “Those seven colors—according to Baudelaire, they become a tropical, feverish beauty; and when Child composes of them, from there arises the solemn soul’s fervent yearning of Old Church doctrine.” “Moreover, modern psychological analysts have likened that parabola to the psychology of sliding down a slope on a toboggan.” “And they make the rainbow a representation of love psychology.” “Hey, Prosecutor Hasekura, aren’t those seven colors like an exquisite painter’s palette?” “Moreover, they also correspond to each and every one of the piano keys.” “And the parabola of the rainbow is its theory of color, its theory of melody, and its counterpoint as well.” “Because as the rainbow moves, the colors entering one’s field of vision change with a difference of two degrees in angular radius each time.” “In other words, Levèz sent Nobuko a poetic love letter likened to a rainbow.”

According to this account, Housui had initially seemed to interpret Levèz’s creation of the rainbow as a chivalrous act meant to protect another party. Yet as he probed deeper and ultimately reduced it to romantic psychology, he found himself forced to attribute the culprit’s failure to strike Madame Krivov to mere accident rather than intent. To Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro—for whom none of this bore empirical verification—it felt less like cautious doubt than visceral frustration: why fixate on such fanciful notions as rainbows instead of exhuming Sakutetsu’s grave? This urgency gnawed at them above all else. They could never have fathomed that Levèz’s amorous psychology would later catalyze the case’s final tragedy; nor did they detect the weightier implication veiled within Housui’s accusation of Oshikane Tsutako—that another profound suggestive concept lay concealed beneath. Thus did the investigation—once deemed hopeless—writhe through fresh convolutions during their brief interrogation. At five thirty, they turned their focus behind the Grand Staircase—the locus where all phenomenological hopes now converged.

II. Behind the Grand Staircase…

The answer Housui derived from the Zodiac—behind the Grand Staircase, there were two small chambers that matched that location. One was the chamber where the Thérèse doll was kept, and the other was adjacent to it—an empty room devoid of even a single piece of furniture. Housui first chose the latter and placed his hand on the handle, but as there was no lock engaged, it opened soundlessly. Since there were no windows by design, the interior was pitch-black darkness. And the sooty, chilly air brushed against them. However, as Kumashiro, who had taken the lead, walked along the wall while holding up his flashlight, Prosecutor Hasekura behind him suddenly came to a halt—as if hearing something. He held his breath with bated intensity and began to listen intently, but soon whispered to Housui in a voice tinged with a faint tremor.

“Mr. Housui, can’t you hear that? From the room next door, I can hear a jingling sound. Focus your ears intently. There, do you hear it? Ah, that’s definitely the Thérèse doll walking…” Indeed, just as Prosecutor Hasekura had said, amidst Inspector Kumashiro’s heavy footsteps, a faint, trembling jingle-jangle could be heard. The movement of the inanimate doll—truly, it was a horror that froze one to the very depths of the soul. However, naturally, if that were the case, they had no choice but to imagine something—or someone—lurking beside the doll. There, the three of them were swept up to a pinnacle of excitement they had never before experienced. It was no longer time to hesitate—when Inspector Kumashiro pulled the handle with the ferocity of a tempest, nearly tearing it off, Housui suddenly burst into raucous laughter.

“Hahaha! Prosecutor Hasekura, the Neptune you spoke of is actually within this wall.” “Because that celestial body was never a known quantity from the very beginning.” “Recall, if you will—what intricate engravings were inscribed upon the door of the doll clock in the Ancient Clock Room?” “The ladder-shaped koto that Chijiwa Kiyozaemon is said to have received from Philip II four hundred years ago—after that, no one knew its whereabouts.” “That sound was likely the severed strings quivering and resonating from the vibrations—.” “At first, the heavy doll walked along the wall of the adjacent room.” “And next is you, Inspector Kumashiro.” “In other words, the answer to ‘behind the grand staircase’ is this wall bordering the adjacent room.”

However, no matter where they searched across that wall surface, there was no trace of a hidden door being installed. Thus, they reluctantly decided to destroy part of it. Inspector Kumashiro first confirmed the acoustics, then swung his hatchet at a likely section and struck the wooden panel. Indeed, from there arose a cacophony resembling countless resonating strings. As wood fragments scattered and he pulled one piece away with the hatchet, icy air began flowing out from behind the panel—there lay a hollow space sandwiched between two wall surfaces. At that moment, it felt as though a demon’s secret passage might be seized from the darkness, and the three men’s synchronized gulps seemed audible. With each strike came the ladder-shaped koto’s strings wailing like a maddened bird—this cacophony arose because Inspector Kumashiro had begun destroying the surrounding panels. When he finally emerged from that section covered in dust, he let out a deep sigh amidst labored breathing and handed Housui a book. Then he spoke in a listless, feeble voice.

"There's nothing here—no hidden doors, no secret staircases, no trapdoors." "This single book was all we managed to obtain." "Oh, to think something like this is the answer to the Zodiac secret cipher method..." Housui too found it difficult to recover immediately from this shock. Clearly this meant a doubly weighted disappointment. Now as for why—since Digsby had been the architect—they had first utterly failed to discover the secret passageway that had seemed almost beyond doubt; this went without saying. Yet simultaneously, they ascertained the location of the tremolo that had tenuously sustained Madame Dannenberg's initial written hypothesis about the doll's culpability. Therefore, they now had no choice but to acknowledge the imposing specter of that Provincyan here. However, when Housui returned to the previous room and opened the book, he stiffened as if shuddering. Yet his eyes revealed vivid astonishment.

“Ah, isn’t this astonishing? This is Holbein’s *The Dance of Death*. And what’s more—it’s the 1538 Lyon first edition, now practically a rarity.”

Within it, as if prophesying the macabre dance of death that had unfolded at Kuroshikikan forty years later, Digsby’s final will now lay revealed with crystalline clarity. When they opened the tea-colored calfskin-bound cover, Holbein’s dedicatory epistle to Madame Jeanne de Tousael was inscribed on its verso, while the subsequent leaf bore documentation certifying Lützelburger’s transference of Holbein’s preliminary sketches to woodblocks during their 1530 production in Basel. Yet as Housui turned page after page through these prints teeming with reapers and cadavers, his gaze abruptly froze upon one particular detail. The left folio depicted a skeletal warrior brandishing an oversized spear to skewer a knight’s torso like a potato on a spit, while the right swarmed with multitudes of skeletons—some blaring elongated trumpets and hunting horns, others pounding cylindrical drums—all lost in victorious revelry. There in the upper margin they discovered an English inscription. From ink chromaticity to calligraphic idiosyncrasies, every aspect matched Digsby’s handwriting—a specimen they were encountering for the very first time.

“Quean locked in Kains. Jew yawning in knot. Knellkaragoz!Jainists underliebelow inferno.” ――(Translated text). The wanton girl is imprisoned among Cain’s kin, and the Jew mocks amidst conundrums. Awaken the puppet (Karagios—a Turkish marionette) with the death knell, and let the Jainists (a sister religion sharing many commonalities with Buddhism) lie prostrate in the depths of hell. (The above is an interpretive decipherment.)

And then, the following sentence continued. It was something that, both in its literal meaning and in its essence, seemed to shower sarcastic mockery upon Genesis. ――(Translated text). Jehovah God was hermaphroditic. In the beginning, He Himself labored and brought forth twin children. The first to emerge from the womb was a female, whom He named Eve; the next was a male, whom He named Adam. Yet when Adam faced the sun, though the upper half above his navel cast a shadow behind him in accordance with the sun, the lower half below his navel defied it, casting a shadow before him. God, beholding this marvel with great astonishment and awed by Adam, took him as His own child; yet Eve, being no different from ordinary folk, He made a handmaid. And when He consorted with Eve, she conceived and bore a daughter, then died. God caused that daughter to descend to earth and become the mother of mankind.

Housui had merely glanced through it, but Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro remained skeptical, staring at it intently for several minutes. However, though they had dismissively tossed it onto the desk with an air of disinterest, the fact remained that Digsby's accursed will contained within those lines exuded an overwhelming, almost palpable force. “It is indeed clearly Digsby’s confession—but could there exist such terrifying venomous intent?” Prosecutor Hasekura looked at Housui, his voice trembling involuntarily. “Certainly, when the text refers to a ‘wanton girl,’ it must be pointing to Thérèse.” “Thus, the outcome of this love triangle between Thérèse, Sakutetsu, and Digsby—imprisoned among Cain’s kin—becomes glaringly clear with this single phrase.” “And so, Digsby first presented a conundrum to this mansion, and now, within that tangled knot of complexities, he is laughing mockingly,” said Prosecutor Hasekura nervously intertwining his fingers and looking up at the ceiling. “Ah, next comes ‘Awaken the puppet with the death knell’—wouldn’t you say?” “Mr. Housui, that enigmatic man Digsby even foresaw the spectacle of these Orientals tumbling down into hell one after another.” “In other words, the root cause of this case lies forty years in the past.” “Already at that time, that man had assigned roles in the incident down to the most minor extras.”

That Digsby's will constituted a terrifying curse was evident from his mere use of Holbein's *The Dance of Death* in recording it; yet what was perceived as even more dreadful was the fact that he had obsessively prepared multiple layers of secret cipher methods. If one were to speculate on this, it would seem that he had likely left behind an astonishing plan somewhere, concealing the calamity it would brew beneath layers of inscrutably complex cipher methods, all while secretly sneering from the sidelines at the spectacle of people struggling in vain to unravel it. In other words, might the depth of the secret cipher method be directly proportional to the development of this case— However, Housui had pointed out elements in the text that even Digsby should not have overlooked—ignoring rudimentary grammar and omitting articles—but when he reached the next passage resembling Genesis, not only were the two texts interconnected, everything took on an appearance as if shrouded in mist.

Then, in order to request Dr. Oshikane to unseal the will, Housui and the others proceeded to the hall downstairs.

In the hall, Dr. Oshikane and Hatatarou had been sitting facing each other, but upon seeing the group, they stood up to greet them. Dr. Oshikane Doukichi—a medical scholar and gentleman in his fifties—had thin salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back, an oval countenance harmonizing with it, and facial features each proportioned with sculpted precision. He lacked the starry-eyed idealism typical of humanitarians yet exuded an air of expansive receptivity. When Dr. Oshikane saw Housui, he bowed with courtly deference and reiterated his gratitude for rescuing his wife from death’s spectral chains. Yet once all were seated, it was the doctor who first spoke in tones of detached indifference.

“What on earth has happened?” “Mr. Housui.” “Won’t everyone soon be reduced to their constituent elements?” “Who on earth is the culprit?” “My wife states that she did not see that vision.” “Indeed, it is a most mysterious case,” Housui replied, drawing in his outstretched leg and resting one elbow on the table. “Therefore, even if fingerprints were obtained or the thread severed, it would prove utterly futile.” “In short, without elucidating that profoundly deep grand perspective, resolving this case remains impossible.” “This is the hour when forensic examiners must become visionaries.”

“Well, I’ve never been adept at such philosophical debates,” he said warily, blinking at Housui. “However, you just now mentioned a ‘thread’.” “Hahaha, does that have some connection to a warrant?” “Mr. Housui, I would prefer to remain as I am and intently observe the power of the law from the sidelines,” he said, already expressing his apparent disagreement with unsealing the will.

“That goes without saying.” “I don’t have any search warrants or such with me.” “But if this could be settled with one resignation alone, we might just break the law,” Inspector Kumashiro declared with venomous intensity, drilling Dr. Oshikane with a gaze that radiated unnatural resolve. In the suddenly murder-charged air, Housui spoke calmly. “Precisely—it all hinges on one damned thread.” “In other words, the crux lies in the night of Dr. Sakutetsu’s burial.” “You did stay at this mansion that night, did you not?” “Yet had that thread not snapped then—had it held—today’s incident would never have occurred.” “Ah, that will...” “Then it might have become the spiritual legacy of Sakutetsu’s entire lifetime.”

Dr. Oshikane’s face turned ashen and rapidly paled, but Hatatarou, unaware of the thread’s truth, forced an unnatural smile and murmured.

“Ah, I thought you were talking about the crossbow string.” However, Dr. Oshikane stared unblinkingly at Housui’s face and demanded confrontationally. “I cannot clearly grasp the meaning of your words—but what exactly are you asserting about the will’s contents?” “I now believe it to be blank,” Housui declared abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he voiced this utterly unexpected claim. “To elaborate further—the contents were altered to become blank at a certain juncture.”

“Nonsense! What are you saying?” Dr. Oshikane’s look of astonishment instantly transformed into hatred. And as he stared intently at this opponent who so shamelessly deployed such transparent tricks, something seemed to flash through his mind; he calmly set down his tobacco and said.

“Then allow me to recount the circumstances when the will was created, so that I may rid you of such delusions. ...That day was indeed March 12th of last year, I believe. Suddenly summoned by the late master, I wondered what urgent matter required attention—only to be told he had spontaneously decided to create his will there that very day.” “Then, entering the study with just the two of us—the late master and myself—I watched from a separated chair across as he busily drafted the document.” “It was about two sheets of octavo-sized stationery. When he finished writing, he sprinkled gold powder over it and then pressed a rotating seal.” “You are likely aware that that gentleman handled everything in an antiquated manner—that is to say, his penchant for revivalism.” “Once that was completed, those two sheets were stored in a drawer of the safe; strict guards were posted inside and outside the room that night; and it was decided to make the announcement the following day.” “However, when the next morning came, in front of the assembled family, the late master—for reasons unknown—suddenly tore one of those sheets to pieces.” “Then he set fire to those tattered shreds, crushed the ashes into dust, and finally flung them out the window into the rain.” “Even observing such meticulously thorough actions that seemed to fear being reenacted, there can be no doubt that the contents were an extraordinarily intense secret.” “Then, he strictly sealed the remaining sheet, stored it in the safe, and instructed me to open it one year after his death.” “Therefore, that safe has not yet reached the time to be opened.” “Mr. Housui, I simply cannot bring myself to deceive the deceased’s will.” “However, in the end, what we call the law is nothing more than a senile gust.” “No matter how secretively splendid the beauty may be, that uncouth wind will never show mercy.” “Very well, I shall remain a bystander as you all will do for as long as necessary,” declared the doctor triumphantly, but the anxiety that had been flickering across his face since earlier suddenly spread across his entire visage,

"But I cannot let that one word you spoke pass unheeded." “Very well—on the night of its creation, it was guarded under strict surveillance. The late master stored the remaining burnt sheet in the safe—both the matching cipher and key—” He thrust the codebook and key from his coat pocket. With rough hands, he clattered them onto the table. “How about it, Mr. Housui? Neither cleverness nor caprice will open that door.” “Or perhaps thermite?” “But in any case—for you to make such outlandish claims—you must have substantial grounds.”

Housui blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling and said with a whistling tone: “No, this is truly peculiar. “Today I find myself profoundly fated to threads and strings. “To put it plainly—I believe the will’s contents were lost precisely because that thread didn’t snap when it should have.” Though the true intent behind Housui’s words remained nebulous, Dr.Oshikane’s entire body convulsed as if electrified upon hearing them—utterly overwhelmed by some unspoken implication. His face drained of color and stiffened; after sinking into prolonged silence, he finally rose with tragic resolve etched across his features.

“Very well.” “To dispel your misconception, I have no choice.” “I shall break my promise with the late master and open the will here today.”

From then until the two returned, not a single person uttered a sound. In each mind, myriad thoughts swirled like a vortex. Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro awaited the case's unfolding, while Hatatarou seemed poised to seize upon something in that unsealing that might overturn his disadvantage at a stroke. Before long, the two figures reappeared, and Housui clutched a single large envelope. Yet when he cut the seal under their collective gaze and glimpsed its contents, an expression of excruciating disappointment surfaced on his face. Ah—here too, another hope crumbled away.

Contained within were nothing but several utterly unremarkable clauses written as follows. I. The estate shall be equally distributed among Furuya Hatatarou along with Gretä Dannenberg and two other individuals.

II. Furthermore, as a perpetual edict of this mansion—those who have ventured outside the estate grounds, engaged in romantic affairs or marriage, or disclosed the contents of this document shall immediately be stripped of their rights. However, the forfeited portion shall be divided proportionally and distributed equally among the others.

The above had been conveyed orally to each individual. Though Hatatarou too showed signs of similar disappointment, being young after all, he immediately spread both arms wide, his face alight with joy. "This is it, Mr. Housui! At last, with this, I can finally be free." "To tell the truth, I thought about digging a hole in some corner and shouting into it." "But when you think about it, if I were to do such a thing, how could that terrifying Mephisto ever show mercy?"

Thus, Dr. Oshikane had finally won the wager against Housui. However, Housui's true intention in claiming the contents were blank was apparently nothing of the sort. Undoubtedly, that single remark had served useful in suppressing Dr. Oshikane's inscrutable scheme, but deep within, he must have been gasping for the unknown half-leaf of the apocalyptic diagram. And he must have had to bring this scrutinized scene to a close in vain.

However, strangely enough, from the doctor who should have been triumphant, that nervousness still had not departed; he spoke in an oddly timid, unnatural voice. “With this, my responsibility has finally come to an end.” “However, whether the lid is opened or not, the conclusion is already clear.” “In short, the problem lies in the increase of the equal distribution rate.”

Thereupon, Housui and the others decided to leave the hall. He repeatedly apologized to the doctor for the various troubles he had caused and left the room, but then—as he passed through the upper floor—for some reason, he alone entered Nobuko’s room.

Nobuko’s room displayed a taste somewhat inclined toward the Pompadour style, with pink panels bordered by golden grapevine patterns, giving it a bright study layout. On the left was a narrow passage leading to the elongated study, while on the right, bellflower-colored drapery concealed the bedroom behind it. When Nobuko saw Housui, she calmly offered him a chair as if she had been expecting him.

“I had thought it was about time you would arrive,” she said with composed expectation. “I’m sure this time you must want to ask about Madame Dannenberg.” “No, not at all—the problem lies neither in that corpse light nor the heraldic wounds,” Housui countered, first establishing a premise to put her at ease. “Of course, since there is no effective antidote for cyanide, even if you had drunk the same lemonade as Madame Dannenberg, it would hardly serve as a valid example.” He leaned forward slightly. “Now, I hear that on that night, just before the Divine Judgment Council, you had an argument with Madame Dannenberg.”

“Yes, I certainly did.” “But if there are doubts about that, if anything, I’m the one who has them.” “I simply cannot fathom why she became so angry.” “The truth is, it was like this,” Nobuko answered without hesitation, showing no sign of scrutinizing her interlocutor. “It was about an hour after dinner, when I tried to take out Kaiserlsberg’s *The Chronicle of Saint Ursula*—which needed to be returned to the library—from the bookshelf.” “Suddenly stumbling, I struck the book I was holding against a large Qianlong glass vase in the corner and knocked it over.” “But then, what happened next was strange, you see.” “It made a terrible noise, but it wasn’t something worth being scolded over.” “Even so, Madame Dannenberg came immediately… you see.” “I still feel as though I cannot clearly comprehend everything.”

“No, Madame probably wasn’t scolding you.” “She laughs in anger and laments—yet the target of these emotions is not the other person but the sensations she herself has received, turning her inquiry inward.” “In such a manner—a state where consciousness seems abnormally fragmented—that sort of condition occasionally manifests in certain types of deviants, you see.” Housui stared fixedly at Nobuko’s face, as if awaiting her affirmation.

“However, the fact is absolutely…” Nobuko firmly denied with a serious demeanor, “Madame Dannenberg at that time was nothing but a monster of prejudice and madness. Moreover, that woman with her nun-like disposition—her voice trembling and body writhing—went on to berate me cruelly. ‘A saddler’s daughter…… A lowborn,’ she said. Then to call me a nursemaid at Ryūmigawa Academy… that I could endure, but she even denounced me as a parasite.” Her voice quivered. “No… do you know how it pains me? Even with Dr. Sakutetsu’s benevolent regard during his lifetime—to stay as a burden in this mansion where I serve no purpose…” Her maidenly sorrow flared into anger before subsiding, tear-stained cheeks regaining composure. “Thus you must fully grasp why I still cannot fathom any of this. She never once mentioned the noise from my clumsiness.”

“I truly sympathize with your situation,” Housui said in a consoling voice, though inwardly he seemed to be anticipating something. “By the way, did you happen to see Madame Dannenberg open this door? Where exactly were you at that time?” “Oh! That’s unlike you.” “My, you sound just like one of those pre-psychological school detectives from the old days,” Nobuko replied with an astonished expression at Housui’s question. “However, I’m afraid I was away from the room at that time. Because the doorbell was broken, I had gone to the servants’ room to ask them to clean up the vase. However, when I returned, Madame Dannenberg was there in the bedroom, wasn’t she?”

“Then, does that mean you didn’t realize she had been behind the curtain all along?”

“No, I believe she probably entered the bedroom to look for me. As evidence, when I glimpsed her figure through the curtain’s gap, she had slightly extended her right shoulder from there and remained standing in that position for some time. Then she pulled a nearby chair closer and sat precisely between the two curtains. Well now, Mr. Housui—not a single element of my testimony touches upon Dr. Sakutetsu or Kuroshikikan’s spiritualism, does it? After all, they do say honesty is the supreme stratagem.”

“Thank you. “I have nothing more to ask you.” “However, allow me to offer one word of caution: Even if the motive for this incident lies in the mansion’s inheritance, I believe you should take full care regarding your own self-defense.” “Above all, I advise you not to approach the family members too frequently—” “I believe you’ll come to understand in time, but for now, that is by far the wisest course of action.” Leaving this meaningful warning behind, Housui departed Nobuko’s room. However, as he was leaving, he cast his gaze—with eyes clouded by an unusual intensity—upon the paneling to the right of the door. For there—though he had noticed this upon entering—protruded a fragment of peeled wood grain about three feet from the door, upon which something resembling a darkened clothing fiber had caught. Now, dear readers, you may recall that there was a single hook-shaped tear on the right shoulder of Dannenberg’s garment—yet within this detail lurked an enigma not easily unraveled. For if someone had entered in any of the various postures one might normally assume, they would not have naturally moved three feet sideways to touch that wood fragment with their right shoulder.

Then Housui walked alone down the dark and quiet corridor. Midway, he stopped, opened the window, and exhaled deeply into the open air. It was an act of profound contemplation. The moon seemed suspended somewhere in the sky, its faint light cascading over the observation tower, castle walls, and broadleaf trees that appeared to densely shroud them—the entire vista before him stagnating in a bluish haze as though submerged beneath the ocean floor. The night wind swept across this grand panorama, spreading it southward like waves. Then something abruptly flashed through Housui’s mind, and that notion gradually expanded. Yet he remained rooted in place and, as if fearing even the brush of a breath against him, began listening intently. After roughly ten minutes had passed, the clattering sound of approaching footsteps echoed from somewhere. As they gradually receded into the distance, Housui’s body finally stirred into motion, and he entered Nobuko’s room a second time. After what seemed two or three minutes there, he reappeared in the corridor and now stood before Levèz’s room on the opposite side. Yet when Housui pulled the door handle, he knew his conjecture had struck true. For in that instant, Levèz’s gaze—that of a melancholic misanthrope—assailed him: an aberrant passion clouded it, and like a wild beast exhaling ragged breaths, it advanced with violent intensity.

Part Seven: Housui Has Finally Strayed⁉

I. The Hand of Saint Xavier...

It was when Housui deliberately muffled the sound and opened the door. At that moment, Levèz sat on the chaise longue beside the fireplace, his face buried between his knees, both fists pressed fiercely against his temples. Beneath long silver hair parted in Groman style lay two eyes burning with savage light, fixedly staring at crimson embers. The Levèz who typically resembled a melancholic misanthrope now found his entire being engulfed by unprecedented passion. He ceaselessly clawed at his temple hair while heaving ragged breaths, each movement making deeply etched wrinkles twitch and writhe across his face. That goblin-like ugliness—beneath such a skull, no trace of calm or harmony could possibly dwell. Undoubtedly, some single mad obsession inhabited Levèz's psyche. And this madness appeared to drive the middle-aged gentleman into panting frenzy like a beast.

However, when he saw Housui, the shadow of anguish vanished from his eyes, and Levèz rose dazedly like a mountain. The transformation was so vivid that one might have thought a separate Levèz had emerged—as if another entity had manifested. Moreover, his demeanor showed neither surprise nor disgust, retaining its usual pale, mist-like haze—yet on the side of his face that remained unseen, there seemed to lurk a cunning one-eyed gaze… This was the same vague, unsettling eeriness he always exuded, and within it lay no sternness that might rebuke Housui’s intrusion. Truly, Levèz’s bizarre character could be described as nothing short of a literal monster.

The room featured chamfered construction blending thunder-patterned reliefs with mosque-inspired motifs, where three aligned angular ridges formed parallel folds stretching from walls to ceiling. From the center of this ceiling—where numerous folds interwove into a lattice pattern—hung an antique thirteen-candle decorative lamp. An unnervingly spectral yellowish light poured down from it onto the floor furnishings. After formally apologizing for not having knocked, Housui seated himself on the sofa facing Levèz. Then Levèz initiated first, clearing his throat with a calculated cough before speaking.

“By the way, I hear you’ve opened the will earlier.” “So you came to this room intending to explain its contents to me.” “Hahahaha! But Mr. Housui—that was supposed to be a foolish game! Or rather, I’ll tell you about it now.” “To tell the truth, unsealing it constitutes executing the will.” “In short, that document merely signals a deadline’s arrival—and its contents must be implemented immediately!”

“I see…” “Indeed, given the current state, there would be no room for even illusions to arise—let alone prejudice.” “But Mr. Levèz, I have at last plumbed the abyssal depths of motive beyond that will,” Housui declared, directing his words toward the man while concealing a piercing sharpness within his smile. “Now regarding this matter, I find myself in absolute need of your assistance.” “To speak truthfully, I heard an uncanny nursery rhyme resonating from those profound depths.” “Ah, that nursery rhyme—it was no mere auditory phantom of mine.” “Of course, the phenomenon itself defies all logic and cannot be quantified in isolation.” “Yet as I pursued its shadowed projection through observation, I happened upon a constant within it.” “In short, Mr. Levèz—I wish for you to determine its value…”

“What—an *eerie nursery rhyme*⁉” Levèz momentarily startled, jerking his gaze up from the fireplace embers to Housui’s face. “Ah, I see now, Mr. Housui. Let us at least dispense with this transparent charade. Why must someone as ferociously unmatched as you—like a Kexholm grenadier—resort to… To resort to such a wretched pastoral ditty… Hahahaha, oh peerless one! I earnestly hope you maintain your majestic demeanor!” Seeing through Housui’s scheme, Levèz unleashed scathing sarcasm. And he had already erected a wall of vigilance. Yet Housui, with an impassive facade that did not so much as flicker, grew increasingly composed.

“I see—my deduction may have been somewhat too expressive.” “However, you may laugh at my lack of erudition for saying this, but the truth is, I have yet to even read *Discorsi* (Machiavelli’s *History of Conspiracies*, written by the Florentine diplomat in the first half of the sixteenth century). Thus, as you can see, I am an open book—of course, there are neither traps nor schemes.” “No—rather, at this juncture, I shall discuss the case’s outcome and share even the unknown details with you.” “And then, upon that foundation, I suppose I shall seek your further agreement,” Housui said, shifting his elbows on his knees while keeping his gaze fixed on the other man, leaning his upper body forward.

“What this signifies is three undercurrents flowing through this case’s motives.” “What’s that—three undercurrents in the motives…?” “No—there should assuredly be but one.” “Mr. Housui—have you forgotten Tsutako? The one omitted from the inheritance distribution?” “Let us set that aside for now and have you listen first,” Housui interposed, cutting off Levèz as he raised Digsby’s name. “Beginning with deciphering the Zodiac cipher, I first expounded upon Holbein’s *Dance of Death* and the curse inscribed within it—then concluded, ‘This matter originates from a clandestine affair over forty years past, during Dr. Sakutetsu’s travels abroad.’” “From this, it becomes evident that a maddened love triangle had existed between Sakutetsu, Digsby, and Thérèse.” “And likely due to that outcome, Digsby met defeat precisely because he was a Jew.” “Yet afterward, an unforeseen opportunity came to Digsby—namely, Kuroshikikan’s construction.” “Now tell me, Mr. Levèz—through what means do you suppose Digsby requited his defeat?” “What manifestation took shape from that malice-fueled will steeped in cruelty…” “Thus we arrive inevitably at recollections of those three past mysterious deaths.” “The obscurity surrounding each motive gives rise to profoundly uncanny implications.” “Moreover, five years after construction concluded, Sakutetsu undertook interior renovations.” “Could this not have been a precautionary measure against Digsby’s vengeance?” “But most startling remains how Digsby prophesied today—four decades hence—and chronicled the doll’s emergence within those cryptic writings.” “Ah—does it not strike you that Digsby’s venom still lingers somewhere within Kuroshikikan?” “Furthermore, it undeniably constitutes a metamorphosis surpassing human comprehension.” “No—allow me to speak more plainly.” “We must scrutinize even the purported truth of Digsby’s demise—his alleged plunge to death in Rangoon.’”

“Hmm, Digsby—” “If that person were indeed still alive, they would have turned eighty this year.” “However, Mr. Housui—when you speak of that nursery rhyme business—is that truly all there is to it?” Levèz maintained his derisive attitude without alteration.

However, Housui remained uninvolved and coolly proceeded to the next item.

“Needless to say, it may be that Digsby’s baseless delusions and my own groundless anxieties have coincidentally aligned. However, when we come to the next matter concerning Sakutetsu, what no one would dismiss as mere misconception takes on a truly uncanny vitality. Of course, the measure Sakutetsu adopted regarding the distribution of the inheritance constitutes one clear motive. Moreover, within that framework, the five clan members—from Hatatarou down to Tsutako—are each included for their own respective reasons. However, the other suspicious element lies in none other than the sanction clause within the will—because it appears virtually impossible to implement in practice. Now, Mr. Levèz—suppose we speak of something as abstract as love. How could one possibly prove such a mental construct? Therefore, it seems to me that Sakutetsu’s inscrutable will can be discerned there—in other words, I might say it’s a new suspicion brought about by the unsealing. Moreover, it is not something isolated and separate—there seems to be a tenuous thread of connection… There exists what I call an intrinsic motive—something that appears to traverse between those two points. So, Mr. Levèz, I will speak bluntly. Why do the birthplaces and statuses of you four differ from what is recorded in public documents? For example, take Madame Krivov—on the surface, she is said to be the fifth daughter of a landowner in the Caucasus region. However, is she not in fact Jewish?”

“Hmm—how on earth did you discover that?” Levèz’s eyes involuntarily widened, though his composure returned almost immediately. “Well—that exception likely applies only to Ms. Olga.”

“However, once an unfortunate coincidence has manifested, we must pursue it relentlessly.” “Not only that, but in contrast to that fact, there exist corpse-like diagrams that suggest the clan’s idiosyncratic constitution.” “Furthermore, when linking that to the fact that the four of you were brought to Japan in your childhood, Dr. Sakutetsu’s abnormal intentions become glaringly apparent,” Housui interjected, cutting off his words before taking a deep breath and continuing. “Yet here, Mr. Levèz, lies a fact so extraordinary that even I myself might question whether my mind has become unhinged.” “What I mean is that we have now established a nearly conclusive inference regarding the Sakutetsu survival theory—a notion previously dismissed as mere delusion.”

“Ah! How can you say such a thing?!” In that instant, all sensation vanished from Levèz’s entire body. The shock’s intensity stiffened even his eyelid muscles, and he began shouting incoherently like one struck mute. Afterward, he repeated his questions until finally accepting Housui’s explanation—whereupon his whole frame began trembling like a fever patient’s. Then he became shrouded in such terror and anguish as none had ever witnessed upon him. Soon after—

“Ah, so that’s how it was…” “Once it begins moving, I’ll never try to stop it,” he muttered in a low, growling voice—but then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, Levèz’s eyes blazed with intensity. “How strange—what a startling coincidence!” “Ah, Sakutetsu’s survival—” “Undoubtedly, on the first night of this incident, he must have risen from the underground tomb—” “That’s it, Mr. Housui—the kobold that has yet to appear must hasten—in other words, does it not correspond to the fourth position of that pentagram spell?” “Indeed, it was not visible to our eyes.” “However, that talisman had already manifested before the water spirit—in other words, it had stealthily appeared during the prologue of this horrific tragedy.” His face contorted with something between despair and laughter, an indescribable expression writhing across his features. Housui frankly nodded at Levèz’s intriguing interpretation, but he gradually raised the pitch of his voice.

“However, Mr. Levèz, I have discovered another motive inextricably tied to the will.” “That is one of Sakutetsu’s prohibitions—the psychology of love.” “What... love...?” Though Levèz trembled faintly, he glared resentfully and countered, “No—if it were your usual self, you would have called it romantic desire.” To this, Housui sneered,

“I see…” “But when you phrase it as ‘romantic desire,’ that very term takes on an increasingly criminal significance.” “However, as a premise to that, I must touch upon one thing—the relationship between Sakutetsu’s survival and the kobold.” “Indeed, when it comes to that magical effect, its magnitude must be nothing short of overwhelming.” “However, Mr. Levèz, in the end, I believe it comes down to a matter of proportion.” “You’ve likely interpreted that correspondence as an infinite symbol—believing this incident to be akin to a Valley of Tears where eternal evil spirits dwell.” “But contrary to that, I know that the hand of Gretchen—a benevolent guardian deity—has already been extended to Dr. Faust.” “Now, as to why that is—how many more people do you think remain who have not become victims of that demon?” “Therefore, it stands to reason that a culprit possessing such intellect and insight would naturally sense danger in continuing their crimes here.” “But that’s not all.” “For the culprit, there is no longer any reason to continue increasing the number of corpses.” “In other words, with Madame Krivov’s sniping as the final act, that corpse-collecting compulsion has been completely eradicated.”

“Now then, Mr. Levèz—here, I shall present one of my collected psychological specimens for your perusal.” “In other words, while legal psychologists like Hans Riechel approach the examination of motives projectively—so they say—I remain strictly analytical even when it comes to motives.” And he probed the psychological imprints of all persons involved in the case without exception. “According to this analysis, it can be stated that the culprit’s fundamental purpose was directed solely toward Madame Dannenberg.” “Therefore, the incidents involving Madame Krivov and Ekusuke were attempts to misdirect motives toward inheritance or make them appear as cruel fabrications.” “Of course, Nobuko represents the pinnacle of insidious cruelty—in other words, nothing but that demon’s signature disruptive tactics,” said Housui as he finally took out his tobacco, though he couldn’t conceal the diabolical resonance saturating his voice. Next, he stated an astonishing conclusion. “Therefore, that is the psychology which sent Nobuko the rainbow today—and prior to that, it was your secret romantic relationship with Madame Dannenberg.”

Ah, the relationship between Levèz and Madame Dannenberg—not even a god could have known of it. In that very moment, Levèz turned as pale as a corpse. His throat appeared to convulse spasmodically, his voice seemingly unable to emerge. While twisting the ligaments of his neck like a whipcord, he stared fixedly at some distant point, statue-like. It was an interminable silence. Through the window came the vibrant sound of a fountain’s cascade, its spray glowing faintly white as it bridged the stars. In truth, though he had initially suspected this to be one of Housui’s usual stratagems and remained thoroughly guarded, the detective’s clairvoyance—utterly unforeseen—had ultimately breached that barrier. Thus, the delicate balance between victory and defeat was irrevocably tipped in this single stroke. At length, Levèz weakly raised his face, now suffused with an air of quiet resignation.

“Mr. Housui, I am by nature an unimaginative creature. “However, generally speaking, you seem to harbor an excess of playful impulses.” “Indeed, I will affirm only that I sent the rainbow.” “However, I am absolutely not the culprit.” “The relationship with Madame Dannenberg and such is utterly astonishing slander.” “Ah, please rest assured.” “If this had been two hours ago, that would be one thing—but as of now, even with that prohibition in place, it’s already invalid.” “No one can interfere with your inheritance anymore.” “Rather, the problem lies in that rainbow and window…”

Then, even amid his exhaustion, Levèz wore a sorrowful expression and said.

“Indeed, since Nobuko appeared by the window at that time, I thought she was indeed in the armory and sent the rainbow.” “However, the rainbow in the sky is a parabola; the water of dewdrops is a hyperbola.” “Therefore, as long as the rainbow isn’t elliptical, Nobuko won’t come leaping into my arms.” “However, there is a strange coincidence here.” “To explain—that demon arrow hoisted Madame Krivov up and charged forward, and as for where it then pierced, it was, as expected, that same gate.” “In other words, your rainbow also made its way in through there—it was the lattice of the armored door.” “Now, Mr. Levèz—the principle of karmic retribution isn’t solely confined to human destinies ordained by a god of vengeance,” Housui uttered in an eerily casual tone, creeping closer with menacing intent. At this, Levèz stiffened his entire body and exhaled a feeble sigh. However, he immediately adopted a retaliatory demeanor.

“Ha ha ha ha! Spare me your absurd claims. “Mr. Housui, were it me, I would say that three-pronged arrow was loosed from the rear garden’s vegetable plot. “For ’tis now the very height of turnip season. “The arrowhead a turnip, the shaft a reed—surely you know that rustic rhyme?”

“Indeed, this case follows the same principle. “Turnips represent criminal phenomena; reeds symbolize motives. Mr. Levèz, when it comes to something that combines both elements, there is no one but you.” Suddenly adopting a ferocious tone, Housui’s entire body became shrouded in what resembled raging flames. “Of course, Madame Dannenberg has passed away, and Nobuko has no reason to speak of it. But on the first night of the incident—when Nobuko shattered the vase—you were unquestionably present in that room, were you not?”

Levèz involuntarily stiffened in shock, and the hand gripping the armrest began to tremble eerily.

“So you’re saying that because my seeking love from Nobuko was discovered, I killed Ms. Gretä in order not to lose my share—is that it?” “Nonsense! That’s merely your own selfish preference.” “You have deviated from all reason due to your warped delusions.”

“However, Mr. Levèz, you should be well aware of that solution formula, given how insistently you’ve emphasized it.” “There is a rose there, and no birdsong resounds in that vicinity—in other words, it’s a passage from Lenau’s Autumn’s Heart,” Housui stated in a quiet, refined tone as he expounded his empirical method. “By now, you must have realized I employed poetry as a psychological mirror to reflect those involved in the case.” “And I had strewn a multitude of symbols.” “In other words, I interpreted any signs or correspondences that aligned with them symptomatically and attempted to thereby plumb the depths of the heart.” “Now, regarding that Lenau poem—by using it, I succeeded in a form of mind-reading.” “To explain, it is a psychological term called associative analysis—Münsterberg and other new-school psychologists recommend that it be used even during preliminary judges’ interrogations.” “For here lies the following psychological experiment by Münsterberg...” “First, when someone showed the subject a slip of paper with ‘Tumult’ written on it, and immediately afterward whispered ‘Railroad’ into their ear, the subject reportedly answered ‘Tunnel’ when asked about the characters on that slip.” “In other words, when an organic force from without acts upon our associations, a certain illusion must arise there.” “However, I added my own interpretation to this and attempted to inversely apply that formula—that is, Tumult + Railroad = Tunnel—by first taking 1 as the opponent’s mental image and then delineating the unknowns 2 and 3.” “After first stating, ‘There is a rose there—’, I proceeded to examine each and every phrase you uttered.” “Then you adopted an attitude of gauging my expression and said, ‘Then perhaps you burned rose frankincense—’” At that moment, I felt a sharp surge shoot up through my nerves. The reason being that in both Catholicism and Judaism, frankincense comprises only two species—Boswellia and Terebinthifera—and hybrid varieties are naturally prohibited by religious doctrine. “In other words, I concluded that the phrase ‘rose frankincense’—lying buried deep within your psyche—must stem from some organic influence there.” “Clearly, that single phrase is attempting to tell some truth.” “However, what exactly it was remained unknowable until just moments ago—when I took advantage of Nobuko’s absence to reinvestigate that room.” With deliberate slowness, Housui lit his tobacco, drew a breath, and continued.

“Now then, Mr. Levèz—in that study we discussed earlier, there were bookshelves lining both walls.” “And *The Legend of Saint Ursula*—the one Nobuko allegedly staggered into and struck the vase against—was on the upper shelf of the bookcase right next to the entrance.” “However, that book does not possess sufficient weight to cause a loss of balance.” “Rather, the problem lay in Hans Schönsperger’s *The Prophetic Incense Smoke* that was adjacent to it.” Upon discovering it, I couldn’t help but feel an eerie discomfort at the sheer accuracy of its coincidence. “For that *The Prophetic Incense Smoke* (Weissagend rauch) contains exactly the same solution formula as Münsterberg’s experiment.” “Because the formula Tumult + Railroad = Tunnel is precisely applied to Weissagend rauch + Rosen = Rosen Weihrauch.” “In other words, what we call ‘prophetic incense smoke’ refers to a certain notion that was floating in your mind at the time—guided by the rose, it emerged as the single term ‘rose frankincense’ on the surface of consciousness.” “Thus, my associative analysis was completed, and at the same time, I was able to understand why you couldn’t expunge that book’s title from your thoughts.” “For when I further scrutinized the room’s condition in detail, the truth behind Nobuko knocking over the vase became clear—and there your face emerged.” Having first concluded this theatrical farce of his own devising, he then shifted focus to Nobuko’s movements. And then he proceeded to expound Housui’s characteristically subtle physiological analysis.

“Therefore, once the existence of *The Prophetic Incense Smoke* becomes clear, Nobuko’s lie naturally ceases to hold.” “That woman claimed she knocked over the vase by hitting it with *The Legend of Saint Ursula* as she staggered.” “However, given that the vase in question was located at the far end of the entrance, when considering Nobuko’s posture at the time and the vase’s position, there is absolutely no way such circumstances could have occurred.” “Unless Nobuko is left-handed, it would be utterly impossible for her to throw *The Legend of Saint Ursula* from her right hand over her head and strike that vase.” “At that point, I recalled Erb’s point reflex.” “When one raises their upper arm high, a mass of muscles swells up between the collarbone and spine, and at its apex appears a single point of the brachial nerve.” “Therefore, if someone were to deliver a strong blow to that precise point, an intense reflex movement would erupt in the upper arm and below on that side, followed immediately by paralysis.” “In fact, the crime scene itself provided ideal conditions for inducing Erb’s reflex—precisely because the location where those two volumes were kept required raising both hands to reach them.” “However, Mr. Levèz, as I continued correcting Nobuko’s lies, I suddenly found myself able to reconstruct the true state of events that had occurred in that room at the time.” “This was when Nobuko, attempting to retrieve *The Legend of Saint Ursula*, reached her right hand toward the upper shelf of the bookcase.” “At that moment, a sound came from somewhere in the room ahead.” “So, Nobuko turned around while still gripping the book and looked at the glass door of the bookshelf behind her.” “At that moment, the figure of a certain person emerging from the bedroom appeared reflected in her eyes.” “Therefore, in her startled state when she moved the adjacent *The Prophetic Incense Smoke*, that heavy wooden-bound book exceeding a thousand pages fell upon Nobuko’s right shoulder.” “Thus, it follows that due to the intense reflex movement that occurred in that instant, the copy of *The Legend of Saint Ursula* she held in her right hand was hurled over her head toward the vase in her left hand.” “Now, Mr. Levèz—if that’s the case, through *The Prophetic Incense Smoke*, we can perform a psychological verification.” “In other words, we can assign an imaginary number to the person who was hiding in the bedroom at that time.” “Imaginary numbers—but hasn’t Riemann used them to rescue the essential nature of space from being merely a three-dimensional expanse?” “No—let me speak plainly.” “At that moment, you emerged from the bedroom, heard the noise, went to Nobuko’s side, and pushed the fallen *The Prophetic Incense Smoke* back into its original position.”

“And when you were seen leaving the room by Madame Dannenberg, that act enraged her—she who had maintained a secret relationship with Sakutetsu since his death.” “However, given the prohibition concerning inheritance shares, even Madame could not state it openly.”

Throughout this exchange, Levèz remained motionless, his clenched hands resting on his knees as he listened with unwavering focus. Even after the other party’s words had concluded, his impassive expression remained unaltered. He uttered coldly:

“Indeed, that provides ample motive.” “However, what you need most now—more than anything—is even a single piece of evidence bearing complete juridical significance. That is to say, this time I demand your illumination of the criminal phenomenon itself.” “Mr. Housui—at which link in that chain can you prove this countenance of mine?” “Verily, that *Prophetic Incense Smoke* shall become an eternal memory for me.” “Moreover, through the rainbow’s sending, I sought to have Nobuko comprehend my heart.” “Yet with that alone, my pact with Mephisto would—” “Nay—ere long, I shall likely spew vomitus upon your pedantic ostentation.”

“Of course, Mr. Levèz—but your poetic creation illuminated my path through the chaos. “In truth, this case’s conclusion lay within Dr. Faust’s General Confession manifested in that rainbow. “No—let me speak plainly. “Those seven colors were neither poetry nor contemplation—they were in fact the gleam of a viciously tempered blade. “Now then, Mr. Levèz—you sniped Madame Krivov through that rainbow’s mist, did you not?” Housui’s expression abruptly contorted into ferocity as he spat these deranged words.

At that moment, Levèz stiffened as if petrified. What suddenly flashed down from above must have been something utterly beyond Levèz's wildest imaginings. Dazzlement and astonishment—needless to say, in that instant, Levèz had lost all intellectual faculty. Yet faced with his opponent's complete disintegration, Housui appeared to feel a cruel reaction stirring within. He opened his mouth unhurriedly, with the demeanor of one toying with live prey clutched in his hands.

"In truth, that rainbow was a sarcastic, jeering monstrosity," Housui declared, his voice cutting through the charged air. "By the way—you are acquainted with Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths... Are you familiar with the tragedy of Ravenna Fortress?" Levèz's lips twisted into a mirthless smile. "Hmm—even when his first shot missed mark, Theodoric still possessed a dagger that served as second arrow." His fingers whitened around the armrests. "But make no mistake—I am neither ascetic nor martyr." The words emerged like drawn steel. "Those ideologies of purgatorial transmigration? Save them for Dr. Faust's confessionals." A visible tremor ran through him as hatred contorted his features—for within Ravenna's ancient tragedy lay mirrored reflections of Krivov's near-fatal encounter with the crossbow's mechanized malice.

(Note) In March 493 AD, Odoacer, Regent of the Western Roman Empire, was defeated in battle by Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths, barricaded himself in Ravenna Castle, and ultimately sued for peace. At that peace treaty meeting, Theodoric ordered his retainers to take aim at Odoacer with a Heidekrug bow; however, the string was slack, preventing them from achieving their objective, and they were forced to resort to stabbing him to death with a sword. “However, there’s nothing that can be done about that rainbow’s tattling,” Housui declared without ceasing his relentless pursuit, a chilling glint in both eyes. “However, your adoption of Odoacer’s assassination precedent was indeed masterful—though you must be aware that the bowstring Theodoric used was woven from takuetei wood fibers, spoils taken from King Heidekrug—a chieftain of the Northern Germanic tribes.” “However, this plant fiber called takuetei wood possesses the characteristic of its tissue expanding and contracting depending on temperature.” “Therefore, when brought from the frigid north of Germany to the temperate climate of central Italy, even that formidable murder weapon of the Northern barbarians immediately lost its fearsome effectiveness.” “Therefore, when I saw the string of that fire crossbow, I was prompted by an uncanny premonition.” “And I wondered if it might be possible to artificially replicate the expansion and contraction of that takuetei wood.” “Hey there, Mr. Levèz—at that time, the fire crossbow was mounted on the wall with the arrow nocked, its bow-shaped portion angled slightly upward.” “And its height was precisely at our chest level.” “However, what requires attention there is the position of the nails supporting it.” “They were three flat-headed ones—two at the twists of the string, and the remaining one supporting the stock directly beneath the trigger lever.” “Of course, to enable automatic firing at that position, you had to create an opening of approximately twenty degrees from the wall.” “In other words, this insidious mechanism involved creating the angle I just mentioned, then tightening the bow without human assistance, and finally releasing this tension.” “And what was necessary for that was the chloral hydrate that once felled Tsutako,” Housui continued, crossing his legs and taking out a new tobacco. “By the way, are you aware that ether and chloral hydrate solutions possess cryogenic properties—to elaborate, that they steal heat from the surfaces they contact?” “In this case, among the three strands of takuetei wood fiber cord twisted into the string, one of them had been coated with chloral hydrate.” “Therefore, because mist was sent there from the fountain, that easily soluble anesthetic became cold droplets, which gradually caused the coated strand to contract.” “Of course, it goes without saying that this force began to draw the bow like an archer.” Consequently, as this happened, the twists with the other two strands that did not contract began to loosen, and as they spread out, the crossbow’s position gradually lowered.

Therefore, as it continued falling, the upper twists with stronger recoil would come off the nails, causing the crossbow's upper part to open. Thereupon, as this occurred, the trigger lever portion of the stock would also tilt sideways, so that the lever would be pressed by the nail, and the arrow would thereby be launched at precisely the angle created by this opening. And due to the recoil of firing, the crossbow fell onto the floor; as for the contracted string—once completely evaporated—it would naturally return to its original state—this goes without saying. “However, Mr. Levèz, the original purpose of that scheme was not necessarily to take Madame Krivov’s life. “It was simply a matter of further solidifying your alibi.”

Throughout this exchange, Levèz sat streaming greasy sweat, his beast-like bloodshot eyes hunting for any chink in Housui’s relentless verbal assault—yet ultimately found himself crushed beneath the detective’s flawlessly structured logic. But this very despair now propelled him; Levèz surged upright, hammered his chest with a fist, contorted his features into something ghastly, and unleashed a bestial roar.

“Mr. Housui.” “The evil spirit haunting this case is none other than you.” “However, let me make one thing clear—before wagging your tongue, you’d do well to peruse *Marienbad’s Lament* first.” “Now then—suppose here there was a man who sought an eternal woman.” “Yet in the resigned beauty of that spirit, all—ambition, rebellion, wrath, vigor—are swept away like a burst dam.” “Yet you insist on framing it solely through shame and punishment.” “No—it goes far beyond that.” “The hunting party you lead has here and now revealed its vulgar and cruel nature.” “However, the shooter was certain—the prey couldn’t move…”

“I see… Hunting, is it?” “But Mr. Levèz—are you familiar with this Mignon?” “...That mountain-plank road through clouds where mules grope through mist, where caverns house ancient dragons’ brood...” As Housui uttered these words with a malicious half-smile, a faint rustle of fabric—perhaps night wind—stirred at the entrance door. And then, a chanting voice gradually faded and vanished toward the far end of the corridor.

When the hunting party makes camp Clouds descend to cloak the vale.

Night and twilight descend as one. That was the unmistakable voice of Madame Serena. However, when the voice reached his ears, Levèz began to collapse toward the sofa as if stricken with grief, but he managed to steady himself. And he threw his head back, breathing heavily,

“Did you compel her acquiescence by demanding a single sacrifice on some occasion?” “I’ve no strength left to justify myself further.” “Let us dispense with guards altogether.” “Should this judgment be sealed with my blood,” he declared with fanatical resolve, shockingly refusing protection, “you’ll hear its truth from these very lips one day.” He then demanded his disarmed and bared form be laid before Dr. Faust. To this, Housui—with trademark irony—assented before exiting the chamber.

In Dannenberg’s room—where they always devised their strategies and conducted interrogations—Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro had already finished their supper. On the desk lay two plaster casts modeled from shoe prints in the back garden and a pair of overshoes. And it was stated that those were Levèz’s belongings, finally discovered from the storage closet beneath the back staircase.

By that time, Dr. Oshikane had returned to the mansion, and once the meal was finished, it became Housui's turn to speak. And when he had finished recounting the details of his confrontation with Levèz while refilling cups of red Barbera wine,

“True, but…” Once nodding in agreement, Inspector Kumashiro’s expression took on a look of vehement disapproval. “I must say, even your pretentious intellectualism leaves me astounded.” “What exactly is causing this delay in Levèz’s disposition?” “Just consider it.” “Until now, motives and criminal phenomena have contradicted everyone—if you speak of someone conclusively proving both, there’s never been a single case.” “At any rate.” “If the overture has concluded, then let us raise the curtain at once.” “Admittedly, these verbal jousts you favor might constitute a form of intoxication in their own right.” “However, I beg you not to forget that even such premises demand conclusions.”

“Don’t be absurd. How could Levèz possibly be the culprit?” Housui retorted with a clownish gesture, erupting in uproarious laughter. Ah, Housui—enfant terrible of the century—had he prepared this farcical shift in motive for that tragic confession? Though Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro recognized they were being mocked, confronted with his impeccably ordered logic, they found themselves unable to dismiss his words outright. Then Housui—even as he laid bare the true nature of his sophistry—disclosed the peculiar role he had now assigned to Levèz.

“Indeed, the relationship between Levèz and Madame Dannenberg is undoubtedly true.” “However, if that fire crossbow’s string were made of Takutei wood, I would have made the greatest discovery in paleobotany this century.” “Now Inspector Kumashiro—in 1753 near Bering Island, the final species of Steller’s sea cow was slaughtered.” “But that arctic plant had already gone extinct even before then.” “In truth, that crossbow’s string was fashioned from utterly mundane hemp.” “Ha ha! That elephantine column—I reshaped it into a cone.” “By making Levèz our new coordinate, we shall orchestrate the final act of this labyrinthine affair.”

“Ah, have you gone mad? Are you using Levèz as live bait to draw out Dr. Faust?” Even the usually composed prosecutor exclaimed in shock, nearly lunging forward—to which Housui responded with a faintly cruel smile. “Indeed, O guardian deity of the moral world—Prosecutor Hasekura! But to tell the truth, what I fear most about Levèz isn’t Dr. Faust’s claws at all. It’s the psychology behind that man’s suicide. Levèz concluded with these words: ‘If you pass judgment with my blood, then someday you’ll hear it from my own lips,’ or so he said.” It seemed precisely like the sort of tragic historical drama Levèz would perform—reminiscent of that character actor’s climactic scene, one might even call it grand theatrics. Yet while it contained sorrow, it utterly lacked tragic grandeur. “The reason that line appears in *The Rape of Lucrece*—a dramatic poem by the Bard—where Lucretia, the Roman beauty violated by Tarquinius, resolves to take her own life,” Housui began with a somewhat apprehensive expression, then raised his eyebrows and declared resolutely.

“But Prosecutor Hasekura, within that confrontation lies a crisis that the culprit cannot possibly evade.” “The truth is, the one I grappled with was not Levèz.” “It was Dr. Faust after all.” “To tell the truth, I already know the location of the final pentagram incantation yet to surface in this case—the Kobold’s Paper Charm—but you see…” “What? The Kobold’s Paper Charm⁉” Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro stood thunderstruck. Yet across Housui’s brow lingered something too absolute to be mere conjecture. What stratagem had allowed his tormented intellect to assail that phantom citadel? In the abruptly charged air, Housui drained his chilled tea and commenced—an exposition of psychological dissection that defied belief.

“By the way, I appropriated Galton’s hypothesis to analyze Levèz’s mental imagery.” “To elaborate—this phenomenon appears in that psychologist’s seminal work *An Inquiry into Human Faculty*: persons of superior imagination develop synesthetic responses to words or numbers, projecting related schemata into their minds as concrete, clearly defined forms.” “For instance, speaking of numbers might conjure a clock face… Yet now Levèz’s discourse revealed an even more intense manifestation.” “Prosecutor Hasekura, that man lamented his fruitless courtship of Nobuko thus: ‘The celestial rainbow is a parabola; the dewdrop’s rainbow a hyperbola—but unless it becomes an ellipse, Nobuko shall never soar into her own embrace.’”

However, during that time, a faint movement occurred in Levèz’s eyes—each time he uttered a geometric term, a motion reminiscent of sketching diagrams in midair became discernible. It was there that I detected a breath-stopping sign within that pantomime-like psychological manifestation. “Because if a parabola and a hyperbola are continued into an ellipse, their combined form would result in KO. In other words, the first two characters of Kobold—K and O—are what it’s about. Therefore, I immediately tried to impart a suggestive impulse and attempted to elicit a pronunciation similar to ‘bold’ from the remaining four characters of Kobold after removing KO.” “Then Levèz referred to the trident arrow as Bohr.” Then, following that, Levèz mocked me by claiming the arrow had been fired from the rear vegetable garden—and within that statement, he kept dynamically inserting the word “turnip” (Rübe). “So you see, Prosecutor Hasekura—quite by chance, I discovered a grotesque monster drifting across Levèz’s conscious mind. Ah, I am not Sterling, you know. Mental imagery forms a cluster, and furthermore, it possesses free mobility—I believe that statement was an apt maxim. Because within that single word of Levèz’s, a concept deeply concealed within that man’s psyche manifested through a remarkably vivid split. Listen carefully, Prosecutor Hasekura—after first evoking KO and the numerical formula, Levèz referred to the trident arrow as Bohr, thereby revealing his consciousness of the Kobold within his psyche. Moreover, he used the term ‘turnip’—but within that lay a crucial significance. This is because Levèz’s mind harbored a secret that—guided by the Kobold—he was compelled to associate with. Now, try combining the trident arrow and the turnip.” Then, the lattice-bottomed desk— Ah, has my mind gone mad? “Actually, that desk is in Nobuko’s room, you see.”

Kobold’s Paper Charm—now hung the case’s conclusion upon that single point. Were Housui’s deduction true, that vivacious girl must needs be likened unto Dr. Faust. Then—how interminable must have seemed the corridor to Nobuko’s chamber to those three. Yet when Housui reached the ancient clock-room threshold, some thought stayed him abruptly. Thereupon entrusting Nobuko’s chamber search to plainclothesmen, he commanded Madame Tsutako Oshikane summoned.

“Don’t be absurd. “If there’s a cipher in the dial that locked Tsutako away, that’s another matter.” “But interrogating that woman can wait,” Inspector Kumashiro retorted in a tone dripping with reluctant dissent. “No—we must examine that rotating lyre clock.” “The truth is, I’ve been afflicted by a peculiar possession.” “It’s been driving me to the brink of madness,” he declared flatly, leaving his two companions dumbfounded. Housui’s nerves—delicate as radio instrumentation—bloomed into petals of analogy at the slightest stimulus. Thus, even when his methods seemed chaotic, their unveiling often forged vital connections or cast dazzling new light upon the case’s shadowed path.

There, supporting herself against the wall, Madame Tsutako Oshikane appeared. She—having been celebrated during the mid-Taishō era particularly for her performances in Maeterlinck’s symbolist tragedies—still retained such richness of sensibility even just past forty that the visage of Mélisande from her stage days glimmered within the celadon shadows beneath her eyes and the porcelain radiance enveloping her skin. Moreover, her spiritual communion with her husband Dr. Oshikane had undoubtedly imbued her with a depth of resigned insight. Yet Housui confronted this elegant lady with unsparing severity from the very outset, showing not the slightest concession.

“Now, I’m sure it must seem unspeakably rude of me to broach such matters from the very outset. However, borrowing the words of this mansion’s people, we must refer to you as a puppeteer. Yet regarding those puppets and their strings—at this incident’s inception, they resided within Thérèse’s doll. And thus, that evil’s source repeated itself through an eternal cycle of rebirth. Therefore, Madame, I have no need to question you about past circumstances or endure another spectral discourse on fatalism.”

At the outset, Tsutako heard words she had not anticipated in the slightest, causing her slender, pale form to stiffen abruptly as she swallowed with an audible gulp. Housui continued his eerie pursuit without respite. “Of course, I am already aware that you telephoned your husband, the doctor, around six in the evening—and that immediately afterward, in an utterly bizarre turn of events, your figure vanished from your chamber.”

“Then what is it you wish to ask?” “In this Ancient Clock Chamber, I was rendered unconscious and confined.” “Moreover, is it not said that Mr. Tagou turned the dial on this door around eight-twenty that night?” retorted Tsutako, her face tensing slightly with defiance.

Then, Housui stepped back from the iron-barred door and, while staring intently at her face, uttered something that seemed positively deranged.

“Ah, but my concern lay not outside this door—rather, it resided within. You—the doll clock with a rotating lyre at the center—. Moreover, you are aware that the right hand of that boy doll serves as Saint Xavier’s reliquary and strikes the bell during timekeeping. However, when Saint Xavier’s right hand was lowered at nine o’clock that night, this iron door opened without any human intervention at the very same moment, did it not?”

II. Light, Color, and Sound—When They Faded into Darkness

Ah, Saint Xavier’s hand! That Saint Xavier’s hand opened this door, locked with dual keys…! In truth, was this the towering edifice that Housui’s clairvoyant nerves had constructed through their continued delicate emission? However, both Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro wore expressions of paralysis, finding no words readily. This was because—even if this truly constituted Housui’s divine skill—it remained a hypothesis so bordering on madness that they could not simply accept it at face value. When Tsutako heard this, she staggered as if overcome by dizziness and barely managed to support herself against the iron-barred door. But her face was deathly pale, and she averted her eyes, gasping as if her breath might fail. Housui, too, with an air of triumph, spread a knowing smile across his face,

“Therefore, Madame, on that night, you were strangely fated by threads and strings.” “However, as for the method itself, it remains as unchanging as the passage of years and days…” “Well, in any case, I suppose I should try experimenting with what I have in mind.” Then, borrowing the key to the iron case covering the cipher plate and dial from Shinsai, he first opened the iron case, then aligned the dial to the right, left, and right again—whereupon the door was opened. Then, on the door’s inner side appeared a compass-style mechanism with its back exposed, to which Housui wound a thread around an ornamental knob located where the dial’s perimeter would be on the front, securing one end.

“Now, this characteristic of the compass-style mechanism constituted the most crucial element in your scheme.” “This is because tracing the cipher combination in the opposite direction used during closure would open the latch after three operations.” “Conversely, reversing that process would cause the bolt to retract into its housing.” “In other words, the starting point for opening corresponded to the endpoint for closing—and vice versa.” “Therefore, execution became exceedingly simple—all that was required was an apparatus capable of recording those alternating rotations and applying inverse force to the dial...” “Under such conditions, even a theoretically locked latch would open.” “Naturally, from within that chamber, the iron case’s key posed no obstacle.” “And that recording apparatus turned out to be none other than—the rotating lyre.”

Housui pulled the thread toward the doll clock, opened the double doors of its cabinet, and detached the rotating cylinder—which produced its musical tones—from the hook connecting to the timekeeping mechanism. Then he tied one end of the thread to a single thorn among countless others embedded in the cylinder, pulled it taut, and only then did he address the prosecutor.

“Prosecutor Hasekura, please turn the dial from the outside and close the door according to this cipher plate.” As Prosecutor Hasekura turned the dial, the cylinder of the rotating lyre began to spin. When it shifted from rightward to leftward rotation, the reversal caught on another thorn, flawlessly recording the three operations. When that concluded, Housui reconnected the cylinder to the timekeeping mechanism as before—twenty seconds before eight o’clock. The rotating cylinder linked to the mechanical assembly creaked with spring tension and began turning counter to its previous motion. At that moment, astonishment flashed across the faces of those watching breathlessly—for now the dial itself started sharply alternating between left and right rotations. As a lethargic creak issued from the mechanism’s spring, the tower’s boy doll abruptly jerked its right hand upward. A clang resounded as the bell’s clapper struck—mingling with that sound came a distinct metallic click from the door’s direction. Ah—the door had opened again. The group collectively exhaled their held breath. Inspector Kumashiro moistened his lips and moved to Housui’s side.

“What a strange man you are.” However, Housui disregarded this entirely and turned toward Tsutako, who already wore an expression of resignation. “Now, Madame—in other words, the genesis of this scheme lay in that phone call you made to the doctor. However, what made me strongly suspect it was the fact that you had been administered chloral hydrate yet employed truly inexplicable heat preservation measures. If you hadn’t been tightly wrapped in blankets like a mummy, you would likely have frozen to death within a few hours. Administered an anesthetic, but there was no intent to kill— Such unresolved contradictions had only intensified my concerns. Now, Madame—shall I attempt to deduce where you went after opening this door that night? Just what could there have been inside the lead oxide bottle in the drug room? The one who kept the color of that easily fading drug still vivid…”

“But...” Tsutako was completely composed and spoke in a calm, weighty voice. “When I arrived, the door to that drug room had already been opened.” “Moreover, there were traces indicating someone had tampered with the chloral hydrate even before then.” “I suppose there’s no need to mention it now, but inside that lead oxide jar was a container hiding two grams of radium.” “I had heard about it beforehand from my uncle, so to save Oshikane’s hospital management, I had to make a grave resolution.” “And then, for about a month now, I have remained in this mansion without leaving—” “Ah, during that time, I was subjected to gazes of every kind.” “Yet even enduring that, I was constantly seeking an opportunity to act.” “Therefore, everything I attempted in this room was naturally nothing but foolish defensive measures.” “Had the radium’s disappearance been noticed, I intended to fabricate a single false culprit for that scenario.” “Please, Mr. Housui—retrieve that... that radium—Dr. Oshikane took it back earlier.” “However, on this one point alone I must insist.” “While I undeniably stole it, I have absolutely no connection to the murder that coincided with my crime.”

After hearing Madame Tsutako’s confession, Housui fell into silent contemplation for a time; he merely ordered her to remain in the mansion a while longer and then sent her back. When Inspector Kumashiro showed signs of dissatisfaction, Housui quietly said:

“Indeed, that Tsutako woman has an extremely ill-timed convergence of circumstances,” Housui analyzed coldly. “But beyond the Dannenberg incident, her presence appears nowhere else.” His tone sharpened as he turned to Kumashiro. “However Inspector—to speak plainly—I suspect far graver implications lie within that single telephone call.” With finality, he concluded: “In any case, I order you to urgently investigate Kuga Chinako’s credentials and Dr.Oshikane.” At that precise moment, plainclothes officers delivered confirmation of Housui’s prediction—the Kobold’s Paper Charm had indeed been discovered in the lattice-bottomed desk drawer within Nobuko’s chambers. This development compelled Housui’s group to return to the antiquated room where they had previously detained Nobuko. The creaking door revealed muffled sobs within. Nobuko sat hunched over the desk, face buried in trembling hands, shoulders quaking uncontrollably. From behind this pitiful figure, Inspector Kumashiro’s venomous words sliced through the air.

“Your name had been erased from the death register for only four hours.” “But there’s no rainbow this time—you won’t be dancing.”

“No,” Nobuko turned sharply, her face beaded with sweat that threatened to drip. “That Kobold’s Paper Charm had been stuffed into the drawer without my knowledge.” “I only told Mr. Levèz about it.” “Therefore, he must have been the one who tipped you off.” “Ah, but Levèz possesses a chivalrous spirit quite rare in this age,” Housui remarked quietly, peering at her with a quizzical gaze, “though I must speak plainly now.” “Ms. Nobuko—who truly wrote that charm?”

“I... I d-don’t know,” Nobuko said, turning a pleading gaze toward Housui’s face. But at that moment, her sweating grew increasingly profuse, her tongue tangled unnaturally, and she became unable to form coherent words. Nobuko’s predicament as the culprit involuntarily drew a smile from Kumashiro. However, Housui maintained an utterly composed demeanor, his gaze fixed on Nobuko’s forehead as he scrutinized the cord-like vein throbbing at her temple. When he suddenly wiped away the sweat beading her forehead with his fingers, his eyebrows jerked upward sharply,

"This is bad! Antidote, now!" he exclaimed, uttering words utterly unexpected in this situation. And then, in the face of this abrupt reversal that left Kumashiro and the others utterly bewildered and panicking, he drove them to hurriedly carry Nobuko’s body out of the room.

“Judging by that sweating, it’s likely pilocarpine poisoning,” said Housui as he unfolded his arms—which had been crossed for some time—and looked at the prosecutor. But terror was vividly apparent on his face. “In any case, since that woman has no way of knowing we discovered the Kobold’s Paper Charm, she certainly didn’t ingest it with suicidal intent.” “No—she was forcibly made to ingest it.” “Moreover, they never intended to kill her—without doubt, they sought to direct that hazy state toward our psychology and bring about a third misfortune upon Nobuko.” “Now, Prosecutor Hasekura—even without knowing this forms a syllogism’s premise—you can’t dismiss something as illogical.” “Then Nobuko and the pilocarpine—in other words, as that premise.” “First, there must be no method by which one could ascertain the contents of our curtain—even by penetrating walls or seeing through floors.” “Ah—isn’t this truly a dreadful affair?”

“The conversation we exchanged in this room earlier has already been laid bare to Dr. Faust.”

In all truth, the culprit in this case might possess an inexplicable power to force illusions into reality. Inspector Kumashiro, having reached his limit, drew in his breath sharply—

“However, I think we might actually feel grateful toward Nobuko today.” “In fact, while my men were searching Nobuko’s room earlier, she was having tea in Krivov’s quarters.” “But get this—everyone present at that little gathering happens to be tightly bound within our pentagram circle of motives.” “What do you say, Housui? First on the list—Hatatarou.” “Then Levèz, Serena...” “And even that bandage-headed Krivov was propped up in bed at the time,” Kumashiro spat—a statement that struck all present like a physical blow. For this revelation sharply narrowed the suspect pool, transforming what had been chaotic speculation into focused certainty. At that moment, the prosecutor offered an offhand suggestion.

“By the way, I believe this is our only opportunity.” “In other words, we must clarify how the culprit obtained pilocarpine.” “If Tsutako were involved, one could reasonably say it was through Dr. Oshikane—” “But if it were someone else, I think we must assume the source lies nowhere but this mansion’s drug storage room.” “So Mr. Housui—though I’m no Hobbes—if we re-examine that storage room, we might just discern the culprit’s operational status.”

At this prosecutor’s proposal, the investigation of the drug storage room was resumed. However, while a jar of pilocarpine existed there, no signs indicated it had been touched anywhere. Thus, though the absence of any reduction went without saying, more crucially, it appeared never to have been used from the outset—the entire surface lay shrouded under a thick mantle of dust. Moreover, it had been buried deep within the medicine shelf. Housui momentarily betrayed disappointment, but then something abruptly forced him to discard his tobacco and cry out. “That’s right, Prosecutor Hasekura—your signature proved so glaringly vivid that I grew dazzled and overlooked even trifling matters.” “The pilocarpine’s location needn’t be confined solely to this drug storage room.” “After all, that component inherently resides within jaborandi leaves.” “Come—let us proceed to the greenhouse.” “Perhaps we may yet discern who recently frequented that place...”

The greenhouse that Housui was heading to stood behind the vegetable garden in the rear courtyard, flanked by animal pens and an aviary aligned in a row. When the door opened, a suffocating wave of warmth assailed them—a cloying amalgam of heat-matured pollen fragrances coalescing into an unnameably seductive stench that clogged their nostrils. At the entrance loomed two prehistoric-looking resinous ferns. Ducking beneath their massive drooping fronds onto hardened soil, they faced a wall of bluish-black leaves characteristic of tropical flora—thick with apparent sap, oppressively interwoven overhead. Within the foliar shadows lurked sporadic blotches of crimson and wisteria-purple. Yet soon, within the lamplight emerged leaves of unfamiliar shape resembling knotweed—identified by Housui as jaborandi. The investigation indeed corroborated his assertion: six fresh scars marred the stem where leaves had recently been plucked. Housui furrowed his brow as palpable dread rippled across his features.

“Now, Prosecutor Hasekura, six minus one equals five.” “Those five leaves possess murderous efficacy.” “Yet in Nobuko’s case, all six leaves weren’t necessary.” “A single leaf containing roughly 0.01 grams could induce that degree of perspiration and slurred speech.” “Which means the culprit still holds five remaining—” “In those remnants, I perceive the culprit’s battle readiness.”

“Ah, what a terrifying monster,” said Inspector Kumashiro with a nervous blink, his voice trembling slightly.

“I never imagined poisons could be employed with such insidious intent.” “How could anyone but that utterly cold-blooded Dr. Faust devise such ruthlessly cruel stratagems?”

Prosecutor Hasekura turned to the side and inquired of the horticulturist who had guided their party.

“Has anyone entered or exited this greenhouse recently?”

“N-no… For about this past month, no one has…” The old man stammered, his eyes widening wide, but he failed to provide an answer that would satisfy the prosecutor. Then Housui pressed him in an eerie, insistent tone: “Hey—tell the truth. That color arrangement of wisteria orchids in the hall—surely that isn’t your handiwork, is it?”

This specialized question immediately produced an astonishing effect. It was as if the old horticulturist himself had become a bowstring; struck by Housui's prodding, something had involuntarily slipped from his lips.

“However, I beg you to understand my position as a servant,” he began with pleading eyes, setting a premise that begged compassion before timidly uttering two names. “The first instance was on the afternoon of that dreadful incident’s occurrence, when Lord Hatatarou graced us with his presence—a most unusual visit.” “Then yesterday... Lady Serena... She was particularly fond of these profusely blooming orchids.” “But as for these jaborandi leaves alone—I hadn’t noticed them at all until you mentioned it.”

On the branch of the dwarf jaborandi shrub, two flowers had bloomed. In other words, even Hatatarou and Madame Serena—who had until then been under the faintest suspicion—now had to be envisioned in Dr. Faust’s black Taoist robes, thereby swelling that blood-drenched procession with two new additions. Thus did the incident’s second day erupt with mysteries that could only be termed the very apex of grotesque perversions—the day when, in all likelihood, the investigation’s turmoil and chaos crested. What’s more, every person of interest had now fallen under suspicion, leaving the inquiry’s convergence point endlessly deferred as they found themselves mercilessly toyed with by the culprit’s maze-like intellect.

Two days later—on the very day Kuroshikikan was scheduled to hold its annual public recital—Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro reconvened their meeting, awaiting the fruits of Housui’s two-day investigation. The gathering took place in the antiquated old courthouse building, where the clock had already struck three. Yet Housui that day radiated a savage intensity. His face glowed faintly as if burning with some conclusion already reached, that flush trembling with kinetic energy. After lightly pressing his lips together, Housui began.

“Now then, I will enumerate each phenomenon individually and proceed to classify them systematically.” Housui picked up the two plaster casts resting on the desk as he continued: “First, these footprints... Of course this requires no tedious exposition—the smaller pair consists of pure rubber gardening boots.” He tapped the first cast. “These were originally Ekusuke’s regular footwear, departing from the gardening shed and traversing between the dry plate fragments.” His finger traced the zigzag pattern impressed in the plaster. “Yet observe these stride marks—disproportionately narrow for their size, meandering like lightning bolts across the soil.” His voice sharpened. “Moreover, the footprints themselves harbor anomalies beyond ordinary comprehension. Consider—how could boots supposedly fitted to a dwarf’s feet vary so drastically in width?” He rotated the cast beneath lamplight. “The toe impressions appear curiously diminished compared to the central arch. Furthermore...” His nail clicked against the heel’s deep indentation. “Significant pressure concentrated here suggests deliberate emphasis on the posterior tread.” Shifting to the second cast, his tone adopted forensic cadence: “The overshoes commence at the main building’s eastern entrance door, trace an arcing path along the central projection, and likewise shuttle between plate fragments.” He juxtaposed the two molds. “Here we find orderly strides proportionally compact relative to shoe dimensions—but the true enigma lies in their structure.” His fingertip circled hollowed contours. “Note the pronounced concavities at toe, heel, and lateral margins—exhibiting varus deformation curving inward.” The shadowed hollows deepened toward the center. “Naturally, their purpose becomes evident when considering their sandwiching of dry plate remnants.” He glanced at wall clocks documenting timestamps. “Forensic chronology confirms movement commenced post-11:30 PM after rainfall ceased—with overshoe prints overlapping gardening boots at one juncture, establishing temporal sequence.” Leaning forward with feverish intensity, Housui’s eyes locked on Kumashiro: “Yet even confronted with such paradoxes, our resolution remains unshaken. You’ve doubtless observed, Inspector—these casts defy anatomical logic. Levèz’s overshoes imply a colossus surpassing his own stature, while the gardening boots’ owner must be smaller than Ekusuke himself—a veritable Lilliputian or Bean Leftemon!” His laughter held no mirth. “Needless to say, such biological impossibilities cannot exist—therefore we confront an elaborate ruse to obscure true footprints.” The plaster models clacked together like dueling sabers. “Thus our first imperative: determine which nocturnal visitor—Ekusuke or another—traversed that courtyard during fateful hours.”

“Therefore, first and foremost in our sequence, we must determine which of the two Ekusuke—who claimed to have gone to the rear garden around that time that night—actually was.” In the increasingly heated air, Housui’s analytical nerves pulsed with a sharp intensity. He delivered a decisive blow to the doubts surrounding the shoe molds. “However, when you uncover the truth of the matter, it turns out to be a most diabolical joke—isn’t that astonishing? The one who wore Levèz’s overshoes—that giant’s overshoes—turns out to be a diminutive figure who likely isn’t even half his size. Next, regarding those Swiftian gardening boots—referring to *Gulliver’s Travels*—while their wearer may not be as extreme as Levèz’s case, they undoubtedly belong to someone of ordinary stature. So, to present my hypothesis—I first attempted to attribute the overshoes to Ekusuke. What do you think? Hey, Inspector Kumashiro, that man must have first worn the armor boots from the cloister and then forcibly crammed Levèz’s overshoes over them.”

“Brilliant deduction.” “Indeed, Ekusuke was an accomplice in the Dannenberg incident.” “The purpose of that act was undoubtedly the exchange of the poisoned orange, as we all know.” “That—those utterly obvious coordinated actions—” “Until this very moment, your convoluted reasoning had been obstructing us,” Inspector Kumashiro declared haughtily, smirking with satisfaction as his own theory finally aligned with Housui’s deduction. However, Housui scoffed derisively, as if batting the notion away.

“That’s absurd! Why would that Dr. Faust need such a petty demon? This reeks of a fiend’s underhanded stratagems.” “Suppose there existed one utterly ruthless individual within the family.” “Let us assume this person was not only universally feared throughout Kuroshikikan but indeed Ekusuke’s killer.” “Yet Ekusuke accompanied Madame Dannenberg that night.” “That single fact becomes an inescapable preconception.” “Therefore, even if that individual were cunningly guided to the dry plate fragments’ location and slain the following day—Ekusuke would inevitably be deemed an accomplice.” “Thus we must conclude the mastermind lies not with that solitary figure, but rather within Ekusuke’s own circle of confidants.” “Moreover, regarding those gardening boots—Madame Krivov’s visage, which should have vanished entirely, has resurfaced.” “Ah, that Krivov.” “The crux lies in that Caucasus Jew’s feet.” “Now Inspector Kumashiro—are you familiar with Babinski’s sign?” “It denotes a symptom seen in early-stage spinal tabes patients like Madame Krivov—a pressure point manifesting at the heel’s rear.” “When compressed, it induces agony rendering ambulation near-impossible...”

However, when one considered that single statement alongside the tragedy in the armory, it could only be believed to be an act of madness. Inspector Kumashiro widened his eyes in surprise, but the prosecutor held him back, “Of course, it must have been accidental—but only if our livers haven’t developed any abnormalities.” “Indeed, those gardening boots should have had their main pressure on the heel area, but...” “Anyway, Mr. Housui, let’s shift the problem from fairy tales to another topic.”

“You may say that,” Housui countered with a sardonic smile, “but this Dr. Faust has devised a method absent even from Abels’ Criminal Morphology. Suppose one were to wear those gardening boots inverted? Though naturally, this only works because they’re pure rubber overshoes—but the technique isn’t merely about jamming toes into heel cavities.” He leaned forward, fingers tracing an imaginary boot shape. “You’d lift your heel slightly within the mold’s impression, walking while forcefully pressing your toes against the boot’s rear. This makes the leather beneath the heel fold naturally—like a doubled support wedge.” “Thus,” he continued, “the force applied wouldn’t strike the toe area directly, but lower down. The result? Footprints suggesting some small-footed creature clomping about in oversized boots.” His smile sharpened. “Moreover, the irregular contraction—like a slackened spring—varies the pressure each step. Hence subtle discrepancies in every print.” “By switching left and right boots,” Housui concluded, “the outbound path becomes return tracks—everything inverted! The proof lies in examining dominant feet during two moments: turning at the dry plate’s location and crossing dead grass clumps. Calculate those discrepancies, Prosecutor Hasekura, and Madame Krivov’s necessity for this trickery becomes clear.” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “It wasn’t merely about fake footprints. She protected her vulnerable heels—erasing her presence from the scene entirely. And the key to this performance?” He produced glass fragments from his pocket. “Lay precisely in these dry plate remnants.”

Inspector Kumashiro removed the tobacco from his mouth and stared at Housui’s face in surprise. He let out a faint sigh. “I see… Yet Dr. Faust’s true form must lie with none other than Krivov in the armory. If you cannot prove that, then cease and desist these theatrical strolls of yours at once.”

Upon hearing that, Housui took up the confiscated fire crossbow and slammed its tip—the bow's end—forcefully onto the desk. Then, unexpectedly, white powder spilled out from within the string. Housui began speaking while casting a sidelong glance at the two dumbfounded men.

“After all, the culprit did not deceive us.” “This burned ramie powder is none other than—O salamander, burn!—that’s what it is.” “Ramie—when soaked in a solution of thorium and cerium, it becomes material for gas mantles. While its fibers are strong and tough, they are also susceptible to even slight heat.” “In truth, the culprit had twisted those fibers into two calabash-shaped strands and concealed them within the string.” “Now, this is a mechanical problem often unconsciously performed by children, but fundamentally, even if you shorten a bow’s string and release it instantaneously, it typically produces the same effect as drawing it fully and firing.” “In other words, the culprit used ramie fibers shorter than the length of the string—two strands of differing lengths—and employed the shortest one to contract the string to that specific length.” “Of course, even in appearance, if one tightens the twists to the utmost, I think no suspicious aspects would remain by any means.” “And then, there was something the culprit had lured from that window.”

“But with the salamander, that rainbow…” Prosecutor Hasekura shouted as if dazzled. “Yes, regarding that salamander... Long ago, Leblanc employed a technique of passing sunlight through a water jar,” Housui replied. “However, that method had already been described in Rittelhaus’s *On Accidental Crimes*.” “But in this case, the equivalent of that water jar was found in the bubbles of the window glass.” “To elaborate—that mechanism was positioned in the upper part of the inner sash within those double-hung windows. Once the sun’s rays converged there, they focused upon a carved ornament on the outer window frame—you recall that tin-plated cup-shaped fixture.” “Therefore, once a focal point formed near the string from that position, heat naturally arose on the stone wall’s surface.” “Though the string itself showed no abnormalities, the ramie fibers—being more thermally reactive—had their structure destroyed first.” “Yet herein lay the culprit’s masterstroke,” Housui continued. “They made two ramie strands of differing lengths and arranged them in a calabash shape within the string, positioning their intersection point at the string’s lowest extremity—near the bow’s tip.” “The focal point initially struck slightly below this intersection, severing the shorter of the two ramie strands.” As the string slackened from this breakage, the recoil dislodged the twisted portion from its nail, causing the crossbow to swing away from the wall and form an angle. Then, as solar movement shifted the focal point upward, it severed the final strand—adjusted to match the string’s full length. “Thus, the arrow fired, and the crossbow fell to the floor from the recoil,” Housui concluded. “Naturally, upon impacting the floor, the handle shifted to its firing position—though it wasn’t originally triggered by the handle itself. Moreover, the degraded ramie powder never leaked from within the string.” The narrative voice interjected: Ah, Krivov—that Caucasian Jew had indeed studied Ada Green’s methods. “Initially,” Housui added, “the shot had likely been intended for the settee.” “Yet through this chain of events, it inadvertently produced that aerial spectacle.”

It was truly Housui’s moment of triumph.

However, a single point of doubt remained regarding it, and Prosecutor Hasekura immediately seized upon it. “I must say, I’m intoxicated by your theory.” “Moreover, it has been proven in reality as well.” “However, even with all that, it remains insufficient to establish legal culpability against Krivov.” “In short, the problem lies in the position of the window necessary for that double reflection.” “In other words, must it not be that the answer lies in the moral sentiments of either Krivov or Nobuko?”

“Then, the one who caused the ghostly overtones during Nobuko’s performance was…” “In fact, Prosecutor Hasekura, during that interval, there existed someone who climbed the iron ladder leading from the bell tower to the spire.” “And midway, they tampered with the Zodiac’s circular rose window—sealing that fissure which resembled musical glass,” declared Housui with a severe expression, once again catching the two men off guard.

Ah, had the mystery of the overtones—that which had been regarded as the greatest enigma of the Kuroshikikan Incident—now been solved? Housui continued. “However, when it comes to that method, there is merely a single projective observation. In other words, there is a single circular hole above the bell tower, above which rises a large cylinder whose left and right extremities form the Zodiac’s circular rose windows. All you need is to apply that cylinder’s theory even to an organ pipe. Because when one end of a pipe that has both ends open is closed, a note one octave higher is produced there. However, even before that, the culprit had appeared in the bell tower’s corridor. And after attaching a sylph’s paper fragment—they stealthily closed the central door among the three. Because, Prosecutor Hasekura—do you know Lord Rayleigh’s words? That there exists in this world a realm of acoustics where no living being can dwell—”

“What? A realm of acoustics where no living being can dwell⁉” Prosecutor Hasekura shouted, his eyes widening. “That’s right. That was truly a scene of sheer harrowing intensity.” Housui’s voice pressed forward with eerie gravity. “To be precise, I refer to the resonant world unique to carillons.” “Then the natural question arises—why did they need to close the central door?” “Because the elliptical wall surrounding that door possessed acoustic properties akin to a concave mirror.” His explanation grew taut with intensity. “Contrary to what we call a dead zone, it focused the carillon’s distinctive resonance into a single point—” “To rephrase,” he continued, “that wall surface occupied the precise position to concentrate sound waves upon Nobuko’s ear as she sat at the keyboard.” “Moreover, what felled Nobuko and cast suspicion on the swivel chair wasn’t merely that violent resonance.” His finger tapped the air emphatically. “The answer also lay within her inner ear.” “In fact, my earlier testimony left nothing unexplained regarding this mechanism.”

“Don’t be absurd. That woman claims she remembers falling to the right, I tell you. However, Nobuko’s posture at the time left traces of having rotated to the left,” Inspector Kumashiro interjected. Housui slowly lit his tobacco and then cast a smile at his opponent. “However, Inspector Kumashiro, in Hegarl’s case compendium—Hegarl being a German criminal psychiatrist at Baden’s National Hospital—there is a report of hysterical patients who collided at an intersection yet testified to having been struck on the opposite side.” “In fact, that’s precisely how it works—the sensations experienced during a seizure manifest on the opposite side, you see.” “However, in this case, the problem is by no means limited to just that one aspect.” “Another thing—during a seizure, hearing becomes biased to one ear—that too was among the symptoms.” “And since that hearing bias was in Nobuko’s right ear, that fierce roar which erupted the moment the door was locked—” “It was less a sound than an assault surpassing the organ’s limits—something that ignited a blazing inflammatory shock in the inner ear.” “In other words, this was an artificial scheme to induce labyrinthine concussion, and needless to say, the result was a complete loss of equilibrium throughout her entire body.” “So, in accordance with Helmholtz’s principle—where heat and the right ear shift to the left—her entire body was instantly thrown into torsion.” And then, upon the chair where rotation had been wound to its limit, she fell while leaning wholly to the left. However, even if that were understood, it by no means pointed out the culprit; rather, it merely clarified Nobuko’s innocence. No—it had merely elaborated on the final blow that felled Nobuko, while the culprit’s visage remained concealed within the enigma of the bell chamber. And so, the problem had shifted away from the room’s interior, moving now to the corridor and iron ladder. “However, if Nobuko is not the culprit, then all circumstances in the armory converge upon Krivov—though I suppose that too is inevitable.”

Thus, the moment the analyzed elements converged into a single point, it threw Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro into a vortex of momentary bewilderment. However, during that time, Kumashiro had been silently smoking tobacco as if trying to compose himself, but after a short while, he spoke sorrowfully.

“However, Mr. Housui, Krivov’s alibi in every scenario remains nearly impossible to break.” “Unless we discover a tunnel like in Mason’s ‘House of the Arrow,’ I feel solving this case will ultimately prove impossible.” “Then, Inspector Kumashiro,” Housui nodded in satisfaction and withdrew from his coat pocket the now-familiar slip of paper inscribed with Digby’s cryptic text. Then, as if anticipating something abnormal there, a half-fearful vitality began creeping across the two men’s faces. Housui said quietly.

“To tell the truth, it had been considered that Digby’s secret cipher method had already been entirely accounted for by that grand staircase’s reverse side—and that this cryptic text merely served to demonstrate the will of confession and curse contained within it.” “However, when one considers the deliberate disregard for grammar and absence of articles, it seemed as though a repulsive miasma of the secret cipher method had begun emanating from within.” “Now then, Inspector Kumashiro—when a new entity emerges from an existing cipher, we call this a parent-child cipher. These two texts correspond precisely to that principle.” “Let us dispense with tedious explanations of struggle and proceed directly to outlining the decryption method.” “Fundamentally, what appears as two unrelated cryptic texts actually forms a cipher where only the initial letters of the first short text are concatenated.” “Moreover, the key lay concealed within another text bearing resemblance to Genesis.” “However, I too initially pursued erroneous observations.” “The ciphertext reads ‘qlikjyikkkjubi,’ comprising fourteen characters in total.” “If we pair two characters as one letter, this forms a seven-letter word—the consecutive ‘ik’ sequences in two locations seemed suggestive of pivotal letters like ‘e’ or ‘s.’” “Yet I soon abandoned this approach, concluding a single word would likely prove meaningless.”

“Therefore, next I attempted to divide the entire passage into two or three subsections. And I was able to succeed in that without any trouble, you see. Because, you see, there is a portion in the center where three k’s are aligned in a row. If you split between the second and third [k’s], you can naturally divide it into two subsections without any unnaturalness, you see. Now, Inspector Kumashiro—there’s absolutely no reason for three identical letters in succession to exist, and moreover, words beginning with duplicated letters are so few you could count them on your fingers, you see. And then, after doing that…”

To each phrase of the mysterious text left behind by Digby, Housui assigned the following numbers.

Jehovah God was hermaphroditic. In the beginning, He undertook by His own act and begat twins. The first to emerge from the womb was female and was named Eve; the next was male and was named Adam. However, when Adam faced the sun, though his upper half obeyed the sun and formed a shadow behind, his lower half defied the sun and cast a shadow forward. God beheld this marvel and marveled greatly; though He deigned to make Adam His own child out of awe, Eve—being no different from ordinary people—He made a handmaid. And when He lay with Eve, she conceived and bore a daughter, then died. God sent down the girl child to the mortal world and made her the mother of humankind.

“First, in this manner, I divided this text into seven sections,” Housui explained. “Then, from each subsection, I sought to unearth the hidden clues for decipherment. Now, regarding the first section—I interpreted this phrase as representing humanity’s creation. That is to say, the genesis of all things—to draw an analogy, like the ‘i’ of Iroha or the ‘A’ of the ABCs. Then comes the second section—this is the most critical point.” He leaned forward intently. “Now, Inspector Kumashiro—this ‘begat twins’—what might that signify? When speaking of twins, anyone would naturally envision literal interpretations using characters like tt, ff, or æ. Yet here, it carries an intensely symbolic meaning—referring to twins’ configuration within the womb.” A knowing glint entered his eyes. “But Inspector Kumashiro, you must surely know how twins are positioned in the maternal uterus? One always lies inverted—head to feet, precisely like the mirrored figures on playing cards where head and tail align identically.” He produced a slip of paper. “Observe p and d paired together. Do they not form twin shapes within the alphabet? Applying our first section’s interpretation, either p or d must occupy the position of a in the alphabetical sequence. Yet even this merely creates separate ciphers—and while q and b exhibit similar properties—such solutions would degenerate into cuneiform or Persian script-like absurdities.”

After taking a breath, Housui poured the remaining cold tea down his throat with evident distaste before resuming his explanation in an unbroken stream.

“However, once that is done and we reach the third section and beyond, it is there that d and p are first distinguished. In other words, since the firstborn was female and the next was male—the inverted d corresponds to Eve, while p aligns with Adam. Then, you must interpret the term ‘child’ in the fifth section and ‘mother’ in the seventh section as representing consonant and vowel respectively. That is to say, up to this point d would correspond to a vowel and p to a consonant—each occupying the initial position—but through the fourth and sixth sections, this arrangement undergoes further revision.”

(From the author:

As the cipher explanations appearing from the following lines may seem somewhat overly intricate, I have rendered all Western-style typefaces belonging to cryptographic classifications in Gothic font to facilitate mutual distinction. (Please proceed with this understanding.)

Now, in the fourth section there existed the character for 'navel,' but I interpreted it as signifying the center of the whole. In other words, by assigning p to b as the initial consonant and aligning pqrs below bcdf..., b—which corresponded to n—became positioned precisely at the midpoint between p and the final n regardless of counting direction—a logic symbolized by the character for ‘navel.’ Therefore, since the first half of the fourth section stated that "the shadow above the navel falls naturally behind," the sequence from b to n—that is, from p to b—remained unchanged without issue. However, when reaching the latter half, a transformation occurred.

The interpretation of the passage stating that *the shadow below the navel projects forward against the incoming sunlight* undoubtedly suggests that the shadow—that is, the ABC order—should this time be reversed. Therefore, if one proceeds with the first half’s arrangement as it is, naturally what corresponds to p following n becomes the sequence where c follows b. However, by inverting this and assigning n—which should correspond to the final z—to p instead. Therefore, instead of aligning pqrs with cdfg——, one aligns them with nmlk… in an upside-down manner from the end. Therefore, in the end, the consonant cipher ends up arranged in the following manner.

bcdfghjklmnpqrstvwxyz pqrstvwxyzbnmlkjhgfde Then, in the subsequent sixth section, the passage stating that *Eve conceived and bore a daughter* holds significance. This is because Eve—that is, d—points to the next in sequence: counting a, b, c, d, it suggests that what follows d is e. And when we incorporate the interpretation of the seventh section into this, since e comes to occupy the position of the initial vowel a, replacing aeiou with eioua ultimately forms the vowel cipher. Then, the entirety of that secret cipher method becomes crestless stone——. “And so, that concludes the decryption for now, you see.”

“What the—Crestless Stone?!” the prosecutor shrieked wildly. “Exactly—the so-called *Crestless Stone*,” Housui replied. “Didn’t you notice, when you saw the room where Madame Dannenberg was killed, that the hearth there was built with stones engraved with crests?” He returned the cigarette he had started to take out back into its case. In that instant, it seemed as though everything came to a standstill.

At last, a corner of the Kuroshikikan incident's cyclical logic had been breached, and within those chain links, Housui's hand had seized Dr. Faust's heart—ah, the curtain fell.

That was exactly at six o'clock, and outside, a hazy smoke-like rain had begun to fall unnoticed. That night Kuroshikikan was hosting its annual public concert, and as was customary each year, approximately twenty music-related individuals had been invited. The venue was the usual chapel, but with grand decorative lights temporarily installed on the ceiling for that night alone, the mystical atmosphere—once evoking faintly flickering lights from which sutra chants or organ music might have resonated—seemed to have vanished without a trace.

However, beneath that fan-shaped vault, the medieval tastes had not been lost. The musicians were all adorned with wigs and wore vermillion-colored garments so vivid they could rouse one from slumber. When Housui’s group arrived, the second piece had begun, and Madame Krivov’s composition—a B-flat major harp and string trio—had just entered its second movement. The harp was being played by Nobuko, and while her skill was somewhat inferior to the other three—Krivov, Serena, and Hatatarou—one might call it a flaw if pressed, but there was no time to scrutinize such matters. This was because the spectacle before their eyes—where colors and sounds intertwined like a bewitching illusion—possessed such overwhelming power that a single glance sufficed to utterly ravish one’s senses. Wigs of the Talleyrand style with short sideburns, and court musician attire modeled after Schwetzingen fashion. In this vivid tableau resounding with chromatic richness, one could almost envision George I’s musical banquet upon the Thames—the very night of Handel’s premiere of *Water Music*—materializing before one’s eyes. It was a blazing illusion, yet amidst its dazzling splendor lay an inexorable power that compelled quiet reminiscence.

Housui’s group had taken seats in the last row and were waiting for the concert to conclude in a state of rapture and serenity. Moreover, not only them—likely everyone present believed that beneath such blazing grand decorative lights, even a Dr. Faust could find no opening to exploit, not even the slimmest chance. Yet as the harp’s glissando faded like bubbles in a dream and Hatatarou’s first violin drew forth the thematic melody... at that very instant, an utterly unforeseen event transpired. Suddenly, amid a tremendous upheaval surging from the audience, the stage plunged into an eerie blackout.

Suddenly, the decorative lights extinguished, plunging colors, light, and sound into abyssal darkness all at once. At that precise instant, an otherworldly groan erupted from the stage—though none could tell who had uttered it. A thunderous crash reverberated through the floorboards as if something massive had collapsed, followed by what seemed a hurled string instrument that clattered shrilly—its strings and body raising a clamor—while cascading down the steps. The noise quivered and flapped through the void for some time, but when it finally died away, not a soul dared breathe a word, and the hall became enveloped in unutterably sinister aura and silence.

A groan and the crash of a fall—. Undoubtedly, one of the four performers had been struck down. As Housui stood motionless, suppressing his pounding heart and straining his ears, a faint sound—like water rushing over shoals—reached him from somewhere nearby in the chamber. At that very instant, darkness tore open at a corner of the stage as a match flame descended the stairs toward the audience seats. For one breathless moment, blood turned to ice as suffocating dread began coursing through veins. Yet even while that spectral light fluttered about probing the floorboards, Housui’s gaze remained fixed upward, razor-sharp focus locked on the platform’s darkened void. There in the blackness, a phantom had traced a human silhouette—grasping it with unrelenting intensity.

No matter who the victim might be, the perpetrator could be none other than Olga Krivov. Moreover, that sardonic and sneering monstrosity had calmly staged and concluded a gruesome spectacle while gazing down at Housui below. Undoubtedly this time too, contradictions would envelop the scene like a pincushion, ensuring that blend of dread and admiration would repeat itself fourfold. Yet as the grenade's distance gradually closed, Housui had drawn near enough to hear his opponent's pulse and detect a neutral body odor akin to tree bark. But at that critical moment—the dying embers sagging like a bow—the match slipped from fingertips. A piercing "Kyaa!" rent the darkness; before registering it as Nobuko's voice, Housui's eyes had already locked onto a single point on the floor.

Behold—there lay a faintly glowing band, sulfur-like in its pallid luminescence. And from around its lower edge, a few fireballs crackled and curled up, appearing only to vanish again. However, the moment he noticed it, all of Housui’s expressions froze. The world outside the single astonishing thing that appeared before his eyes—the long-backed chairs of the seats, the fan-shaped vaults intercrossing overhead—all began to sway like a storm-ridden forest, until together they plunged down into the abyss of darkness that had opened at his feet. Indeed, the light, in its vanishing instant, tilted diagonally through a gap in the wig and fell upon a white cloth. Was that not unmistakably the forehead bandage still holding back the tragedy of the armory? Ah, Olga Krivov. Once again, it was Housui’s retreat. The one who had been struck down was none other than his prime suspect—Madame Krivov.

Part Eight: The Collapse of the Furuya House

1. Dr. Faust’s Thumbprint

Thus, once again, this deranged game of sugoroku had reset Housui’s token back to the starting square. However, the moment that agonizing instant passed, composure returned to Housui once more. Yet something had come crawling alternately toward his ear—the sound resembling flowing water that had been thought perhaps an auditory hallucination now revealed itself as real. Likely amplified by passing through prismatic spaces or combined with windowpane vibrations, the roar now redoubled its force as if to shake the earth’s very axis. This deafening clamor began agitating the death chamber’s air—could this be a reenactment of medieval Germany’s Witches' Sabbath? Beyond several stone piles and a window lay a waterfall somewhere within the mansion’s structure. Whether connected to the crime or merely Dr. Faust’s grandiose theatrics, such absurdity merging with reality remained unthinkable. Ah! That waterfall’s roar—this gaudy demonic dream defied all natural laws, epitomizing distorted madness! But Housui shook off this frenzy and shouted: “The switch! Turn on the lights!”

Then, as if regaining their senses at the sound of that voice, the audience surged toward the entrance all at once. That surge was halted by Inspector Kumashiro, who had barricaded the doors simultaneously with the onset of darkness, rendering the switch’s ignition temporarily impossible amid the ensuing chaotic turmoil. To prevent scattering the audience’s attention, they had extinguished all lights downstairs beforehand, leaving only a single dim wall lamp glowing in the corridor—both the hall and surrounding rooms remained pitch-dark. Amidst the deafening uproar, Housui began sinking into silent contemplation while tracking motes of colored dust in the gloom.

At that moment, Prosecutor Hasekura approached and informed them that Madame Krivov had been stabbed through the heart from behind and had already passed away. However, during that time, Housui’s deductions had grown taut as piano wire. Facing this fresh catastrophe, he began organizing phenomena observed since the incident’s outset, attempting to draw a tangent across their trajectory. First: Levèz was absent from the performers. (Yet he hadn’t been found among the audience either.) Then came confirmation that this chamber had been sealed simultaneously with the darkness—meaning circumstances remained identical before and after the crime. But when confronting the critical question—who turned that final switch?—Housui unexpectedly glimpsed illumination. This stemmed from Tsutako’s appearance at the entrance door moments before decorative lights extinguished: she passed beside the doorframe switch before occupying a front-row seat near its edge.

In fact, this contained the first coordinate Housui had discovered. It was one of the ruses listed in Abels' *Criminal Morphology*—a method using ice shards to induce an electrical short in a covered switch. Specifically, by inserting an ice shard's tip into the insulator connected to the handle, turning the handle would make the contact plates barely touch—just enough to light the lamp. The cunning lay in striking the handle immediately afterward; this would snap the ice's tip, causing the shard's body to touch one of the heated contact plates. Consequently, vapor from the melting ice would form droplets on the ceramic base, inevitably causing a short circuit. Moreover, the melted ice would disappear completely. Thus, if Tsutako had employed this stratagem while passing the switch, the lights would naturally have gone out around when she took her seat. And through that time gap, one could easily obscure a corner of shadow.

Oshikane Tsutako—that great actress of mid-Taisho—even if she never appeared in any other link of the chain, had already on the very first night of the incident pushed open the iron door of the ancient clock chamber from within, casting an ineradicable shadow over the Dannenberg case. Moreover, among all persons involved in the case, she possessed the most compelling motive and was indeed seated in the front row. As he arranged these factors, Housui felt something like a bloody arrow-scream rising within his own breath. However, when he had a servant prepare a candlestick and approached the switch, an unexpected discovery awaited—there on the floor directly beneath it lay a single haori cord ring that could only belong to Tsutako, who alone wore traditional Japanese attire.

“Madame, I shall return this haori cord ring to you for the time being. However, you must know who turned this switch—” Housui summoned Tsutako first and launched his accusation rapidly. Yet showing not the slightest perturbation—if anything with a sneer—Tsutako retorted.

“If you’re returning it, I’ll accept it.” “But Mr. Housui, I’ve finally come to understand the existence of that god who repays good deeds with misfortune.” “The reason being—the moment a moan escaped from the darkness, this switch flashed into my mind.” “If the handle could turn without human aid, there must be some insidious mechanism concealed within this lid.” “Moreover, if that were true, I thought the criminal would likely exploit the darkness to retrieve that device.” “As this thought came to me, a resolve I’d never before imagined surfaced—so I promptly left my seat and came here.” “Then I stood covering this switch with my back until your arrival just now.” “Therefore Mr. Housui—were I Decius from the Bard’s *Julius Caesar*, one of Brutus’s conspirators—I would now say this to the haori cord ring—” “‘The unicorn deceived by the tree, the bear by the mirror, the elephant by the pit—’”

Therefore, they decided to first inspect the interior of the switch. However, contrary to expectations, not only was there no trace of an electrical short within it, but even when they turned the handle to conduct electricity, the grand decorative lamp remained silent in the darkness. Indeed, this became the genesis of turmoil and confusion until at last the problem shifted away from the chapel. Before Housui could ask Tsutako about the location of the main switch, he first had to apologize for his hasty judgment. Tsutako composed herself and answered frankly.

“That room lies just across a single corridor from the chapel and was formerly a mortuary chamber—in medieval noble castles, a room where corpses were placed before the anointing ceremony.” “However, it has now been renovated into a storage space for miscellaneous items, though—” As they crossed the hall and advanced down the corridor, the roar of rushing water drew ever nearer. When they reached the approach to their destination—the mortuary chamber—a thunderous cascade surged from beyond the door bearing Saint Patrick’s cross engraved with Christ’s Passion. Simultaneously, while something faintly displaced their footwear, an icy wetness crept through the cord hole.

“Ah, water!” Inspector Kumashiro let out an involuntary cry, but as he leaped back, he staggered and had to brace himself with one hand on the washstand to his left. However, with that, everything became clear. The three faucets of the washstands lined up on the wall opposite the door had been opened wide, allowing the overflowing water to follow the natural slope. Guiding it through a gap in the plaster at the door’s threshold, they must have directed that water flow to cascade into the mortuary chamber. They proceeded to open the door, but it was locked, and despite pushing and shoving, it wouldn’t budge even slightly. Inspector Kumashiro slammed his body against the door with frightening force, but only a faint creaking of wood echoed out, and his entire body bounced back like a ball. Then Kumashiro repositioned himself and shouted in a madman’s tone.

“An axe!” “Whether this door’s by Robbia or hand-carved by Hidari Jingorou, I’ll smash through it no matter what!”

And so the axe was procured, and the first strike was delivered near the handle—aiming for the wooden paneling. Wooden fragments shattered and flew off, and the old-fashioned latch mechanism sagged down along with its wooden twist. Then, unexpectedly, from the gap of the wedge-shaped breach, billowing steam akin to a hot spring gushed forth.

At that moment, the entire group stood frozen, their faces contorted in stupefied bewilderment. Behind that cascade of hot water, even if any secret device were concealed, that was not the issue at hand. While forcing fantasy into reality might have been Dr. Faust's cruel pleasure, the sorcerous allure of the spectacle before them now held such power that even the depths of one's soul could not help but become intoxicated. When the door opened, the interior was a wall of white, filled with heat so intense it seemed ready to scorch their eyeballs. However, at that moment, Inspector Kumashiro twisted the flashing switch beside the door, noticed the electric heater below it, and pulled out its plug. As the mist and high temperature gradually dissipated, the room’s full appearance finally became clear.

In other words, this section corresponded to what would be called the antechamber in a mortuary chamber, with the space beyond the door at the far end constituting the middle chamber—referred to in the Catholic Church’s sardonic parlance as the Spirit Dance Chamber. And from the drain hole open in the corner, the water that had fallen was flowing out. Moreover, at the boundary with the middle chamber stood an imposing stone door devoid of decoration, and on the adjacent wall hung a large key adorned with an antique banner ornament. The door was not locked, and it opened with a rumbling akin to an earthquake—a sound characteristic of stone doors. Yet strangely, despite the antechamber’s scorching heat that seemed ready to sear everything, a cavern-like chill now crept from the yawning darkness ahead. And when the door had been fully opened, from within that dim light, Housui received such a dazzling shock to his eyes that he nearly staggered. A sudden Buddha’s-brow-white gleam struck his vision, and he involuntarily stood frozen, staring rigidly at the floor ahead. That was absolutely not the effect of the dark, gloomy atmosphere characteristic of this monastic architecture upon him.

The entire floor surface there was covered with countless thin, short curves that writhed and intertwined like hundreds of thousands of white earthworms released upon it. Overpowering the floor's natural gray atop accumulated dust, they emitted a pure—yet depending on how one looked at it, strangely eerie and mucus-like—white light. When stared at, only the portion within one's field of vision would coalesce into solemn heraldic patterns, floating mid-air before suddenly leaping at the eyes. The light seemed akin to the vision of Saint Jerome witnessed by Gottschalk (a German monk who led an advance force prior to the First Crusade). Moreover, these countless lines spread across nearly the entire floor—undoubtedly fine grooves formed by mist upon accumulated dust—yet curiously left no traces resembling them on the ceiling or surrounding walls. Not only that, but when viewed laterally, undulations that could only be likened to lunar mountain ranges or desert sand dunes continued endlessly across the surface. They were undoubtedly delicate engravings wrought by natural forces—ones beyond replication by any master craftsman however skilled.

The chamber was enclosed by limestone blocks, permeated with a solemn atmosphere reminiscent of ascetic hardship and monastic life. Beyond the stone door at the far end lay the mortuary, its surface engraved with the full text of Saint Patrick’s hymn—"Against the Pagans’ Malignant Laws, and Against the Spells of Women, Blacksmiths, and Druid Sorcerers." Yet there were no footprints on the floor, suggesting even during Sakutetsu’s funeral rites, the ancient mortuary rituals had not been observed. When it became evident no one had ventured beyond the antechamber, all lingering enigmas found their terminus there. While the diversion of water from washstands to create a cascading stairway proved straightforward to deduce, the subsequent ignition of the heater defied all rational explanation. The switch box on the wall gaped open, its contact blade’s handle sagging listlessly downward. Prosecutor Hasekura gripped the handle to conduct electricity while glancing at the drainage hole at his feet, then articulated his deductions.

“In other words, using the washstand’s water to make it cascade down the stairs was meant to erase the footprints left on the dusty floor.” “Then, the fundamental question inevitably lies in the fact that someone both cut this room’s main switch and, after locking the door and exiting, stabbed Krivov—in other words, a single person playing two roles, you see.” “However, no matter how I look at it, I can’t believe Levèz took on such a role as some lesser demon.” “The answer undoubtedly lies in the Crestless Stone you discovered—that much is certain.”

“Your insight is indeed correct,” Housui initially nodded frankly, then blinked uneasily before continuing, “but my present concern lies rather in Levèz’s psychodrama. And though I say that... this room’s missing key might unexpectedly relate to Levèz himself, whom we failed to properly observe...” He vigorously puffed his cigarette, smoke bursting out in rapid bursts, before turning to Kumashiro. “At any rate, the culprit won’t keep carrying evidence indefinitely. First, we must search for the key’s whereabouts.” “Then we need to find Levèz and bring him here.”

Finally feeling as though released from a nightmare, when he returned to the old chapel, the brilliant light of decorative lamps once again scattered there. Beneath them, the audience had formed map-like clusters here and there, frozen in place, while the three on the platform remained unmoved from their original positions—already gripped by anxiety and sorrow, they trembled like cornered beasts. Madame Krivov’s corpse lay nearly forming a T-shape before the stairs. It had fallen face down with both arms thrown forward, a spear-tip-like rod handle sinisterly thrust upright on the left side of its back. The corpse’s face showed scarcely any trace of terror. Moreover, appearing strangely greasy—perhaps from edema during the death struggle—its normally harsh, angular features seemed considerably softened in death. It had almost completely lost its expression. Yet that—what at first glance seemed a serene shadow of death—could equally be inferred as a blank state induced by sudden shock. The coagulated blood fully covering the hollow of the corpse’s back had formed a large pool shaped like a pointing hand, made eerier still by how its fingertips were directed toward the platform’s right side. But among these scenes, what struck most powerfully was an incongruous contrast ill-suited to murder. The fat seeping around the spearhead’s base glowed golden, and together with the court musician’s crimson coat, it rendered the entire gruesome spectacle strikingly vivid.

Housui meticulously examined the handle of the murder weapon but found no fingerprints. The Montferrat family crest was cast at the base of the handle, and when extracted, it indeed proved to be a flame-shaped spearhead with a bifurcated tip. Yet nature's mischief during the crime had obscured its most crucial aspect. Not a single blood droplet was discovered between the platform and that position. The cause undoubtedly lay in the blade not being immediately withdrawn—naturally resulting in scant instantaneous blood spurting. This rupture severed the evidentiary chain indispensable for reconstructing the crime. Thus it became impossible to ascertain two vital connections: where on the platform Madame Krivov had been stabbed, and through what trajectory she had fallen. After completing the autopsy examination, Housui evacuated the audience from the room and ascended the stairs. Then Nobuko cried out first with a voice like one haunted by nightmares.

“That Dr. Faust hasn’t tormented me nearly enough yet.” “He merely slipped a kobold’s charm into my desk to begin with.” “Today, that demon has chosen me again to be among the three human sacrifices!” she cried, gripping the harp’s frame tightly with both hands behind her back and shaking it violently. “Now, Mr. Housui—you want to know where Madame Krivov was stabbed on the platform, and from which side she tumbled down—don’t you?” “But truly, I know nothing.” “I was merely gripping the harp’s frame and holding my breath motionless. Now, Lord Hatatarou, Madame Serena—you both must surely know that.”

“No, were I Guidion—that great mystic monk said to have appeared in Druidism, versed in night vision and invisibility—I might perhaps have known,” Madame Serena replied, a faint sarcasm rippling through her trembling voice. Then, adding to her words, Hatatarou said to Housui. “The fact is exactly so. “Unfortunately, we lack the precise spatial perception that insects or the blind possess. “Moreover, our costumes were identical to begin with. “Until Miss Nobuko struck a match and illuminated her face, it wasn’t even clear who had been killed—that’s how chaotic it was…” “No—rather, let me say that we heard nothing and sensed no movement whatsoever,” Furuya Hatatarou continued, seeming to perceive how the situation was turning against Housui and the others. An oppressive arrogance began stirring within his eyes. “By the way, Mr. Housui—who exactly turned off the main switch? “With such a vivid quick-change act—just who is this demon that managed to play two roles?”

“What—a demon?!” Housui retorted, his gaze fixed disconcertingly on the precocious youth before him. “No—Kuroshikikan itself is the altar. Isn’t life itself already demonic?” With those final words, he seized upon the crux of the matter. “To tell you the truth, Hatatarou, I refer to old-school investigative methods—that is, placing faith in humans’ fragile senses and memories—as sacred relics and hold them in contempt.” “However, in today’s incident, with Saint Patrick of the mortuary chamber as my guardian deity, I found myself forced to battle Druid sorcerers.” “Are you aware of the historical fact that when that eminent monk of Ireland performed a procession resembling the Deisal method—(note)—it expelled the Druid sorcerers and sanctified the land of Armagh?”

(Note) A custom of the Welsh demon-worshipping Druids’ religious rites where they circle around the altar in the same direction as the sun’s movement—that is, from left to right.

“The Deisal method⁉ And how would you know about that…?” Madame Serena’s face clouded over with timidity as she posed the question, her words emerging from beneath that shadowed expression. “However, could it not be that the wise Saint Patrick borrowed that left-to-right procession method as a means of proselytization?” “Indeed, in today’s incident, it was a speaking symbol—” “However, transferring the symbols of sorcery to another means destroying the sorcerer himself,” Housui declared with a sardonic half-smile, his words laced with a veiled threat. Ah, the speaking symbol. What could this be? The unresolved, fog-like phenomenon caused muscles to stiffen unnaturally, creating an air so chilling it seemed to freeze the blood. However, no sooner had Madame Serena’s eyes blinked unnaturally than she first looked at Housui, then cast a resentful glance at Nobuko, before her gaze fell motionless upon a single point below the platform. There lay an indescribably ominous signature. Housui had spoken of a symbol that spoke from right to left—and precisely such a thing had manifested on Madame Krivov’s back. For the pool of blood shaped like a pointing hand—unthinkably—had directed its fingertips toward the right side of the platform: that is, toward Nobuko’s position. Not only that, but whether it was just their imagination or not, the shape somehow seemed to resemble a harp as well. The group felt an indescribably terrifying force and remained transfixed by that symbol for some time. Before long, Nobuko hid her face in the harp, her shoulders trembling as she began breathing heavily, but Housui brought the interrogation to an abrupt end.

When the three had left, Kumashiro turned feverish eyes toward Housui and—

“Well, well—this one’s quite the saint too. What do you make of this elaborate staging?” he blurted out involuntarily, sighing with bewildered awe at the marks left by Dr. Faust’s sorcerous engraving blade.

Prosecutor Hasekura let out an exasperated breath and said to Housui.

“So, in the end, are you interpreting this coincidence as ‘behold this person’?” “No—rather, leave it in its natural state, as a fluid—” Housui casually retorted, his sudden counterargument startling the prosecutor. “Of course, once that happens, those three will become my finger puppets." “Just wait and see—those three deep-sea fish will undoubtedly come to vomit their very guts before me.” Then Housui proceeded to explain how magnificent the psychodrama he intended to stage would be. “So, when I say I used the Deisal method as a metaphor, its true meaning lay in the relationship between Hatatarou and the violin." “Did you not notice?” “Despite being left-handed, isn’t that man currently holding the bow in his right hand and the violin in his left?” “In other words, that is the very essence of the Deisal method—the left-to-right movement.” “But Prosecutor Hasekura—surely that constant isn’t merely an accidental occurrence?”

At that moment, Madame Krivov’s corpse was carried out, and in its place entered a single plainclothes officer. Though the mansion-wide search had concluded, the delivered report contained revelations that made their eyes involuntarily widen in shock—for not only had they secured the mortuary key, but Levèz’s figure had vanished precisely when the first musical piece ended and intermission began. Furthermore, it was discovered that at the exact hour of the tragedy, Shinsai had been bedridden while Chinako continued drafting her manuscript in the library. Upon hearing this, an ominous shadow began drifting across Housui’s face. No longer able to stay still, he started pacing the room with agitated steps before halting abruptly to stand motionless for several seconds, deep in thought. Then an eerie gleam flashed in his eyes—he kicked the floor with a resounding thud, and from within that booming echo erupted a triumphant cry.

“Yes, exactly.” “Levèz’s disappearance has granted me glory.” “Our present tribulation lies in failing to grasp that man’s grotesque jest.” “Inspector Kumashiro—that key resides within the mortuary.” “The corridor door was latched from within.” “And Levèz disappeared into the inner corpse chamber.”

“Wh-what are you talking about? Have you gone mad?!” shouted Inspector Kumashiro in astonishment, glaring at Housui. Indeed, on the floor of the mortuary’s middle chamber, there was not a single mark resembling footprints. Moreover, the window of the side corridor’s corpse chamber had been firmly secured from the inside. However, Housui had finally granted Levèz a flying carpet.

“Then, what was the purpose behind creating that steaming cascade in the anteroom? And who crafted that beautiful phantom realm upon the middle chamber’s floor to erase all traces of footprints?” he fired back with fanatical vehemence, punctuating his words by slamming the podium’s edge with a thunderous crack. His revelation—manifest through that phantasmagoric heraldic pattern—had at last forged Levèz’s own cage.

“By the way, Inspector Kumashiro, you often puff out tobacco smoke rings in quick succession, but that’s what we call the rhythmic motion of gases. However, this same phenomenon manifests in objects like lamp chimneys with central bulges or keyholes when there’s a disparity in temperature and pressure between both ends. Furthermore, in that scenario, another critical point requiring attention is the stone material forming the surrounding walls of the central chamber. That’s limestone commonly used in basilica-style monastery architecture, but naturally, it would have weathered over many long years. Therefore, it can be reasonably assumed that the accumulated dust contains limestone components soluble in water. So, Levèz first created a steaming waterfall in the anteroom to generate mist. As time passes, a disparity in temperature and pressure gradually develops between the front and rear chambers, creating precisely the ideal conditions there. And the ring-shaped mist emitted from the keyhole ascended toward the ceiling of the central chamber, you know.”

“Ah, so it’s the ring-shaped vapor and limestone components.” Prosecutor Hasekura nodded as if he understood, though his body continued to tremble faintly throughout. “Precisely, Prosecutor Hasekura.” “When that vapor contacts the dust accumulated on the ceiling, it first permeates the limestone particles within.” “Naturally, this forms a hollow space inside until—unable to sustain itself—it collapses.” “Needless to say, this substance would have obscured the footprints on the floor.” “Moreover, after absorbing copious limestone components, that magical ring shattered—thereby birthing that resplendent mystery.” “Yet Prosecutor Hasekura, an almost identical phenomenon exists within historical records.” “For instance, the miracle of Elbogen’s Fish Symbol (note)…”

(Note) In 1327, before the Karlsbad hot spring had been discovered, a miracle manifested on the outskirts of Elbogen, a town located ten miles from that site. It was none other than the Greek character for 'fish'—a symbol representing Christianity—that had appeared on the floor of the abandoned chapel. However, it is said to have probably been caused by intermittent geothermal vents from mineral springs.

“Now—we’ll hear that another time,” Prosecutor Hasekura hastily interjected, cutting short Housui’s interminable pseudo-historical lecture, though he still wore an expression of lingering doubt as he scrutinized the man. “Indeed, on a phenomenological level, that explanation holds. “Moreover, within the inner mortuary chamber, the edge of a crestless stone might have begun to emerge.” “However, even if that resolves the matter of dual roles...” “No matter how I try, I cannot fathom Levèz’s state of mind—concealing a form that required no concealment.” “That man likely became too intoxicated with his own cleverness and lost his true nature.”

“Oh my, Prosecutor Hasekura—have you forgotten Tsutako’s old stratagem? Then let us test this—we shall leave the mortuary door unopened. That man will inevitably time his escape through the Holy Footprint Window in the side corridor when we withdraw. He’ll doubtless conceal himself within something like the grand zither before swallowing a soporific. Come—this time I shall batter down Kobussho Kohei’s accursed door!”

Thus, Housui finally raised his triumphant cry and soon stood before the door of the mortuary chamber in the depths of the central room—engraved with Saint Patrick’s hymn of praise. For the three of them, it already felt as though they had discovered Levèz within a cage, and they yearned to savor his cruel reaction to their heart’s content. Yet the door—believed to be locked from within, requiring even the force of a battering ram from the armory—unexpectedly slid backward, smooth and silent, beneath Inspector Kumashiro’s palm. The interior was enveloped in the peculiar darkness of a damp, sealed chamber, from which flowed an air so murky and unnervingly dusty that it tickled the throat. And there, within the circular beam of the electric torch, sure enough, several fresh shoe prints had materialized. In that instant, Levèz’s piercing gaze seemed to manifest in the darkness beyond, and the sound of his bestial breath, strained and ragged, reached their ears—but this was merely an illusion conjured by their own colored dust. The footprints vanished into the shadows of the rear curtain, continuing onward to the innermost coffin chamber. However, the reason they involuntarily held their breath was that within the light they cast from the curtain’s hem to every corner of the floor, only four coffin stand legs had appeared—with no human figure in sight. Crestless stone—Levèz had already vanished from this chamber.

As Inspector Kumashiro vigorously yanked back the curtain, he was suddenly kicked in the forehead by someone and collapsed to the floor. At the same instant, a creaking noise erupted from the curtain rod overhead as a hard object came flying toward Prosecutor Hasekura's chest. He reflexively caught it—a shoe. Yet in that very moment, Housui's gaze locked onto a single point above them. There—one bare foot and another still half-sheathed in its shoe—swung like a ponderous pendulum.

It was as if Housui’s deduction—so visceral it seemed to reek of cerebral matter—had finally been overturned. Though Levèz had indeed been found, he had hanged himself with a leather cord from the curtain rod. Curtain fall—the Kuroshikikan murder case had likely reached its conclusion with this anticlimactic scene. Yet even as this resolution failed utterly to satisfy Housui, it left him confounded to a degree bordering on the uncanny.

Kumashiro directed the light toward the face of the corpse—now changed into civilian clothes—and said:

“Well, well—it seems Dr. Faust’s case has reached its end.” “Not exactly a finale worthy of ovations, but I’d never have dreamed this Hungarian knight was the criminal.”

Even before that, the coffin platform had already been investigated. Judging from the shoe prints left there, there could be no doubt that Levèz—who had stood at its edge—placed both hands on the leather cord, released his feet, and dropped his neck onto it. The corpse—so grotesque it evoked images of a sea beast—remained clad in court musician attire, its chest area slightly soiled with vomit. The estimated time of death was approximately one hour prior, nearly coinciding with Krivov’s murder. However, the leather cord had left its imprint over the collar cloth and dug cruelly deep into his nape. In every aspect, the signs of death by hanging were unmistakably clear. Moreover, Levèz’s facial expression itself served as undeniable proof. His face turned a dusky purple, the inner ends of his eyebrows arched upward in a V-shape, his lower eyelids drooped heavily, and both corners of his mouth were drawn downward. Of course, those characteristics exemplified what is called the look of one who has hanged oneself—an air of despair and anguish that could never be erased. However, during that time, Prosecutor Hasekura lifted the collar cloth at Levèz’s nape with his fingers and scrutinized the area around the hairline at the back of his head. Yet as he did so, his eyes became eerily fixed.

“I think the gossip about Levèz may be excessively harsh.” “What do you think, Mr. Housui? This walnut-shaped atrocity of a mark here—” Prosecutor Hasekura pointed to a single nodular scar resembling a walnut shell fixed at the hairline, “—appears to contradict the typical morphology of ligature marks.” “Indeed, the ligature mark is positioned upward.” “Then one or two such nodules would likely be nothing more than trivial matters.” “However, even in that old-fashioned von Hoffmann’s *Forensic Medicine Textbook*, isn’t there one such example?” “That is—when the victim crouched to pick up documents that had fallen to the floor, the perpetrator strangled them from behind with the silk cord of a monocle.” “Of course, doing this would create a diagonally upward ligature mark, allowing the perpetrator to later hang the corpse by placing the cord over it.” “However, a single nodule remained on the nape of his neck—and in the end, it ‘ended up speaking,’ as they say.”

Having said that, Prosecutor Hasekura analyzed Levèz’s suicide from a psychological angle, striking at the most vulnerable point in this scenario. “And Mr. Housui—even if we suppose Levèz extinguished the main switch and slipped through some secret passage unknown to us to stab Madame Krivov—why on earth didn’t Dr. Faust of Knittlingen strike a grand final pose? For a criminal who once brimmed with such theatrical flair, isn’t this conclusion—everything ending so abruptly, so cleanly—utterly anticlimactic?” Levèz’s inscrutable suicide psychology plunged Prosecutor Hasekura into utter stupefaction. He looked wildly at Housui and said, “Mr. Housui, I doubt even your greatest hits—from Stoic hymns to Schopenhauer—could explain this suicide’s peculiarity. Because at present, the criminal’s strategic position completely overwhelms us. And then, on top of that, the conclusion comes far too abruptly. Ah, what a pitiable contraction this is! How can I believe that this man’s imagination—capable of such grand theatrics à la Salvini, that quintessential Italian actor of exaggerated expressions—could have been exhausted by that alone? Was it to avoid mistiming…or to die with pride…? No, no—it absolutely must be neither!”

“Perhaps that may be so,” said Housui, tapping his pipe against a cigarette case lid in a manner both enigmatic yet fundamentally affirming of the Prosecutor’s theory—he gave an uncanny nod—“In that case, you should read Piderit’s *Physiognomy and Mimicry*.” “This anguished expression—what we call ‘the look of one who has hanged oneself’—cannot be found in anyone but a suicide.” After speaking, he yanked the curtain violently, making the iron rod overhead groan. “Listen, Prosecutor Hasekura—that resonance you hear is precisely what made this nodule seem suspicious.” “Because when Levèz’s weight was suddenly added, it imparted momentum to the iron rod.” “Then, from that recoil, the suspended body would begin spinning like a top.” “Naturally, this caused the leather cord to twist tightly.” “And once it reached its limit, it began unraveling while reversing direction.” “In short—since this rotation repeated over a dozen times—a nodule formed at the extreme point of natural twisting, which then strongly compressed Levèz’s nape.”

And so, though a complete explanation of the phenomena had been established, Housui found himself unable to dismiss the notion that it resembled a solitary conjecture. He remained with a darkened expression, ceaselessly smoking tobacco as he sank into contemplation. Dr. Faust—also known as Ottokar Levèz—had vanished from life like smoke. Yet why had this occurred? It was then decided to conduct an autopsy here, but first they discovered the anteroom door’s key inside a clothing pocket. Yet immediately after—when they removed Levèz’s crushed collar cloth—something beneath it glared back with fierce intensity into the eyes of the three. At last, Levèz’s death had been logically confirmed. Just below the cartilage—around both sides of the trachea—two thumb marks stood vividly imprinted. Moreover, a dislocation had occurred in the cervical vertebra at that precise location, leaving no doubt that Levèz’s cause of death was strangulation… They were compelled to conclude that after this act, the perpetrator had hoisted up the body as it teetered on death’s threshold. The situation had already executed another vivid dragonfly reversal. However, a striking peculiarity existed in the right thumb—only there were nail marks distinctly impressed. The area corresponding to the thumb’s muscular pad showed faint concavity, resembling a scar from lancing a boil or similar lesion. Yet while this swept away all doubts regarding Levèz’s suicidal psychology, the key’s discovery plunged them into deeper mysteries.

In this situation, both denial and affirmation were simultaneously organized, and several insurmountable barriers had been proven there. The perpetrator had likely dragged Levèz into the anteroom and strangled him, then carried the corpse into the inner mortuary chamber. However, despite the anteroom key being concealed within the victim’s clothing pocket, how could the perpetrator have closed that door? Moreover, not only were there no footprints other than Levèz’s left in the corpse chamber, but his facial expression also bore the hallmarks of a suicide—so why did it lack traces of terror or shock? Though only the upper portion of the Seishi window opening onto the side corridor contained transparent glass, it was entirely shrouded in a thick layer of dust, offering no clues to an escape route. Therefore, it was inevitable that all answers now rested upon the Crestless Stone. The prosecutor seized the corpse’s hair and wrenched its face toward Housui. And he condemned the ruthlessly cruel methods Housui had once employed against Levèz.

“Mr. Housui, the responsibility for this situation naturally falls upon your moral sensibilities.” “Indeed, through that psychological analysis, you managed to uncover the kobold’s paper charm.” “Moreover, what was nearly consigned to oblivion—this man’s affair with Madame Dannenberg—was dragged into light by your clairvoyant dissection.” “But Levèz, driven to desperation by your sophistry in proving his innocence, ultimately refused protection!”

To this, even Housui could not offer a direct rebuttal. Defeat, discouragement, despair—not only had all hope left him, but a shadow akin to an eternal burden had settled in one corner of his heart. That ghost would likely whisper ceaselessly to Housui—"You made Dr. Faust kill Levèz." However, the two thumb marks that had strongly compressed Levèz’s trachea were, in this case, a prize that made Inspector Kumashiro leap for joy. Thus, they promptly decided to collect fingerprints from the entire family. At that moment, a plainclothes officer entered, accompanied by a servant. The servant in question was a man named Koga Shojuro, who had previously given testimony during the Ekusuke incident. This time as well, he claimed to have witnessed Levèz’s bizarre actions during the intermission.

“When exactly did you last see Levèz?” Housui immediately pressed.

“Ah yes, I believe it was around eight ten,” he replied at first, turning his face away as if avoiding sight of the corpse—but once he began speaking, his testimony became crisp and precise. “As the first musical piece ended and we entered intermission, Mr. Levèz came out from the chapel.” “At that time, I passed through the great hall and walked down the corridor toward this room, with Mr. Levèz following behind me in the same manner.” “However, even so, I passed by this room and turned toward the dressing room—but when I suddenly glanced back at that corner, Mr. Levèz was standing motionless before this room’s entrance, staring fixedly in my direction.” “It was precisely as if he were waiting for my figure to vanish from view.”

According to this testimony, there was not an iota of room for doubt that Levèz had entered the chamber of his own volition. Housui proceeded to his next line of questioning.

“And then, at that time, what were the other three doing?”

"It appears each had withdrawn to their rooms for the time being." "And then, around five minutes before the next piece was to begin, the three departed together—though I recall Ms. Nobuko arrived somewhat later than that." At this, Inspector Kumashiro interjected, "So you didn’t use this corridor afterward?" "Yes—the second piece was about to commence shortly." "As you know, this corridor lacks carpeting—footsteps would resound. Hence during performances, we’re obliged to use the main corridor." With only Levèz’s inexplicable behavior remaining unresolved, Shojuro’s testimony concluded. Yet at the end he added offhandedly, "Ah yes—the gentleman from headquarters’ foreign affairs division seemed rather impatiently awaiting you in the hall."

Then, upon exiting the mourning chamber and proceeding to the hall, they found one of the foreign affairs officers waiting there alongside Inspector Kumashiro’s subordinate. Of course, one of them was a report concerning Kuroshikikan’s architect—Digby—and whether he was alive or dead. However, at the request of the Metropolitan Police Department, the Rangoon police authorities had likely even scoured through old documents. The reply telegram contained a rather detailed account of the circumstances surrounding Digby’s plunge to his death. To summarize—at five o'clock in the morning on June 17, 1888, a passenger had jumped overboard from the deck of the Persian Empress. And though the head had likely been severed by the propeller, only the torso washed ashore on a beach two miles from the city three hours later. Of course, there could be no doubt that the corpse was Digby’s, given the clothing, business card, and other personal effects.

Next, Inspector Kumashiro’s subordinate brought a report concerning Kuga Chinako’s background. According to this, she was the eldest daughter of Dr. Yagisawa Sessai, married to Kuga Jōjirō—a renowned researcher of luminous moss—and had been widowed in June 1913. Of course, what had led Chinako to that investigation was the psychological analysis through which Housui had once extracted her mental imagery and thereby come to know of Sakutetsu’s cardiac anomaly. Moreover, if Chinako had not only that but had also been informed by Sakutetsu of the location of the anti-premature burial device, it naturally seemed there was something abnormal in their relationship that transcended the master-servant barrier. However, when his eyes fell upon the maiden name “Yagisawa,” Housui suddenly began breathing abnormally, his expression becoming distraught. Then, grabbing that report, he wordlessly left the hall and strode briskly into the library.

Inside the library stood only a solitary candlestick with an acanthus-shaped base, its flame casting a gloomy atmosphere that seemed to be Chinako's customary environment when writing her works. Yet she appeared utterly devoid of any feeling as she stared fixedly at Housui who had entered with intensity. This unrelenting gaze not only deprived Housui of the chance to speak first but even instilled a kind of terror in Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro. At length, she herself began speaking in fragmented phrases delivered with an intimidating tone.

“Ah, I see.” “The reason you came to this room…” “You know, it must be that reason.” “One evening, I was by Madame Dannenberg’s side.” “Moreover, each time a tragedy occurred thereafter, I have never once left this library.” “You know, Mr. Housui, I had always thought you would eventually come to notice that paradoxical effect.”

During that time, Housui’s eyes grew brighter with each passing second, and it felt as though they were piercing through the other’s consciousness. He twisted his body around and offered a faint smile, but it vanished halfway.

“No—this is no sweet anecdote at all. I’ve come to you resolved that this will be our final encounter. Now then, Ms. Yagisawa—” The moment Housui spoke this surname, an indescribable tremor seized Chinako’s entire frame. Housui pressed his advantage. “Your father Dr. Yagisawa first published his theory of inherited criminality through cranial squamous and temporofrontal fossa deformities in Meiji 21 [1888], did he not? To which the late Dr. Sakutetsu raised counterarguments. Yet curiously—just as this year-long academic duel reached its zenith—it vanished like smoke, as if sealed by some tacit accord. So I compiled a chronological record of Kuroshikikan’s history. And what should appear in Meiji 23 but those four infants crossing oceans to arrive here? Tell me, Ms. Yagisawa—what role did you play in these events that brought you to this mansion?”

“I will tell you everything,” Chinako said, lifting her somber eyes. The turbulence in her heart seemed to have fully subsided; the once indistinguishable depths into which her facial contours had sunk now reemerged with terrifying sharpness, casting stark shadows. “My father and Dr. Sakutetsu abandoned that debate because their conclusions had reached a dead end in experimental eugenics—the extreme theory of cultivating humans.” “If I phrase it thus, you must understand those four were mere laboratory animals.” “To clarify their true origins—each had fathers among immigrants: Jews, Italians and others who met execution at Elmira Prison in New York.” “Whenever they dissected an executed corpse bearing that cranial structure, they would acquire the condemned’s child through Warden Blockwey.” “When their number finally reached those four of differing nationalities... Well, both the Hartford Evangelist article and embassy records were measures Dr. Sakutetsu arranged through lavish expenditure.”

“So then, having those four registered in this mansion and stirring up disputes over the distribution of movable assets—that too was essentially a scenario devised to reach a conclusion, wasn’t it?” “That is correct.” “It is said that his father also had the same cranial structure—which must have been true—for Dr. Sakutetsu harbored an almost maniacal obsession with his own theory.” “However, for one of such abnormal disposition as Dr. Sakutetsu, what we consider conventional thinking held no significance.” “Immersion—that constituted the entirety of his existence. To Dr. Sakutetsu’s vast, boundless realm of intellectual consciousness, trivialities like inheritance, affection, or corporeal form were mere motes of dust.” “Thus my father and Dr. Sakutetsu made a pact in their later years, entrusting me to witness its fruition or failure.” “Yet on that occasion, Dr. Sakutetsu executed an exceedingly insidious stratagem.” “To elaborate regarding Madame Krivov—shortly after her arrival in Japan, we received notice that the publication of the analysis had been misattributed.” “Thereupon Dr. Sakutetsu contrived a scheme, deriving the four names from *The Biography of Gustavus Adolphus*.” “Specifically, he assigned Madame Krivov—who lacked the hereditary traits indicated by that cranium—the assassin’s name.” “To the other three, he bestowed names of Wallenstein’s soldiers felled by Bráhe’s sniper fire.” “Though he had expunged all authentic biographies of King Gustavus from this library and substituted *The Secret Cabinet History of Richelieu*, he presumed those names would inevitably provoke instigation—whether among family members or you investigators.” “Therefore Mr. Housui, you must now comprehend the meaning of ‘spiritual nature’ I once described—the significance of that wilderness through which humanity’s seed must inevitably wander from father to child.” “And since Madame Krivov was slain today, would not Dr. Sakutetsu’s specter naturally dissipate from that miasma of suspicion?” “Ah, this case embodies the most decadent form of morality among all crimes.” “Thus did those five individuals gasp in desperate rivalry within that murky, ditch-stagnant water.”

Thus, as the true identities of the four mysterious musicians were exposed, only one or two unnatural death incidents remained in Kuroshikikan’s dark undercurrents of the past. Then, when they returned to Madame Dannenberg’s room—which was always used as the interrogation room—they found Hatatarou and Madame Serena waiting there, accompanied by four or five individuals who appeared to be from the music world. However, when Madame Serena saw Housui’s face, she began speaking in a commanding tone unbefitting her usual graceful demeanor.

“We have come to provide clear testimony—in fact, we wish for you to interrogate Nobuko.” “What?! Nobuko?!” Housui feigned surprise, though his face betrayed a knowing smile he couldn’t suppress. “So then, did she threaten to kill you all?” “No—there exists an utterly insurmountable barrier for anyone.”

Then, Hatatarou cut in. And, as always, this abnormally precocious child spoke in a tone that was strangely like that of a mature adult—soft and mellow. “Mr. Housui, this barrier had been psychologically constructed within us until now.” “You are aware, of course, that Mrs. Tsutako was seated at the far end of the front row.” “However, those present here today have shattered that barrier for us.”

"I sensed someone approaching from the harp's direction immediately after the decorative lights went out," said the forty-year-old man with a receding hairline—likely the critic Shikatsune Mitsuru—as he glanced around seeking agreement from those nearby. He continued: "Well, you might call it a kinetic force. More accurately, when silk rubs together it produces a low groaning—that's probably what you heard. In any case, the sound gradually intensified and spread through the space. Then just as I thought it had ceased completely, that anguished cry erupted from the stage at precisely the same instant."

“Indeed, your pen’s edge possesses full lethal potency,” Housui remarked with a sarcastic smile and nod. “But are you acquainted with this Huxleyan maxim? — ‘A conclusion exceeding evidence isn’t mere fallacy—it’s outright crime.’” “Ha ha ha! If you can hear even the god of music’s strings, why not proclaim Ibycus’ death through cockcrow in such fashion?” “Rather, I’d say music-loving dolphins should fulfill their duty by rescuing Arion.”

“What?! Music-loving dolphins?!” one of those seated in the row shouted indignantly. The man was Sueo Ootawara, a horn player positioned directly beneath Hatatarou near the left end. “Very well—Arion has already been saved.” “However, given my position, I couldn’t perceive the presence Mr. Shikatsune described.” “Yet precisely because I was near these two, it would be no exaggeration to say I had full awareness of their every movement.” “Mr. Housui, I too heard an unnatural resonance.” “It ceased the instant that anguished cry arose… But considering Mr. Hatatarou’s left-handedness and Madame Serena’s right-handedness, that sound must have been produced by their bowstrings scraping diagonally against each other.”

At that moment, Madame Serena looked at Housui with an ironic look of resignation. “In any case, precisely because the significance of this contrast is so straightforward, it must be difficult for someone as ironic as you to assess. But if you could judge with nerves other than your own inertia, surely memories of Krakow—where the legendary Dr. Faust practiced magic—would shine upon that commoner.”

After everyone had left, Inspector Kumashiro showed his disapproval and snapped at Housui.

“No—this is utterly absurd. In fact, I think a noble spirit that suits you would be to simply accept what’s given.” “Rather than that, Mr. Housui, I want you to recall the equation from the armory that you mentioned earlier based on this testimony.” “At that time, you said 2 - 1 = Krivov, didn’t you?” “However, if Krivov—the answer—were to be killed…”

“Don’t be absurd. How could that lowborn girl possibly be the mastermind behind this courtly intrigue?” Housui retorted vehemently.

“Indeed, that woman Nobuko is an exceedingly peculiar existence—completely ensnared in circumstantial evidence except for the Dannenberg incident and the bell chamber. However, it’s precisely because of that textbook human sacrifice that Dr. Faust can keep up his cheerful demeanor. First, Nobuko has neither motive nor impulse. For example, even the most sadistic criminal must inevitably have some motive that elicits such pathological psychology. In fact, even now those music-loving dolphins are…”

Just as Housui was about to touch on something, the report on the thumbprint investigation he had ordered earlier arrived. However, the results proved futile—nothing matching the prints ever materialized. Housui, his eyes weary, pondered for a moment before suddenly ordering the Wasurena jars lining the hall’s mantelpiece to be brought in. There were over twenty in total—some belonging to those deceased or departed—but they had been crafted for all with significant ties to the mansion, meant to eternally arrest remembrance. Their surfaces bore beautiful Spanish-style glazes, though their amateur craftsmanship lent them a crude antiquity. Housui arranged them in a row across the desk and spoke.

“Perhaps my nerves are too sensitive. However, in a place like this mansion—teeming with psychopathological individuals—to place trust in something like fingerprints becomes the fundamental error. Because there are occasionally episodes that aren’t visibly apparent. When rigidity or emaciation occurs under such circumstances, we risk falling into grievous error. However, inside these jars there must be thumbprints pressed during calmer moments. Inspector Kumashiro, please break these jars carefully.”

As they continued breaking the jars while cross-referencing the names on their bases, only two remained. "Claude Digsby"... had been shattered, but its print differed from that of the Welsh Jew. Next came Dr. Furuya Sakutetsu... Inspector Kumashiro's mallet descended gently, creating a zigzag fissure across the jar's belly. The instant it split apart, all three found themselves confronting pure nightmare. There beneath the rim—unmistakable in form—lay a thumbprint identical to those found pressed into Levèz's throat. Even Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro appeared robbed of speech by this revelation. As they stood transfixed, Kumashiro—like a man shaking off slumber—brushed tobacco ash from his sleeve with abrupt motions,

“Housui, this settles everything cleanly.” “There’s no more delaying.” “We’re digging up Dr. Sakutetsu’s tomb.”

“No—I will defend orthodoxy to the end!” Housui shouted with an uncanny fervor. “If you’re so deluded by groundless suspicions that you believe Sakutetsu still lives, then by all means, go ahead and hold your damned séance. I will find the crestless stone—and fight this self-proclaimed human murderer.”

Then, as he traced each crest carved into the fireplace stones, he indeed discovered what seemed to be it among those on the right side. When Housui experimentally pressed it, that section strangely yielded inward beneath his finger. At that very moment, the tier of stones began retreating soundlessly until a gaping square of darkness opened in the floor where they had been. The tunnel—this shaft of darkness steeped in Digby’s cruel malediction—threaded through wall cavities and walked layer gaps—where might it lead? To the bell chamber? The chapel? Or perhaps the mortuary? Or would it branch into a labyrinth of crossroads…

II. Nobuko, the star of fate in thy breast

At their feet was a small staircase from which peered a lacquer-black darkness. Air untouched by outside elements for decades oozed forth with corpse-warmth and an indescribable fungal stench—a truly demonic miasma. Housui and his two companions immediately switched on their flashlights and descended shoulder-to-shoulder. They reached a half-tatami wooden platform where lighting conditions now revealed numerous slipper imprints across the floor. Among these lay one conspicuously fresh track stretching straight to the stairway—its oval shape bearing no distinguishing features fore or aft, likely from cautious steps. This rendered impossible any determination of whether it led downward from above or inward from the tunnel depths. At that moment came Inspector Kumashiro’s sharp cry from where he illuminated the surroundings. Looking up, they found a wooden mask of Demon King Bari—from Vishnu’s avatar legends—mounted high on the right wall, its tragic hairline exposed and left pupil protruding rod-like by five bu (1.5cm). Pressing this caused the right side to rise inversely, narrowing incoming light beams as stacked stones reset. After measuring stride intervals between slipper marks, Housui advanced into the ribbon-like darkness ahead. What followed truly evoked scenes from Emperor Trajan’s Rome when Consul Pliny dispatched two deaconesses to probe the Catacombs of Callixtus.

From the tunnel’s ceiling hung years of dust accumulation in stalactite-like formations, with every breath sending fine particles scattering, leaving their throats irritatingly ticklish. Even without that, the air’s staleness made breathing unnervingly labored, and had they used a pine torch at that moment, it likely would have smoldered out without ever blazing. Moreover, the reverberations from the entire mansion resounded unnaturally within this space—at times making them wonder if they had reached a fork in the path, or hear what sounded like human voices—frequently making their hearts race. However, the slipper marks never disappeared, continuing to guide them onward. At their feet, the accumulated dust crumbled away as if trampling snow, and through it, the cold sensation of oak permeated all the way to the crowns of their heads. Thus, this tunnel journey continued for over twenty minutes. The tunnel snaked right and left, with some sections forming slopes, twisting beyond any capacity to memorize until finally bending left to reach a dead end resembling a cupboard. And there, another Demon King Bari mask was discovered. Ah, beyond that single layer of stone wall—where in Kuroshikikan could this lead? Housui pressed one eye of the mask with bated breath. Then, the right door was opened, brushing slightly against Inspector Kumashiro’s shoulder, yet the darkness ahead continued unabated. However, a gentle breeze came visiting from nowhere in particular, making them realize that they were in a vast space.

Housui cast his light diagonally upward into the space ahead. However, the light merely raced vainly through the darkness, illuminating nothing. Then, taking a step forward and directing it overhead, he revealed the faces of three men with ugly, anguished visages. Through this, Housui understood everything. Saint Paul, Martyr Ignatius, Hosius the Elder Confessor of Córdoba... They had counted three sculpted pillar statues along the wall when a tremor suddenly entered their voices,

“It’s the tomb! We’ve finally come to Dr. Sakutetsu’s tomb!” he shouted frenziedly. Simultaneous with that cry, Kumashiro advanced two or three steps and swept his circular light straight ahead. Then several stone coffins flickered into view within its beam, making it unequivocally clear this area was Dr. Sakutetsu’s tomb. The three began taking fragmented, high-pitched breaths. The interpretation of Levèz’s past words to Housui—“Kobold, be diligent”—now teetered on the brink of shifting from illusion to reality. Moreover, the slipper marks continued in an arrow-straight path toward Dr. Sakutetsu’s coffin platform—exceptionally massive and positioned at the center. On its lid lay a guardian Saint George crafted from light iron, which had been slightly lifted. At that moment, it likely crossed their minds…that only Dr. Sakutetsu’s coffin platform lacked legs and was constructed from marble blocks—confirming Dr. Faust’s absence from within—and that a new tunnel leading underground had likely been established there.

However, when the lid was lifted and a circular light swiftly poured in—the three instinctively shuddered and leaped back. Behold—within lay a grotesque skeleton! The knees that should have been lying still were bent high, both hands floated in midair, fingers contorted in a ghastly manner as if clawing at something. Moreover, as the three leaped back, it rustled—and in a further ghoulishly unsettling turn—a rib or two at the edge of its chest cavity broke off and crumbled into ash-like dust. However, traces of wounds remained on the left ribs, and it was unmistakably clear that this was indeed Dr. Sakutetsu’s remains.

“Dr. Sakutetsu had indeed died.” “Then just whose fingerprints are those?” the prosecutor growled, turning to Kumashiro. At that moment, an uncanny light flashed in Housui’s eyes as he pressed his face against Dr. Sakutetsu’s ribs and froze. To their utter astonishment, grotesque characters were carved vertically into the sternum. PATER! HOMO SUM! “Father—I too am human—” Housui translated the Latin line into Japanese, but the bizarre discoveries continued unabated. Golden-hued particles glinted along the edges of the carved characters, while wedged in a broken tooth’s gap lay what appeared to be a small bird’s skeleton. Housui took the particles in hand and studied them intently—

“Ah, this must be Dr. Faust’s ritual. But Inspector Kumashiro, these characters are engraved on a dry plate. ‘Father, I too am human—’. Moreover, what appears to be a small bird skeleton lodged between the teeth must undoubtedly be the corpse of a tit that interfered with an anti-premature burial device. Isn’t this utterly horrifying? In other words, Dr. Sakutetsu had indeed revived within the coffin, but at that moment, the culprit prevented the electric bell from ringing by wedging a tit chick into it.”

Even as Housui’s voice echoed eerily, Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro remained so transfixed by the ghastly spectacle before them that his words failed to reach their ears. The twisted form was unmistakably that of agony within the coffin; the conclusion could only be the burial of a living being. However, from Dr. Faust’s perspective, this gruesome sight—Dr. Sakutetsu revived within the coffin, frantically pulling the signal cord to no avail, his strength waning as he clawed at the lid above—may well have delivered a cruel and sadistic pleasure. And so, with the criminal’s merciless will now marked by both the tit bird’s corpse and the phrase “Father, I too am human—,” it was perhaps only natural that Kuga Chinako had cried out against “the most decadent form of morality.” It was an undeniable fact that this terror tragedy—already carried out prior to what came to be called the Kuroshikikan Murder Case, its horror verifiable even in the visible proof of the corpses’ contortions—possessed something far more suffocatingly visceral than even that history of bloodshed renowned for its extreme brutality. Then they began investigating the slipper marks, which continued to the door above them at the top of the Holy Grotto’s staircase—that is, all the way to the cemetery’s coffin chamber. However, upon reaching this point, the sequence of events finally became clear: they ascertained that the culprit had entered the tunnel from Madame Dannenberg’s room, then opened the coffin chamber’s lid to emerge onto the ground of the rear garden. Moreover, apart from those, footprint-like marks half-buried in dust were scattered about, making it beyond doubt that a bizarre intruder had been present during that sealed period. When the investigation concluded, the three hurriedly closed the stone coffin’s lid and fled from the nearly maddening aura of dread.

And as they walked, Housui synthesized and organized his several discoveries, linking them like the links of a chain.

1. Analysis of "Father, I too am human"— It stood as an irrefutable emblem that spoke volumes. Yet given Dr. Sakutetsu’s fanatical obsession with vindicating his theories—having not only naturalized four foreigners but also drafted an aberrant will, drawn corpse diagrams, burned occult tomes, implied criminal methodologies, and premeditated investigative obstructions—the question remained: which of the three individuals had this madness impelled? The answer remained shrouded in doubt. That single word—"father"—unmistakably pointed to either Hatatarou or Madame Serena. Had Hatatarou sought vengeance for some inheritance-related atrocity? Or had Madame Serena, through motives unknown, discerned Sakutetsu’s true intent—a truth hinted at by a half-page corpse diagram that could only be perceived as Housui’s fevered hallucination? If the latter held, then the absolute realm stirring within Madame Serena’s pride might well have detonated this grotesque cataclysm beyond mortal comprehension. Thus while this declaration of intent undeniably resided in the phrase 'I too am human—,' should it prove forged, suspicion would inevitably fall upon Oshikane Tsutako as the architect of this deranged screed.

2. On Oshikane Tsutako as a Criminal Phenomenon—

It had already become clear that the figure moving along the extended eaves during the Divine Judgment Council, the shoe prints from the gardening shed where the dry plate was first retrieved, and the intruder in the pharmaceutical room—these three individuals—were one and the same as the person who had slain Dr. Sakutetsu and infiltrated Madame Dannenberg’s chamber that night. Thus, the issue was naturally consolidated into the Dannenberg case, and Oshikane Tsutako—bearing an indisputable shadow and what could be called the very essence of motives—now made her entrance. Of course, as long as these speculations cannot be established as definitive conclusions, they remain nothing more than mere protrusions in the void.

Upon returning to the former room and settling into a chair, Housui grimly stroked his chin and uttered an astonishing statement.

"In truth, Sakutetsu’s corpse contains two violent declarations of will." "First, he was killed by Digby’s curse and revived—only for Dr. Faust to deliver the final blow." "In other words, that was a double murder." “What? A double murder⁉” exclaimed Inspector Kumashiro in shock. In response, Housui overturned the back of the grand staircase—three times over—before finally revealing the ultimate conclusion.

“Isn’t that right, Inspector Kumashiro? There’s a saying by the famous Langie—the French cryptanalyst: ‘The ultimate secret cipher lies in organizing identical characters.’” “So applying that method to the crestless stones, I eliminated pairs like ‘s’ and ‘s,’ ‘re’ and ‘le,’ ‘st’ and ‘st.’” “Then it transformed into a single word: ‘Cone.’” “But this ‘cone’ is actually a finial ornament on the bed’s canopy—and that eerie jester figure up there,” he said, stepping behind the curtain to stack small tables and chairs one by one atop the bedding. When he finally placed the tall dresser atop the pile, Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro gasped and held their breath. The pinecone-shaped finial had opened its maw, white powder cascading out with a dry rustle. Housui then began recounting the three mysterious deaths that had plunged Kuroshikikan’s past into darkness.

“This is the mystery of darkness—Kuroshikikan’s specter. To phrase it through rhetorical artifice, one might call it a medieval heretic’s contraption. But consider how each of the three past mysterious deaths occurred during shared bedding—the nature of this device’s mechanism becomes clear. When two or more bodies exceed the permitted weight upon it, the pinecone finial opens and spills forth this powder. In the Maria Anna era, such vessels held aphrodisiacs, but here it has been transformed into a peachwood chastity belt—for this powder is undoubtedly Stramonihinasu (Note), a phytotoxin so rare it verges on myth. Contact with nasal membranes induces violent hallucinations—thus its role in the Denjirou Incident of Meiji 29 and Fudeko Incident of Meiji 35 before finally destroying Sakutetsu on that day he was found clutching the doll. This is Digby’s true curse—the very essence of what’s inscribed in *The Dance of Death*: ‘The Shanar devotees shall lie at hell’s foundation—’”

(Note) It is said that Housui later expressed astonishment upon discovering that Stramonihinasu had indeed surpassed mere legend. That substance is recorded solely in the writings of Georg Bartisch (a 16th-century Königsberg pharmacologist), and in modern times, only by a missionary doctor of the German East Africa Company—one called Fisch in 1895—who encouraged Indian hemp cultivation. And there exists but a single report suggesting that on rare occasions when Indian hemp becomes parasitized by the Strychnos genus (the source plant of arrow poison curare), its fruit is prized by indigenous peoples and employed in sorcery—though this connection remains speculative. Probably, the empty bottle found in Kuroshikikan’s pharmaceutical room was something Dr. Sakutetsu had been awaiting from Digby.

With this final elucidation, all the dark shadows of the past that had shrouded Kuroshikikan disappeared.

However, Prosecutor Hasekura spoke in a tone tinged with faint disappointment amidst his excitement,

"You certainly spoke—but regarding the current case, you've uncovered nothing." "But then—how do you interpret this contradiction?" "From the door to the room's midpoint, beneath the carpet, doll footprints had been marked with water." "But once inside the tunnel, they transformed into human footprints." "But Prosecutor Hasekura—that's precisely the plus and minus of it." "Since I never believed in the doll's existence from the outset, there was no need to mention it." "However, this single matter alone—I don't think we can dismiss it as mere coincidental alignment." "For when comparing the slipper marks in the tunnel to the doll's footprints, both the stride length and total footprint dimensions match perfectly—moreover, the slipper marks correspond precisely to the doll's gait." "That, Inspector Kumashiro, is truly a fascinating case study," Housui continued, moving before the fireplace and warming his hands over crimson embers.

“Now, those doll footprints were originally something I created by measuring the spread of water droplets beneath the carpet.” “And by taking the most vivid portions at the upper and lower ends—that is to say, the areas with the greatest concentration of water droplets—as reference points… Well then, I could reproduce the trick I call ‘plus-minus.’” “Now, this was none other than attaching two more slippers face-up beneath the original slipper and then interleaving those two slippers alternately.” “And then, after thoroughly soaking them with water from opening the door, they first press down firmly on the rear cover with their heel.” “Then, since a slightly smaller circular force is applied to the center of the cover, the water pressed out naturally forms the shape of an upward parenthesis ().” “Next, when you step on the front part of that cover with the front of your heel—since its shape is horseshoe-like—the water closer to both ends rather than the center gets forcefully expelled, forming downward parentheses (().” “And then, they alternately arranged those two types of parenthesis-shaped water marks—upper and lower—left and right.” “In other words, the culprit had measured in advance the doll’s footprints—three times the size of a normal person’s.” “And then, by adjusting their stride to match it, the intermediate area between those two parentheses naturally transformed into a shape resembling the doll’s footprints.” “Therefore, the total length of those slippers became equal to the toddling stride of the doll, which is why all the positive and negative images ended up reversed.”

Thus, as the outlandish trickery was laid bare and the doll’s form vanished, it naturally came to be thought that the criminal’s purpose in invading this chamber must lie in either the corpse light or the wound pattern—one of these two. It was already 11:30—. Yet Housui, determined to push through to a resolution by any means necessary that night, showed no signs of retreating. Before long, Prosecutor Hasekura uttered a sound that was not quite a sigh and said:

“Look here, Mr. Housui—isn’t every aspect of this case merely a chain of synonyms built upon Dr. Faust’s incantations? Fire and fire, water and water, wind and wind… But that photographic plate alone—I simply can’t digest the significance of its composition.” “Synonyms⁉ So you’d bind this tragedy to mere conjecture?” Housui murmured with sardonic inflection before sharply interrupting himself. “Ah! Prosecutor Hasekura—synonyms and photographic plates! Somehow… I feel the genesis of that wound pattern dawning upon me!” He sprang up abruptly and vanished from the room like a tempest. He returned moments later with heightened color, clutching yesterday’s unsealed will in hand. When they aligned one of the twin crests from its upper margins against the wound pattern photograph under lamplight, both men involuntarily gasped—for the two matched with flawless precision. Housui drained the servant-brought tea in one draught before commencing.

“It is truly unparalleled.” “The criminal’s intellectual ingenuity is truly astonishing.” “This stationery had already been replaced with the current version a full year ago.” “Of course, even before that—that photographic plate had captured the madness-tinged elements lurking in the shadows of the incident.” “Because I would like you to recall Dr. Oshikane’s testimony in this regard.” “Even without that, as you can see now, when Sakutetsu finished drafting the will, he sprinkled antique military edict-style copper powder over it.” “Now, Inspector Kumashiro, doesn’t copper possess a self-luminous property that imprints on photographic plates in the dark?” *Ah, that prologue—the preface to this horror tragedy.* “Well then, I think I’ll proceed to read that aloud now.” “That night, Sakutetsu stored the two wills in the vault’s drawer with the torn one placed beneath—however, prior to that, the culprit had already laid a photographic plate at that dark bottom.” “Then, when Sakutetsu opened the safe the next morning and burned one of the imprinted sheets in front of the assembled family before storing the remaining sheet back in the safe, there must have been someone who retrieved the photographic plate that had captured the entire text during that interval.” “Indeed, it was that brief interval that compelled Dr. Faust to strike a pact with the devil.” “Even if judged solely by intuition and omen, the single page that was burned naturally corresponds to half of the corpse diagram I envisioned. Moreover, serving as a coordinate, it stirred up a terrifying vortex within that fantastical space.”

“Indeed, that photographic plate would be an infinite mystery.” “However, the natural conclusion would be to determine who left that gathering first—” said Inspector Kumashiro, letting both arms hang limply, his face suffused with deep disappointment. “Of course, by now, that memory is likely no longer clear.” “Then—what about the relationship between that wound pattern and the photographic plate?” “That was the old wisdom of Roger Bacon (1214–1292, an English monk—though renowned as a magical alchemist, he was fundamentally an extraordinary scientist said to have invented gunpowder and other things as early as the thirteenth century),” Housui said quietly. “Incidentally, if you consult Avlino’s *Collection of Holy Monk Miracles*, you’ll find an anecdote about Bacon etching a precise cross on a corpse’s back in Guildford’s chapel.” “Yet on the other hand, when considering ignition pellets”—he paused to let the technical term hang—“tartaric acid heated and sealed in a container, which emit a tongue-like red flash upon contact with air—when we examine Bacon’s projectiles wrapped in sulfur and iron powder, the very essence of technical sorcery is laid bare. At the same time, this has revealed to us the origin of the wound patterns in our case.” “Inspector Kumashiro, you’re aware that immediately before cardiac arrest, biological reactions cease to appear in the skin and nails?” “Also, in cases of impulsive death, the sweat glands throughout the body contract rapidly.” “And when a flash-like flame is applied to that area of skin, it leaves an incision-like wound.” “Of course, the culprit applied this principle to Madame Dannenberg’s death throes on the photographic plate.” “To explain the method: first, two crests were cut from the photographic plate, and an olive wreath was etched along their outlines using acid.” “Then they aligned these two along their grooves and created ignition pellets within that hollow.” “So if you simply apply it swiftly to the temple”—Housui mimed the motion—“the ignition pellets flare up in a flash, leaving that wound pattern along the grooves. That’s the logic, isn’t it?” “Well, Inspector Kumashiro—you must be thoroughly fed up by now.” “Of course, this so-called technical sorcery is nothing more than primitive proto-chemistry.” “Yet its mystical spirit was potent enough to transmute chemical symbols into marionettes for a time—such was its power.”

And so, when the doll’s existence vanished like a bubble in a dream, it became necessary to conclude that the culprit had discarded the paper fragment bearing Madame Dannenberg’s own signature—along with the memo and pencil. But why would the culprit have stolen that distinctive signature? Moreover, pursuing the photographic plate to its logical conclusion inevitably led them to trace its origins back to the Divine Judgment Council. Housui was silently contemplating for a while, but then, for some reason, summoned Nobuko despite the late hour.

"I believe this must be what you summoned me for," Nobuko initiated as she settled into the chair, her demeanor still radiating that characteristically bright affection. "Yesterday Mr. Levèz publicly proposed marriage to me—and instructed me to answer him using one of these two." Her voice faltered at the trailing words, as though lamenting life's precipitous upheavals. Then came the unseasonably opulent brilliance that arrested three pairs of eyes when she withdrew something from her pocket—two crown pins. Upon their platinum settings gleamed marquise-cut stones: a ruby and an alexandrite, each facet blazing with what must have been 120 to 130 carats' worth of convex fire. Nobuko released a frail sigh before laboriously moving her tongue to speak.

"In other words, the beloved yellow—the alexandrite—signifies auspiciousness, while the ruby's blood naturally portends inauspiciousness." "And he instructed me to use these two as symbols of acceptance or refusal—to wear one as my hair ornament during the performance."

“Then shall I attempt to guess?” he said with a cunning squint of his eyes—though for some reason, Housui’s chest heaved violently as he spoke. “The other day, you avoided Mr. Levèz and took refuge in the Juhikitei Pavilion, did you not?” “No! I bear no moral obligation regarding Mr. Levèz’s death!” Nobuko exclaimed breathlessly. “In truth, I wore the alexandrite. So we intended to descend this Harz Mountain—where demons hold their so-called Walpurgis Feast—together.”

Then peering intently into Housui’s face, she implored, “Please—tell me the truth. Could it be that he… that he took his own life? No—absolutely not! Not when I wore the alexandrite…” At that moment, a dark shadow swept across Housui’s face as a tormented expression swiftly rose to the surface. That shadow—indeed, there had been a paradox within his heart, and Nobuko’s words now shattered it into infinitesimal fragments beyond doubt.

“No—it was definitively murder,” Housui declared in a grave voice, “However, the sole reason I called you here is to ask this: at last year’s assembly where Sakutetsu announced his will—who departed first?”

Since nearly a year had already passed, it was naturally expected that Nobuko would shake her head without hesitation. However, that seemingly meaningful remark appeared to make her realize something. A strange agitation suddenly coursed through her entire body. "That would be... um... that person," Nobuko replied, her face contorting in anguish as she fiercely wrestled with the conflict of whether to speak or remain silent. But soon, as if resolving herself, she looked firmly at Housui.

“I simply cannot speak of this from my own lips at present.” “However… I shall relay it to you later—by written note.”

Housui nodded in satisfaction and terminated his interrogation of Nobuko. Inspector Kumashiro appeared dissatisfied that Housui had not touched upon that point at all regarding Nobuko, who was enveloped in the most unfavorable testimony in today’s incident... However, as a final means to uncover the profound secret hidden within the photographic plate, it was at last decided to recreate the spectacle of the Divine Judgment Council. Of course, prior to that, Housui had directed plainclothes officers toward Chinako and had ascertained the positions occupied by the seven individuals at the time. Now, regarding their arrangement: Madame Dannenberg alone was positioned on the opposite side, with the Hand of Glory (a hand from a hanged corpse pickled in vinegar and further dried) placed between them. Before her, forming a semicircle at considerable intervals from left to right were Nobuko, Chinako, Madame Serena, Madame Krivov, and Hatatarou—the remaining five. Levèz alone occupied a slightly hunched seat directly in front of Madame Serena at the semicircle's apex. And the six had their backs to the entrance door.

When they entered the same room as before and Inspector Kumashiro withdrew the Hand of Glory from its iron cage, the trembling of its fingers evoked immeasurable terror. It mocked its former existence as part of a human body, with no trace of lines or masses resembling one anywhere. It was nothing but a grotesque amalgamation of motley hues and misshapen forms—like twisted roots from a stunted bonsai garden, or perhaps something else entirely. Looking at its parchment-toned skin riddled with fine cracks across one surface, one might have thought it resembled the detached cover of an old Japanese book. By now, seeking any physical resemblance had become impossible. Moreover, each corpse candle placed on its fingertips bore specific orientations and marks. Though slightly dull in luster, their appearance differed not at all from ordinary white wax. Then, as flames traveled from end to end, the candles ignited with a sizzling whisper-like sound, spreading a reddish-brown light—like diluted blood—to every corner of the room. As this occurred, an eerily hazy substance began clouding Housui’s vision where he stood in Madame Dannenberg’s former position. It was a mist-like vapor carrying a peculiar odor, gradually enveloping the five candles from their bases upward. When the flames began wavering and flickering, the room dimmed as if sinking into gloom. At that instant, Housui’s hand reached out to examine each corpse candle one by one. Then they discovered inexplicable minute holes at every base—the central three each had one on both sides, while the two ends each bore one on their inner sides. Seeing this, Inspector Kumashiro twisted the flasher device, transforming the bizarre mist into a cloud of Housui’s morbid investigation. Soon after, he grinned smugly and glanced at the two men.

“The purpose of these minute holes was, in a sense, a veil of concealment, and also served to induce a form of crystal gazing,” Housui declared. “Since each connects to a wick hole, the wax vapor drawn from there rises upward along the candle bodies. However, once this happens”—he gestured—“a wall of steam forms before Madame Dannenberg’s face, and then, by making the flames of the central three flicker to dim the light...” He paused meaningfully before continuing, “Naturally, the face of the one person at the center of the circle would be farthest from the undisturbed lights at both ends.” “Therefore,” he pressed on, “that face would become completely invisible to Madame Dannenberg. Moreover”—his finger traced imaginary vapor trails—“the two end candles, buffeted by steam rising from both sides, had their flames tilt sideways. And as the light’s position becomes further skewed, the faces of those at both ends would naturally be obscured by the light and disappear when viewed from this position.” Leaning forward intently, he concluded: “In other words—even if these three—Hatatarou, Nobuko, and Madame Serena—had left mid-ceremony, Madame Dannenberg couldn’t have seen them. Furthermore”—his voice dropped conspiratorially—“the others too likely lost awareness under that abnormal atmosphere.” A sardonic smile flickered across his lips. “Frankly, it’s more surprising they noticed anything at all.” He straightened abruptly. “Now consider—when Madame Dannenberg collapsed, Nobuko immediately brought water from the adjoining room.” His eyes narrowed. “This suggests she’d already left beforehand and prepared for precisely this outcome.” Spreading his hands in mock concession, he added: “Of course, this remains mere conjecture—circumstantial evidence at best.”

“These minute holes must undoubtedly be the culprit’s handiwork,” Prosecutor Hasekura remarked, drawing his chin back deeply before pressing further. “But when Madame Dannenberg collapsed that time, she cried out ‘Sakutetsu!’ I don’t believe that was merely due to that woman’s hallucinations.”

“A keen insight—this was by no means a simple hallucination. Madame Dannenberg was undoubtedly what Ribot termed a possessor of second sight; one capable of generating hallucinations from mere illusions. This phenomenon—what Saint Teresa’s chronicles describe as an incense-induced trance—causes contours to sharpen when viewed through vaporous veils, with afterimages occasionally coalescing into bizarre forms. In this case, the faces of Chinako and Madame Krivov—positioned inward from the end candles—must have overlapped diplopically through prolonged staring. That illusion undoubtedly triggered Madame Dannenberg’s vision. Ribot hailed this as the human spirit’s greatest mystical force—considered humanity’s highest trait during the Middle Ages. Ah, Madame Dannenberg surely possessed a hysterical visionary faculty akin to Joan of Arc and Saint Teresa themselves.”

Thus, as Housui’s deductions reversed and surged forward, he was able to add—beyond the previously considered Tsutako—the three individuals starting with Hatatarou to those who had lurked on that night veranda and dropped the photographic plate. At that very moment, Housui’s combat readiness was at its peak under optimal conditions. So intense was his fervent neural activity—one could almost hear its very pulse—that it seemed the case might conclude that very night. Then, after walking down the dark corridor and returning to the old room, there awaited the answer Nobuko had promised earlier. Within the investigative loop of the Divine Judgment Council, enveloped in thick suspicion—and moreover, precisely upon those four existing individuals—the final trump card was cast. Housui’s lips dried, and his right hand holding the envelope began to tremble unnervingly. And he screamed inwardly. Nobuko! The star of fate lies upon thy breast!

III. Father, I Too Am Thy Child

Last year when the disputed will was announced—there must have been someone who slipped out of the gathering before Sakutetsu could reach it and retrieved from the vault the photographic plate that had captured the full text before its burning. Thus it was only natural that Housui Rintarou, clutching Nobuko’s sealed letter bearing that person’s name, should have cried out thus in his heart. Yet the moment he sliced open the seal and glimpsed its contents, the light drained from his eyes. The tension in his body slackened all at once, and he weakly flung the paper onto the desk. When Prosecutor Hasekura leaned over in astonishment to look, he found no human name—only the following verse inscribed.

In ancient Thule(1), there was a listening tube(2). Note (1): Thule— In Goethe’s *Faust*, it is the first appearance of the folk song sung by Gretchen. It was at that moment when she was given the ring by Faust that her tragic fate began. (2) Listening Tube—. The first was established in the Spanish Inquisition. In the UFA film *The Congress Dances*, Metternich eavesdropping on Wellington’s conversations and such is an example of that.

“Ah, the Listening Tube—” “The terror of this is not limited to Nobuko alone,” Housui remarked with a wry smile, nodding to himself. “And indeed, Dr. Faust’s hidden listening tube captures every word of our conversations—regardless of time or place.” “So naturally, if one were to act carelessly, it goes without saying that Nobuko would meet the same fate as Gretchen.” “Without fail, in some form or another, would that demon’s ears not resort to an insidious method of punishment?”

“Well, let’s set that aside for now…” “Now, I know I’m being tedious,” Prosecutor Hasekura continued, his voice prompting Housui to look up. The prosecutor’s face twitched with skeptical wrinkles. “But about this recreation of the Divine Judgment Council’s scenario you’ve just presented…” “You claim Madame Dannenberg was a possessor of second sight—and what’s astonishing—you’ve concluded that the criminal anticipated those hallucinations.” “But if such hyper-metaphysical forms of the mind—” “If you claim such things can be easily predicted, then your argument is nothing but ambiguity.” “It can hardly be called profound.”

Housui made a slight gesture and let out a sardonic sigh before fixing Prosecutor Hasekura with an intense stare. “Why—I’m no Hirsch... I’m not claiming Madame Dannenberg suffered from chronic hallucinatory paranoia akin to mystical heroes—like Swedenborg or the Maid of Orleans. However, as a certain function of Madame’s was excessively developed, whenever such characteristics encountered organic stimuli, they would craft technical abstractions upon her senses. In other words, she would perceive vaguely separated and scattered elements as a single reality. And Prosecutor Hasekura, Freud has posited that hallucinations constitute symbolic representations of repressed desires—a hypothesis, mind you. Of course, in Madame’s case, this originated from her terror of transgressing Dr. Sakutetsu’s taboos—in other words, from her forbidden romantic involvement with Levèz. Therefore, for the criminal to have anticipated Madame’s hallucinations, they naturally must have thoroughly understood these circumstances. Furthermore, this ultimately led them to devise a scheme and execute a subtle trick involving corpse candles to induce crystalline gazing—thereby luring Madame Dannenberg into light self-hypnosis. However, Prosecutor Hasekura...” His voice sharpened with intellectual triumph. “It was precisely this concept of the latent state that bestowed glory upon me...”

Having thus sharply cut off his words, he fell into silent contemplation. Then, after changing several cigarettes in the interim, Housui seemed to have seized upon a concept. He ordered Hatatarou, Madame Serena, and Nobuko to be summoned immediately, then descended once more to the chapel. Within the deserted, hollow chapel, a forlorn and gloomy gray filled every corner, while an impenetrable darkness spreading above made the ceiling appear unnaturally low. As for light within, there was only the faint lamp swaying at the altar, making the entire space feel even smaller. From there began a darkness—dark and clammy, as if within the womb of some entity—yet one tinged with a strange reddish-brown hue. Moreover, the ceaselessly fluttering golden ring bore a searing sensation that hurt the eyes when stared at—as if it were Housui’s own ruthlessly honed fervor and power, poised to deliver judgment in one decisive stroke and bring down upon Dr. Faust’s head a punishment that might shake the very foundation stones and pillars of hell itself.

Eventually, the six of them took their seats around the round table. That night’s Hatatarou—unusually for him, who normally carried himself with floating grace—wore only a velvet short coat, his eyes perpetually downcast as he fidgeted with his unnervingly luminous white hands. Beside him lay Nobuko’s small, diligent hands—their healthy luster, like dried apricots, glowing with utterly charming radiance. Yet when one observed Madame Serena, she remained every inch the heraldic noblewoman—as though she were a shield emblazoned with love’s crest. Beneath the classical beauty of her boned corset—a dappled splendor one might say—there lingered a quietist’s stillness, as if she disdained the sluggish verbosity of languid pulses. But the air among them palpably held a tinge of impending crisis. This prolonged silence stemmed not merely from their suspicion toward Housui’s motives in excluding Tsutako, but also because each seemed to harbor private fears and schemes—resulting in a brief yet oddly mutual probing of intentions, as though they cautiously sounded one another’s depths. Then Madame Serena cast a sidelong glance at Nobuko—and something burst reflexively from her lips.

“Mr. Housui,” Madame Serena began with measured formality, “an investigator’s authority hinges on giving due weight to testimony.” Her gloved fingers tightened imperceptibly on the table’s edge. “Those present earlier distinctly heard the rustling of Ms. Nobuko’s garments.” Nobuko’s hands remained clasped on the harp’s gilded frame as she countered, her voice honeyed yet steely, “I kept my hands precisely here throughout.” A faint sheen of perspiration glistened at her temples despite the chapel’s chill. “If you insist only the bass string resonated, that’s a tale I’ve heard rehearsed before...” Her gaze locked with Serena’s across the round table. “But your ladyship’s allegory stands diametrically opposed to reality.”

At that moment, Hatatarou adopted an oddly mature demeanor, a cold, forced smile spreading across one cheek. “Now, I’d like you to examine that bewitching quality, Mr. Housui.—What exactly did that *sensation* approaching from the harp at that time signify?” “However, the resounding clarity of that musical sound—” “It was not the march of beautiful Imperial Cuirassiers, but rather Black Huntsmen—a band of reckless men with their tunics thrown open to expose chest hair, sniffing around the trails of blood left by fallen deer.” “No—surely he must have a taste for human flesh.”

And thus, Nobuko's position under interrogation was clearly disadvantageous. That cruel verdict seemed to have shackled her eternally—but Housui turned eyes glinting with feverish intensity toward her, "No—indeed, it was certainly not human flesh but fish. But precisely because that mysterious fish approached, Madame Krivov began retreating in the direction opposite to what you ladies imagined," Housui declared with undiminished theatricality, though this single statement completely reversed the positions of Nobuko and the other party.

“By the way, just before the decorative lights went out, you were indeed performing a glissando across all the strings, Ms. Nobuko.” “Then, the moment the lights were turned off immediately after that, you were startled and ended up pressing down all the pedals.” “In truth, the resonant hum that occurred at that time happened precisely in the order the pedals were pressed, so it sounded like an approaching presence.” “In other words, if you press the pedals while the resonance still lingers, a hum will arise in the harp.” “—You all, thanks to that vicious gossip, now require me to explain such self-evident truths.” With his carefree demeanor vanishing, Housui’s tone abruptly shifted to solemnity.

“However, this would completely overturn the circumstances of Madame Krivov’s case.” “If Madame Krivov heard that sound, she would naturally have begun retreating away from both of you.” “Therefore, Mr. Hatatarou—there must have been something gripped in your hand at that moment instead of the bow.” “No—let me put it bluntly.” “To begin with—when the decorative lights relit—why were you, who should be left-handed, holding the bow in your right hand and the violin in your left?”

Stricken by the torrential force emanating from Housui’s grievous intensity, Hatatarou turned utterly rigid, as though petrified. To him, this must have been something utterly unexpected—beyond anything he could have previously imagined. Housui opened his mouth leisurely, with an attitude of toying with his opponent. “By the way, Mr. Hatatarou—are you acquainted with the Polish proverb that states, ‘A violinist kills with a pull—’? In fact, when examining Lombroso’s praised work Livewire’s *The Development of Talent and Genius*, we find within it examples such as Schumann and Chopin—whose fingers began to succumb to paralysis—and in the revised edition, the tribulations of violinist Ysaÿe are also cited, all while addressing the interosseous muscles (the muscles of the fingers), which constitute the very lifeblood of musicians.” According to Livewire, sudden exertion causes spasms in those muscles—so he expounds. “However, of course, that does not constitute a definitive conclusion in this case.” “However, as long as you are a performer, I believe you could hardly ignore that inertia.” “After that, wasn’t it impossible to hold the bow with two fingers of your left hand?”

“S-so, is that all there is to it—your so-called spiritualism?” Shaking the table legs with a disgustingly grating noise...” That eerie precocious youth finally rasped out, his face contorted with hatred that seemed to convulse every muscle. However, Housui pressed his relentless pursuit without pause. “No—rather, that itself constitutes a precisely balanced system,” he declared with astonishing words. “And then—was it not you who once made Madame Dannenberg write the doll’s name?” His grand dramatic gesture sent the entire gathering’s excitement surging to its peak.

“Actually, when we recreated the scene of the Divine Judgment Council earlier—though not on-site—we discovered Madame Dannenberg was an astonishing second-sighted individual endowed with clairvoyant ability of piercing acuity.” In that case, should a seizure occur, would it not become possible for automatic writing—a form of abnormal psychological phenomenon originating from psychologist Janet’s experiments, wherein one surreptitiously guides the numb hand of an unwitting subject holding a brush to write characters two or three times, after which even upon releasing the grip, the subject continues writing identical characters in their own handwriting—to manifest in her paralyzed hand? “In fact, even from the hook-shaped tear marks near Ms. Nobuko’s door, it becomes evident that Madame Dannenberg’s right hand was paralyzed at that time.” “However, in that instance, it performed yet another dragonfly’s backflip, giving rise to an even more bizarre contradiction.” “What this means is that when stimulation is applied to the non-dominant hand, one occasionally writes characters similar to those requested rather than the exact ones.” Of course, that night, Ms. Nobuko knocked over a vase, and in her place, Madame Dannenberg entered—moreover, the enraged Madame revealed only her right shoulder from between the bedroom drapes. “Therefore—seizing what seemed an opportune moment—you attempted automatic writing.” “However, what Madame recognized in the result differed from what you had demanded,” Housui inscribed the next two characters on the desk’s paper scrap, particularly circling the three central characters.

Th érè se　　Sere na The moment this happened, a unified groan escaped from the mouths of everyone present. Madame Serena—less out of anger than due to the utterly unexpected nature of the facts—stared blankly at Hatatarou and sank into a daze. Hatatarou’s sticky sweat poured forth as his entire body writhed like a whipcord, rage making his voice surge onward.

“Mr. Housui, you—no—Your Excellency! The dinosaur of this case—it is none other than you! But the father’s finger marks said to be imprinted on Mr. Ottokar’s throat—those dinosaur’s claw marks—are they truly your avatars?” “Dinosaur⁉” Housui gnashed out the words, “Indeed, it is an undeniable fact that something we might call a dinosaur was present in that mortuary chamber. However, the other half of this dual role belongs to an orchid—or pedantically speaking, an agave.” He tore apart Levèz’s collar retrieved from his pocket. From between the layered fabric emerged a shrunken brownish band with a net-like pattern. Moreover, on its front—again layered and woven multiple times—were two oval-shaped objects resembling thumbprints. With a tap of his fingertip upon it, he continued: “In that case, it’s already evident at a glance. Of course, agave fibers contract to eight times their original length once they absorb moisture. The reason a hot water cascade was required in the mortuary chamber’s antechamber needs no explanation. Now then—the culprit first fastened those fibers to the main switch’s handle and utilized their contraction to cut off the electricity. When the handle faced downward, it slipped out cleanly and fell into the water flow, naturally washing out through the drain hole. Then came the inevitable next step—using thumbprint-shaped agave fibers on this collar to strangle Levèz’s throat. In other words, Levèz’s death wasn’t murder—it was suicide. Imagining the sequence—after confirming Levèz had entered the inner mortuary chamber, the culprit created the hot water cascade. As humidity gradually increased and the agave fibers contracted, Levèz found breathing increasingly difficult. Then occurred some abnormal cause necessitating his suicide.” Cutting off his words, Housui fixed Hatatarou with a piercing stare: “However—of course—no one’s face appears on this collar. But sooner or later, this case’s dinosaur will find its claws irreversibly caught in the chain links.”

To Hatatarou, now drenched in sweat, it seemed as though bile had flooded his entire body in that brief moment. Already, the strength to roar had been utterly exhausted, and he stared blankly at nothing in particular. But soon, as his swaying body stiffened like a rod, Hatatarou—overwhelmed—collapsed face-first onto the table. When Housui had him taken outside, Madame Serena also gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and followed after. And so, in the room where Nobuko alone remained, a slackened, listless silence lingered for a time—Ah, so that abnormally precocious child had been the culprit all along.

After some time, Housui—who had been pacing—took his seat, placed his folded arms on the table with a thud, and directed a pointed remark at Nobuko. “By the way—regarding that transition from yellow to red—I remain determined to uncover its truth.” Then, at that very moment, her face twitched nervously, and a scrupulousness—one that could only be thought to have arisen from contempt and humiliation—spilled from her lips. “In that case—are you demanding associative words from me?” “From yellow to red—wouldn’t that produce an orange-yellow?” “Orange-yellow—ah—you must be alluding to that blood orange.” “So you presume a soap bubble flew from the straw through which I sipped lemonade...” “No—it has always been my custom to drink through a bundled sheaf of straws.” “But if that were so—wouldn’t the entire bundle fail to align with the strings simultaneously?” Nobuko’s sarcasm intensified with ferocious momentum. “And as for that Dan—the Danish flag being lowered to half-mast—what possible connection could I have to such theatrics?” “And potassium cyanide—what sort of...”

“No—it’s nothing like that…” “Rather, that is something I should be saying to Madame Tsutako Oshikane,” Housui said with a faint blush, speaking quietly. “In truth, that shift from yellow to red—it pertains to the relationship between alexandrite and ruby.” “Now Ms. Nobuko—surely you were wearing the emblem of rejection at that time—a ruby—were you not?” “No, absolutely not…” Nobuko stared fixedly at Housui, infusing her voice with strength. “As evidence—though this occurred just before the performance began—I distinctly recall Lord Hatatarou taking notice of my hair ornament and inquiring, ‘Why on earth does Lord Levèz’s alexandrite—’”

Nobuko’s single remark not only failed to unravel the mystery of Levèz’s suicide but also compounded Housui’s self-reproach and remorse, further intensifying the eternal burden that had taken root in a corner of his heart. However, Housui finally unveiled the mysterious veil of this tragedy and succeeded in the Caesarean section that had been deemed impossible. By then, the night’s hours had fully elapsed, and a small man with a horn lantern hanging from his chest button emerged from the guardhouse.

One by one, thrushes began to sing, and soon from beyond the fortress tower, dawn—unable to restrain its beautiful songlike essence—pushed upward into the sky. Housui stood with Nobuko by the window, and as he ecstatically savored the panoramic view, he placed his hand on her shoulder and spoke, imbuing his words with boundless meaning and affection.

“Ms. Nobuko, the era of storms and urgency has already passed.” “This mansion too shall return to its former state—a world of resplendent Latin poetry and love songs.” “Now then, since I have completely removed the rattlesnake’s fangs in that manner, you will fearlessly keep that promise to me, won’t you?” “Now, everything has ended, and a new world is beginning.” “I would like to mark the close of this mysterious case with this poem by Kerneľ.” “Color is the yellow of autumn; once the night’s light passes, it shall become the crimson flowers of spring——”

However, when the afternoon of the next day arrived—contrary to expectations of Nobuko’s summons card slicing through the air with a whoosh—Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro instead made an unexpected visit to announce that Nobuko herself had been fatally shot with a pistol, dying instantly. Upon hearing this, Housui not only exhibited despair profound enough to suggest he might abandon the case altogether but also saw his hard-won evidence slip away at the crucial moment—irrevocably severing any hope of legal resolution for this affair. Thirty minutes later, Housui arrived at Kuroshikikan with a visage darkened by gloom. Now confronting Nobuko’s corpse directly, this modern Gretchen—who had been ceaselessly manipulated by Dr. Faust’s tsunami-like demonic machinations since the case’s inception until her final plunge from life’s precipice—seemed to demand moral accountability from Housui for her death, until that sensation morphed into boundless shame and remorse. Yet upon entering the scene—Nobuko’s room—he found vividly imprinted the culprit’s final testament: Kobold sich muhen (地精よいそしめ).

Moreover, it was not imprinted on the usual paper slip but this time on Nobuko’s body. The reason was this—her splayed left hand to left foot formed a single vertical line, while her right hand and right foot splayed outward in the shape of the katakana "ku" (く), creating an overall form that eerily evoked the "K" of Kobold. It lay with its feet positioned about three shaku in front of the doorway, supine and angled diagonally to the right, wearing a pained expression like Levèz and Madame Krivov’s—yet without the slightest shadow of fear upon it. The corpse bore a ghastly bullet wound gaping open at the right temple, with blood flowing out and thickly congealed upon the matting. Yet given that she wore outdoor clothes and even gloves, it was thought that perhaps she had been suddenly sniped while attempting to visit Housui. Furthermore, the pistol used in the crime was discarded outside the door—beneath the handle—and the door had been secured from the outside with a drop latch. However, this turn of events was accompanied by a single eerie testimony, and from it came a sensation as if hearing the sinister rustling of Dr. Faust’s garments, slithering darkly in the shadows.

Just as the clock struck two, a gunshot roared—and with it, terror shackled the entire mansion so completely that not a soul dared approach the scene. About ten minutes later, Madame Serena—still trembling in the adjacent room—reportedly heard the sound of a door closing and a latch falling into place. Thus, even as Dr.Faust’s shadowy maneuvers came to light, Housui himself could do nothing but watch helplessly despite the situation’s apparent simplicity. Naturally, no fingerprints could remain on the pistol, and given those circumstances, every trace of the family’s movements had vanished. And so it was concluded that her attempt to keep faith with Housui—she who had been dogged by misfortune throughout this affair—had finally brought this ill-starred maiden her ultimate tragedy.

And so, even Nobuko—the final trump card—had crumbled, and with each audacious leap of the devil, the roaring, raging surge of chaos left no choice but to accept that all hope of resolution had finally been drowned. However, from that night until around noon the next day, Housui continued his characteristic—one might say brain-matter-drying—contemplation, yet through this very process, he unexpectedly discovered a paradoxical effect in Nobuko’s death. On that day, shortly after lunch had ended, when Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro—who had come to visit Housui—opened the study door, they were suddenly struck by Housui's ferocious glare at the very moment of their encounter. He continued to shout frenziedly, pacing around the room while violently swinging both arms.

“Ah, what do you think of this fairy-tale architecture—” He stopped mid-stride, fixing his eerie gaze as he first traced semicircles in the air, then undulated them into towering vertical waves. “The culprit’s monstrous intellect—is it not truly awe-inspiring? Behold this magnificent finale—Dr. Faust’s grand kabuki pose that leaves the audience gasping at curtain fall! Witness this confession that defies all expectation in its very form! Now, Prosecutor Hasekura—take the initials of earth spirits, water spirits, and fire spirits—add to them the emblem of this case’s resolution—and it transforms into Küss (kiss). Ah, was there not a replica of Rodin’s *The Kiss* displayed upon the hall’s mantelpiece? Come—let us go to Kuroshikikan. I shall lower the final damask curtain with my own hands.”

When the three arrived at Kuroshikikan, Nobuko’s funeral had just begun. The wind was fierce that day, and ash-gray clouds laden with snow hung low over the treetops of the woods, remaining motionless for what seemed an eternity. Amidst such desolate scenery, the mansion grounds held a profound loneliness where human figures grew sparse—the symbolic hedgerows quivered, dead branches rustled wildly, and from within this tumult welled up the hymn of divine mercy being chanted in the chapel.

When Housui entered the mansion, he went alone into the hall; that his conclusion had been corroborated became clear from the look on his face when he reappeared before the two men in Madame Dannenberg’s room. And now that he knew all involved—including even Dr. Oshikane among the entire family—had gathered in the chapel, Housui ordered the funeral’s commencement to be postponed for a time. And then,

“Of course, it’s certain that the culprit is inside the chapel. “Moreover, they are already in a state where they absolutely cannot move. “However, I feel obligated to inform Nobuko—or rather, her remains while they still lie upon this earth—of the culprit’s name,” he said, falling silent for a moment before continuing with a conflicted expression.

“Now then, Prosecutor Hasekura—with that colossus of a faction having vanished, this mansion stands fully exposed beneath the sun’s glare.” “Therefore, I shall proceed methodically, beginning with an explanation of the initial Dannenberg case.” “Yet regarding why Madame exclusively selected the blood orange that night, I must confess having overlooked the most direct line of inquiry—the santonin-induced xanthopsia.” “That toxic condition which yellows the entire visual field—compounded by her mild myopia—had rendered both the pears and ordinary oranges indistinguishable from the plate’s background hue.” “Thus, only those blood oranges with their peculiar crimson tinge registered within Madame Dannenberg’s perception.” “Moreover, when coupled with santonin’s characteristic gustatory hallucinations, even that foul-smelling toxin—far exceeding lethal concentrations—was ingested without suspicion.” “However, this realization was no mere happenstance.” “Tracing its origin leads unerringly to the psychological profile I compelled the culprit to adopt.” “Yet another factor emerged laterally—strangely enough, that very santonin had reciprocally influenced the culprit themselves. When conjoined, these twin aspects aligned with photographic precision—negative and positive in perfect concord.” “To put it plainly—those gardening boot prints hold the key.” “Though my analysis already confirmed their fabricated nature, observe how midway along their return path they unnecessarily vault over parched grass that any normal stride would simply tread upon.” “Yet within this nearly overlooked minutiae—this hair’s-breadth detail—lay the fatal blind spot that decided the culprit’s doom.” “Therein I grasped the divine mechanism of karmic requital.” “In this tragic design, the santonin employed as Borgia-esque adjuvant poison ultimately compelled its wielder’s own destruction.” “For you see, Prosecutor Hasekura—the culprit too had ingested santonin identically to Madame Dannenberg. Once this becomes clear, their irrational avoidance of that grass reveals its meaning.” “In essence—a cerebral blind spot. Though experiencing negligible xanthopsia themselves, they became convinced of its manifestation regardless.” “Thus they mistook that patch of nocturnally luminous dried grass for a xanthopsia-yellowed puddle—a fatal misapprehension.” “Yet santonin’s renal effects simultaneously bore upward from viscera to epidermis—the very genesis of that corpse light’s bioluminescence.”

Then, Housui entered the curtained area and thrust a Western sword’s blade beneath the bed’s paint coating. Beneath lay another asphalt-like stratum, which emitted a faint but distinct fluorescence when he brought a pencil’s end ring near it. “Until now,” he began, “nothing near the bed required corpse-like scrutiny—hence it naturally escaped notice.” “This asphalt-like matter is undoubtedly pitchblende containing uranium.” “Those four holy monk corpse lights I previously mentioned—they encircle Bohemia’s territory.” “Naturally, this was mere demonstrative trickery born from Catholic-Protestant strife.” “Their geographical clustering stems from the Erz Mountains at their heart—the primary uranium source.” “In essence, that ancient mystery amounts to trivial physicochemical manipulation.” “Prosecutor Hasekura—are you familiar with ‘arsenic-eaters’?” “Medieval monks commonly used arsenic ore as an anaphrodisiac—a notorious practice alongside Laurel Aphrodisiacs.” He paused before clarifying: “Laurel oil laced with prussic acid—a self-abuse tonic inducing convulsions and bizarre visions.” “Yet as Rodin’s *The Kiss* now reveals—Madame Dannenberg too was an arsenic-eater, habitually consuming minute doses for nervous ailments.” “Over years, arsenic’s inorganic components permeated her very tissues.” “Thus when santonin caused edema and sweating—the concentrated arsenic layer inevitably received uranium radiation from this pitchblende.”

“Of course, that would sufficiently explain things phenomenologically,” “And no matter how nebulous the phrasing may be, it undeniably carries a novel fascination.” “But wait—” “Your account seems deliberately devoid of concrete particulars.” “Who exactly is the culprit?” Prosecutor Hasekura intertwined his fingers nervously and gulped audibly. “Certainly, Nobuko should have ingested the same lemon water as Madame Dannenberg at that juncture.” “Yet that woman had already been transmuted into primal matter by Dr. Faust’s machinations.”

In the meantime, Housui stood like a lifeless leaden shell—a molted husk of vitality—his appearance rather resembling one who had seized victory at the zenith of excruciating torment. Perhaps because the fulcrum of resolution neared, this abrupt exhaustion that had descended likely held more allure than anything else. Yet soon a ferocious will erupted forth, “Yes—that Kamiya Nobuko—” His jaw clicked audibly as instantaneous vigor revitalized him. “She is none other than the sorcery of Knitlingen incarnate.”

Indeed, the spectral Dr. Faust haunting Kuroshikikan mansion was none other than Kamiya Nobuko. Yet when they heard this revelation, all logic and truth seemed to Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro to invert like a dragonfly's sudden somersault and scatter like poppy seeds—though as their shock subsided, an uncanny stillness enveloped them, so preternaturally calm that raising earnest objections now felt ludicrous, not a single echo returning through that silence. Foremost among irrefutable facts contradicting this was Nobuko herself having ascended as the fifth ritual sacrifice, with conclusive evidence of her murder—bearing Housui's endorsement—formally recorded in the coroner's report. Moreover, she possessed no discernible motive beyond familial ties, and Nobuko—who had monopolized Housui's compassion and guardianship—how could anyone credit her as the perpetrator? Thus Inspector Kumashiro could hardly be faulted for interpreting this as manifesting some pathological inclination typical of those afflicted by chronic headaches.

“This is positively mind-numbing! Or else, if you’re truly in your right mind, I demand even a single piece of that with legal validity. First and foremost, you must reclassify Nobuko’s death as a suicide.” “However, Inspector Kumashiro,” Housui declared mockingly, his voice laden with force as he countered the other’s lack of response, “this time there’s something as fine as a hair—or so I should say—on the door panel. I shall present it to you as tangible evidence.”

“Now then—consider this hypothetical scenario,” Housui began, his voice cutting through the stagnant air. “First, you attach agave fiber to a needle and lightly insert it into one door panel. Thread one end into the keyhole, then pour water inside.” His finger traced an arc in the dim light. “Naturally, the fiber contracts—gradually narrowing the door’s gap.” A metallic click echoed as he continued, “At that critical moment, the pistol fired at the temple gets thrown from the hand...” His palm slapped the table, mimicking the firearm’s fall. “...and lands precisely between the closing doors.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting. “After minutes pass and the door locks, the pre-set latch drops with a clatter.” A pause hung like a noose before he countered his own premise: “No—wait! Wouldn’t the door’s motion shove the pistol into the hallway instead?” Drawing a shuddering breath that seemed to pull darkness from his lungs, Housui concluded: “Of course, the agave fiber would retract the needle entirely into the keyhole.” The exhale that followed carried what felt like centuries of buried secrets.

“However, Inspector Kumashiro, once we shift this from murder to suicide, Nobuko’s confession—invisible under any light—emerges there.” “It was a capricious, fairy-like thing—opulent and hedonistic—yet none but those possessing an astonishing spiritual intellect could ever touch upon its wondrous sensibility.” “Nobuko breathed new life into that technique of utmost banality…”

“What—a confession⁉” Prosecutor Hasekura’s face went numb to the crown of his skull as he let tobacco fall from his lips, staring vacantly at Housui. “Yes—a discourse of flame.” “A flame that can never be seen.” “Moreover, in Dr. Faust’s final rite, it functioned as a cryptographic cipher.” “Consider this, Prosecutor Hasekura—if you press hair, ear, lips, ear, nose in sequence,” Housui articulated with forensic precision, “it spells Hair. Ear. Lips. Ear. Nose—Helen. Nobuko embedded such a cipher within the transition from murder to suicide.” “The initial K-shape formed by her corpse resulted from self-induced hysterical paralysis.” “As Guriu and Buro’s *Personality Transformation* documents, certain hysterics can apply steel to their bodies to induce contralateral paralysis.” She had raised her left arm against the doorframe while pressing the pistol to her right cheek—naturally triggering rigidity in her left side. When she collapsed upon firing, her rigid left half formed that uncanny K-shape. Yet this was no gnome’s mockery— The agave fibers spanning both doors created a semicircle—unmistakably a U-shape. Meanwhile, the pistol’s trajectory under door pressure traced an S-shape. Ah—gnome, undine, sylph… Add Suicide’s truth to these elements—” his voice lowered metallically, “—and they coalesce into Küss.” There materialized Dr. Faust’s confession—a grotesquerie beyond reason. “Prior to this, Nobuko had concealed an object within the torso of *The Kiss* statue…”

Therein was depicted a spectacular clash of two extraordinary intellects who had staked their very lives in the contest. Prosecutor Hasekura barely managed to exhale the foul, stagnant breath he had been choking on,

“Then naturally that agave fiber trickery must have been applied to the bell chamber doors and zodiac rose windows as well.” “However, at that time Hatatarou was accused as the culprit, while she herself had reached the pinnacle of victory and peace—precisely when Nobuko mysteriously committed suicide.” “Mr. Housui—that utterly insoluble doubt you mentioned…” “That’s from Kerner’s poem, Prosecutor Hasekura—what I told Nobuko that final night: ‘Autumn’s yellow hue shall pass beneath night’s lamp and become spring’s crimson flower.’” At that very moment, Nobuko had to confront her tragic downfall. Because by its very nature, when held up to electric light, the gemstone alexandrite appears crimson. Thus I concluded that Nobuko had directed Levèz to that chamber while wearing alexandrite in her hair ornament—its light transformed through electricity—thereby driving Levèz to despair. “Now Prosecutor Hasekura—what think you of this epigram?” “Levèz—that Hungarian love poet—perceived autumn as spring when departing this world,” Housui continued unabated, taking a deep draw of tobacco despite his listeners’ bewildered sighs.

“However, that ‘yellow to crimson’—beyond its obvious meaning—holds another significance entirely, and of course, my perception of santonin-induced xanthopsia was no mere coincidence.” “Because through it, I extracted the criminal’s latent state.” To rephrase this differently—it lay in the psychological trauma inflicted by the atrocity; that is, in the reproduction of sensory and emotional experiences from the representations and ideas imposed during that act. Of course, when I recreated the scene of the Divine Judgment Council, Nobuko’s scent had struck my nose with peculiar intensity. So as an experiment, I exhausted every possible sarcasm and irony, directing a perfunctory fabrication toward Hatatarou. Needless to say, this was meant to dispel Nobuko’s tension and vigilance—though of course, Madame Dannenberg’s automatic memoir had been fabricated by Nobuko under Thérèse’s name, with nothing but Levèz’s death and the thumbprint’s truth holding any reality. And so I abruptly tried using the phrase ‘from yellow to crimson’ as a metaphorical bridge between alexandrite and ruby. Yet unexpectedly, it manifested within Nobuko’s mental imagery in an entirely different form. This stems from Reinhardt’s treatise *The Expression of Pleasure and Displeasure in Lyric Poetry*, which references Halpin’s poem *The Study of Irish Saturn*. In one verse—‘Saint Patrick quoth: There lies Leo, two Ursa Majors, Taurus, and Cancer’—when reaching ‘Cancer,’ the reader suddenly pronounced it as ‘Canalar,’ according to the text. This occurred because the reader had visualized constellation shapes—undoubtedly what Freud called ‘sensory traces clinging to slips of the tongue.’ Moreover, one might say these associations emerged not through individual characters but as an overall physical impression—a spatial sensation. Yet in Nobuko’s case, this manifested across four incidents—from the Dannenberg affair to the chapel tragedy. For after saying ‘sweet orange,’ she uttered ‘bundling wheat straw to drink lemon water.’ Naturally, we inferred this impression derived from the carillon’s keyboard array. Then when she misspoke Madame Dannenberg’s name as ‘Danebrog,’ the armory’s full visage became apparent. To clarify—Nobuko had been watching Levèz’s rainbow mist seep through the tree-bark arbor window. But within that arbor’s frame lay carved verses including Fitzner’s line: ‘Then the mist shone and entered’ (Dann, Nebel-loh-guckten). Thus those jumbled impressions surfaced as paraphasia—Danebrog. “Therefore, Prosecutor Hasekura—among Nobuko’s four-phrased utterances—the Bell Chamber and Armory impressions alone sit strangely interposed.”

“In that case…”—cutting off his words—Housui delivered the final conclusion to that astonishing psychological analysis. “Then naturally, the yellow and crimson in that sequence—” “The sensations derived from those two must correspond to the initial Dannenberg incident and the final chapel scene.” “And if that final crimson represents the resplendent court musician’s vermilion garments, then why did Nobuko perceive the sensation of yellow from the very first Dannenberg incident?” During that time, Prosecutor Hasekura and Inspector Kumashiro were enveloped in a rapture as if intoxicated. After a short while, Inspector Kumashiro deliberately inquired about an unclear point.

“However, regarding the two groans said to have been heard in the chapel’s darkness—there must be something that determines whether it was Nobuko or Hatatarou, I would think.”

“It’s a matter of dead points and focal points—in other words, merely a simple problem of acoustics. Mrs. Krivov’s position was likely the dead point relative to the groan Nobuko produced with the pedal. In the resonance caused by Hatatarou’s bow rubbing against the strings, even that faint whisper must have been audible at the focal point. And when Mrs. Krivov approached Nobuko, she stabbed her through from behind. Now, Prosecutor Hasekura—I don’t think there’s anything more to debate. But the one I can’t help but pity is that dim-witted Ekusuke, whom Nobuko manipulated into wearing straw sandals and even donning armor.”

Having said that, Housui began recounting Nobuko’s actions from the very beginning in chronological order. Of course, this revealed that the administration of pilocarpine had been nothing but a maliciously cunning charade. Then, having concluded his account, Housui changed his tone and finally addressed the central enigma at the heart of the Kuroshikikan Murder Case—Nobuko’s murder motive, which had remained utterly unfathomable despite all scrutiny. It was a silent reality.

When Housui pulled out the object retrieved from the torso of Rodin’s *The Kiss* from his coat pocket, the eyes of both men involuntarily became riveted on that single point—the photographic plate. And when they pieced together several fragments, the following full text appeared upon it.

1. Da... Be... Arsenic ore’s... 1. Kawanabe... Risk of thymic death... (The clauses regarding constitutional peculiarities were limited to those two, with those prior remaining unknown.) 1. I, being unable to bear sacrificing my own child, replaced the born female infant with a male one; the one I later kept as my secretary was Kamiya Nobuko. Therefore, Hatatarou is not related by blood.

Thus, after repeated turmoil and confusion, the Kuroshikikan Murder Case finally reached its climactic conclusion in the final act, exposing Kamiya Nobuko as Sakutetsu’s true heir. As such, Sakutetsu’s agonizing death was undeniably Nobuko’s act of patricide—the line “Father, I too am a human child” could only signify vengeance wrought to its most harrowing extreme. Yet though this photographic plate represented the bloom of Housui’s imagination—being half a leaf from the Corpse Diagram—only a portion now remained extant. The rest had either been reduced to dust when dropped or destroyed by Nobuko herself. In any case, the elucidation of constitutional peculiarities beyond those two individuals had to be interred as an eternal mystery. Eventually, Prosecutor Hasekura asked with a face like one awakening from a dream.

“Indeed, though she was rightfully the legitimate heir, there was nothing she could do about it now—and that is what turned Nobuko into a mother of cruel desires.” “The cause of that sanguinary proclivity—I understand it quite well.” “However, what created that eerie beauty and sublime grandeur—which could only be thought to transcend the human world with each crime—was…” “Mr. Housui, please provide a psychological explanation for that.”

“To put it simply—a ludic sensibility. A species of physiological catharsis.” “Humanity requires some form of physiological purgation to sate repressed emotions and desiccated sensibilities.” “Now Prosecutor Hasekura—consider how even Zaberix, called the Young Faust who roamed sixteenth-century Germany, or Bishop Faustinus of Dietz succumbed to spiritualism…” “When humans exhaust their strength and lose means of counterattack, does not spiritualism become the anodyne for their passions?” “Moreover, those manifold techniques that forged that realm of grotesque metamorphosis clearly bear traces of influence from works like Guido Bonatto’s *Compendium of Pyrotechnics*—that thirteenth-century Italian mage styled as Faust—or Vasari’s *Masters of Ceremonial Rites and Carnival Contraptions* in the library.” “Originally, Nobuko likely stole that photographic plate on a mere mischievous whim.” “Yet upon learning its contents—she must have been struck by moonlight of magical intensity.” “That sudden confluence of mortal throes—bereavement—fatalism—these emotions converged cruciform, shattering one pole of opposition that had maintained her psychic equilibrium.” “Thereafter driving that destructive, sacred madness to incite history’s most grotesque detonation.” “Yet I would never name Nobuko a moral degenerate.” “She was Browning’s ‘child of fate’—this case constitutes a living human poem.” With these words, Housui turned toward the prosecutor—eyes crystalline with intellect. “Come now Prosecutor Hasekura—should we not at least array Nobuko’s farewell rites to match this sacred family’s final scion?”

And so, the coffin of Kamiya Nobuko—last member of the sacred Furuya family, descendant of the bewitching queen Bianca Cappello and the Medici bloodline—was draped in Florence’s city flag and borne upon the shoulders of four monks clad in hemp cloth. And through the swirling vortex of swelling chants and incense smoke, the coffin was borne toward the tomb enclosure in the back garden—curtain fall.