Pathway to Japanese Literature

Prologue

St. Alexei Church—. This grand Catholic cathedral—an exact replica of Nikolai Cathedral, referred to by the secular world as a sanctuary—stood towering on I Hill in Tokyo’s western suburbs, surrounded by mixed woods and vying in height with R University’s clock tower… And those musical bell tolls—resounding clearly and melodiously at seven o’clock in the dawn and four in the evening—I imagine you, dear readers, must have heard them by now.

Now, before beginning the story, let us briefly recount the temple’s origins.—In October 1920, what General Ataman Abramov, commander of the Far Eastern White Army, dedicated to the eternal memory of the last crown prince of the Romanov dynasty was this grand folly. And so, until November 1922, these had been two sacred years guarded by the bishop’s resplendent vestments and elaborate rituals—years during which, each time a secret order had been issued from this sanctuary, a white terror would jolt the nerves of Moscow still under construction and manifest somewhere within the Socialist Federation. However, events took a sudden turn. With the Japanese military’s withdrawal from Primorsky Krai as the turning point, the decline of the Far Eastern Whites began, and in the blink of an eye, the church became a free lodging house for destitute White Russian refugees. Yet even those émigrés who once overflowed the hall soon began trickling away from Japan one by one, until now only the caretaker Lazarev and his daughters—along with the holy icons—remained. As this occurred, the beautiful bell tolls that once announced prayers also deteriorated into an antiquated timekeeper, and one could occasionally glimpse the gaunt figure of old Lazarev shuffling through the streets to beg for meager alms.

Thus, the name of St. Alexei Church had become nothing more than a symbol of misfortune and defeat for the White Russians—on that fateful day when the Romanov eagle, politically and militarily lifeless, finally laid its colossal corpse upon their once rose-tinted dome. Yet it was precisely at this juncture that these nearly forgotten embers suddenly flared into violent conflagration: for within those utterly ruined halls had occurred a murder so ghastly it defied all earthly comparison. (Readers are kindly requested to refer to the diagram on the following page while reading.)

I

Hōsui Rintarō—former head of the Investigation Bureau, now one of the nation’s foremost criminal defense lawyers, renowned for his profound deductive skills and superhuman imagination—would typically only appear after the investigative authorities had exhausted all avenues in previous cases. Yet in this particular incident, he became involved from the very outset. This was because not only were his and his friend Prosecutor Hasekura’s private residences located near the sanctuary, but there had indeed been an eerie prelude. The sanctuary bell—which under strict timekeeping never tolled off-schedule—transmitted ethereal vibrations through the frozen air of five o’clock dawn on January 21.

Moreover, it lasted a mere minute or two and had a low, melancholic tolling, but that sound happened to reach the ears of Prosecutor Hasekura, who had risen to use the restroom. Then, something immediately struck a chord in the prosecutor’s keen nerves. This referred to the White Russian Protection Petition of 1921, which notably included a provision stating: “In preparation for the assassination plot against White faction magnates being orchestrated by spies of the Red Russian Emergency Committee at that time, off-schedule bell tolling shall serve as an alarm for emergencies.” Thereupon, Prosecutor Hasekura promptly telephoned Hōsui, who was nearby, and they arranged to meet in front of the sanctuary.

The sleet mixed with fierce winds that had begun the previous evening had softened around midnight and now ceased entirely, yet layers of thick snow clouds still blocked any glimmer of light from the sky. While walking through it, Hōsui suddenly came across something strange near the main gate. A jet-black mass shaped like a small human figure suddenly rolled out from the side street. When Hōsui reflexively challenged it, the human figure froze stiff. For a moment, the ragged gasps of its breathing could be heard before it finally lumbered heavily toward him. First, the figure of a child—seemingly just over three and a half shaku tall—appeared before Hōsui’s eyes, but to his utter astonishment, the next instant a broad, low-pitched sound began to resonate.

“Hey, I am Yalov Avramovich Lukin.” A Russian—he continued in eerily composed yet remarkably fluent Japanese—“My stage name is Mashikov the Dwarf, a vaudeville acrobat.”

“Ah, Mashikov the Dwarf?!” Hōsui had once seen him perform on stage. What left an especially strong impression was his upper body—malformed like a weightlifter’s—paired with an eerily large face and palms on his limbs, while around his shoulders swelled rounded masses of flesh, protruding like a camel’s humps. He appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties—the same age as Hōsui—with a round, European-style face flushed with healthy color and a receding hairline. At first glance, his features suggested the gentle mien of a merchant, but his eyes alone were sharply tapered like spearheads, piercing in their intensity.

At that moment, the prosecutor, who had spotted the two and was approaching, suddenly called out from behind.

“What on earth are you doing wandering around here at this hour? I’m a prosecutor at the district court.” “The truth is, there was someone who pulled an outrageously wicked prank.” Still frozen mid-motion from having whirled around in shock at being caught off guard, Lukin answered with relative composure.

“Out of single-minded loyalty to the Emperor, I carelessly trusted a fake telegram and ended up ruining our first night together.” “First night?!” The prosecutor retorted provocatively. “Indeed, the bride of this cripple is Zinaida, daughter of the caretaker Lazarev here.” “Of course, we didn’t have anything like a ceremony, but it was just when our first night was about to begin.” “It must have been around eleven o’clock when, ironically, a telegram suddenly arrived from a comrade ordering me to come behind the mental hospital near Gotokuji Station by two o’clock.” “However, in the end, I found the comrades’ punishment more terrifying than the pleasures of the bedroom.” “So, I reluctantly went out.”

“What comrades?” The prosecutor interrogated him in his professional capacity. “It’s a new White faction political organization.” “Moreover, as an operative, my body is inherently endowed with perfect stealth techniques.” “This should be permissible to state openly.” Lukin arrogantly arched his back with the air of a patriot. “After all, we receive substantial support from certain quarters of your country, you see.” “The only thing to fear is the GPU’s spy network, you see.” “Indeed, Trotsky wasn’t wrong to call you donkey-brained.” When Hōsui laughed sarcastically, Lukin made a slightly displeased face but continued speaking.

“But as it turned out—” “Even after being exposed to the sleet for over two hours, not a single soul came to the back of the mental hospital.” “It was only then that I realized that telegram had been the work of villains who envied my happiness.” “And then I had no choice but to walk back.” “However, despite being so exhausted, you just dashed out before me like a bullet, didn’t you?” Hōsui said in a harsh tone.

“Because I heard the bell toll.” “Among our comrades, we use off-schedule bell tolling as an emergency alarm.”

Lukin’s body squirmed restlessly as his voice trembled. “Both the way it stopped immediately after tolling and when I consider that feeble sound—I can’t help feeling as though someone unreasonably intercepted my hand just as it touched the bell rope.” “In other words, I think it wasn’t the discovery of an incident that had already occurred, but rather a distress signal sounded during the ongoing disturbance.” “Moreover, even before that, I was lured out by a fake telegram.”

“Let’s go.” Prosecutor Hasekura shouted in exasperation. “I see—crows or kites alone wouldn’t make that bell budge an inch.”

The appearance of the mysterious dwarf Lukin completely transformed Hōsui’s conception of the bell tolls, which he had until then treated as a minor variable. And he felt as if he had taken a step into a ghastly atmosphere. …At the very least, if the encounter between the bell tolls and Issunbōshi was not mere coincidence, then as a conclusion of causality, something—in whatever form—must have been left behind within the sanctuary.

The frozen ground cracked sharply, and the snowmelt below splashed up mercilessly. Before long, the full view of the hall—adorned with hundreds of icicles like peppermint candies—dimly emerged into the darkness.

When Lukin tried turning the handle of the entrance and found it locked, he looked up at the prosecutor, “Please try pulling the rope hanging there.” “The clappers that ring are present in both rooms—the old man’s side and the daughter’s side.”

However, despite the prosecutor pulling desperately on the clapper, there was no response from within. Yet, the sound resounding inside was clearly audible to them outside... As they waited in tense anticipation, a considerable amount of time had already passed.

“This isn’t just some random mess.” Grinding his back teeth, the prosecutor released his grip on the rope—whereupon Hōsui placed a bundle of master keys into his now-free hand. And when the seventh one finally fit, the door was opened. Hōsui’s meticulous consideration swiftly stopped the two men attempting to rush up the stairs. First, he had the prosecutor stand guard by the entrance door they had just passed through, then took Lukin with him to investigate the rooms downstairs.

The chapel, left to decay, presented a ruin-like scene. Under the dome, there were only about ten icons, while the resplendent golden Catholic vessels were nowhere to be seen, with only traces of stripped decorative foil remaining here and there. Hōsui's investigation concluded with the restroom and makeshift kitchen, but nowhere could they find any human figures, let alone any signs of abnormality. When they returned to the door where the prosecutor was stationed, Hōsui ascended the left staircase leading to the bell tower, while Prosecutor Hasekura and Lukin went up the right one.

“This is what I can’t figure out.” Noticing a wall lamp left lit on the midway wall of the staircase that extended in a gentle curve, Lukin said. “When you looked from outside, there was one bright window, wasn’t there?” “That’s the light from this wall lamp seen through the rotating window on this side.” “Leaving a light on like this—unless Lazarev’s stinginess has driven him mad, such a thing would be utterly impossible.”

At that moment, Prosecutor Hasekura pulled Lukin’s sleeve and wordlessly pointed to the ceiling floor. There was a glass-paned light window open there, and through it, the tall prosecutor could see the bare feet of two women sitting motionless. They seemed to be sitting side by side on a bed. Lukin jumped up two or three steps,

“Ah! The shadow moved.” “Then the sisters must be unharmed.” “Good grief… What a needless commotion.” “No—perhaps even those bell tolls have some trifling cause after all.” “Still, if they’re awake, why didn’t they answer earlier?” The prosecutor muttered dubiously, but Lukin suddenly wore a perplexed expression and remained silent. The bell tower lay in absolute darkness. Frigid air cascaded from above like a leaden fog. Far ahead of them within a circular russet glow, wooden wall panels flickered intermittently as Hōsui’s flashlight whirled ceaselessly. When its beam finally coalesced on one spot, Lukin gasped and charged forward with thunderous steps. There in the half-opened doorway crouched a gaunt white-haired old man—his body pitched forward, chin submerged in a pool of blood.

“Ah, Lazarev!!” Lukin collapsed to his knees with a thud and made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Christian Isagovich Lazarev…”

II

“Is he dead?” When Prosecutor Hasekura knelt on one knee, Hōsui dropped the corpse’s left hand with a thud, “Yeah, his throat was struck.” “Since the murder weapon isn’t near the corpse, it’s clearly a homicide.” “Moreover, even in such low temperatures, there’s still residual body heat, and rigor mortis has just begun to set in.” “He probably died around four o’clock, but the bells rang an hour after that.” Then he asked Lukin, “Where’s the switch?”

“No, there’s no electric lighting in the bell tower.” “And the sisters appear unharmed.” “That’s precisely what’s odd—they’re awake.” Prosecutor Hasekura cut in. “Their failure to respond to the clapper’s sound suggests they knew about this incident and deliberately misled us with some peculiar misunderstanding.”

“Whatever the case may be, that’s not a significant matter.” “However, without electric lights, we’ll have to wait until dawn breaks completely.” Hōsui uttered these unhurried words yet promptly instructed the prosecutor to make arrangements, adding at the end that he wanted no one except the police doctor and headquarters staff permitted within the premises—such was his directive.

For the thirty minutes until Prosecutor Hasekura returned with the police doctor, the two of them maintained a silent vigil over the corpse in the darkness. Only that they heard Lukin faintly mutter, “So it’s Vasilenko after all. Poor bastard.” When Hōsui began to question him about it, footsteps echoed from the ascending staircase.

But by that time, dawn had begun in the upper part of the tower, and the outlines of the bells emerged hazily and faintly.

“The small bells above are too dark to see, but I can make out two large ones below.” Without so much as glancing toward where the police doctor was examining the corpse, Hōsui tilted his head back and muttered to himself. “From the floor to the dome’s apex is roughly five meters. Then another five meters from there to the bells, I’d wager.” “That’s right.” Lukin clapped his hands together in corroboration. “All the bells are tucked into a hollow at the spire’s peak—only the very bottom of the large ones peeks through the tower windows. They wouldn’t so much as tremble in a typhoon.” “There are eight small bells above the two large ones. Pull the rope and the little ones ring first with their glassy chimes, then the big ones boom after—that’s how the mechanism works.” “And the iron rod bracing the bells’ axle runs straight up to form a great cross at the very top.”

Hōsui tentatively tried pulling the rope. The bells were heavy enough to require both hands to pull each one, but just as Lukin had said, first the small bells emitted a bright, glass-like chime followed by the solemn toll of the large bells intermingling. Through this, he learned that the unchanging order of the bells’ tolling was due to a mechanical device—and that the two large bells each vibrated alternately in opposite directions. After a short while, when breath began to appear like white smoke in the air, he noticed Lukin’s clothing. From his hat and coat down to his trousers, everything was rubber-lined waterproof gear—and his entire body was soaked through.

Before long, the police doctor’s report began. “I would say it’s been approximately two and a half hours since death.” “The murder weapon is a Western-style dagger.” “The wound path begins approximately two centimeters to the left of the cricoid cartilage, where the blade was initially inserted vertically and then thrust diagonally upward, resulting in the airway being pierced horizontally by the blade.” “And the base of the wound is where it grazed the second cervical vertebra, you see.”

Nodding in response to each point, Hōsui gazed fixedly at the corpse’s unnatural posture. The corpse wore a brown coat over sleepwear, crouched in an odd posture with hips thrust upward and upper body pitched forward, both hands extended before it like water buffalo horns, all fingers curled into hook-like shapes. Beneath the wound lay a lake-like pool of spilled blood. Yet around it, only sparse droplets were scattered from the surrounding floor to the door’s inner side—nowhere showed signs of disturbance. This conclusively proved not only the absence of struggle but also that the corpse hadn’t moved after being stabbed—a deduction further supported by the fingertips showing no bloodstains that would indicate clutching the wound. And within the bell tower, beyond that single blood pool, no other attached stains were found—the prosecutor who had gone searching for the murder weapon returned empty-handed.

“I can’t make heads or tails of this. “A severed trachea alone shouldn’t cause instantaneous death like a lightning strike, yet…” Hōsui muttered these words while seizing the corpse’s hair and wrenching it upward. “Examine the wound trajectory. “This angle of penetration has no precedent in dagger homicides. “Moreover, they coolly avoided the carotid artery with a single precise thrust. “When you factor in this bizarre crouched posture with jutting hips—what conceivable stance could the killer have taken? “—It defies all comprehension.” Despite the face’s grotesque contortions of agony, not a trace remained of death throes—no thrashing across floorboards even for mere seconds. Though spasmodic tremors seemed present in the limbs, they lacked definitive expression. “Well then, Hasekura—what’s your assessment?”

The prosecutor couldn’t answer, but in each inexplicable detail of the corpse that Hōsui pointed out, he already sensed the profound mystery of this case beginning to surface. Hōsui then lowered his gaze to both arms of the corpse, grasping them alternately as if searching for something to compare before proceeding to examine both eyes in detail. “Petechial hemorrhages,” he muttered, then turned the corpse onto its back. There, from near the groin—precisely one sun below the threshold—a brass hand-candle emerged. It was a bowl-shaped object roughly five sun in diameter, with residual wax molded into a volcanic mound that rose around the iron core’s socket like a crater base. From within this mass protruded a thick iron core—charred black and substantial enough for a hundred-monme candle—its burnt wick collapsed sideways near the base. Yet when inspecting the clothing around where the hand-candle had lain, not only were there no burn marks, but even faint impressions matching the slightly protruding iron core proved absent. That it hadn’t been placed postmortem was evident from faint blood droplets tracing from floor to candle base.

“What is it? That’s some remarkable tenacity, isn’t it?” When Hōsui set down the hand-candle, his eyes were again drawn to the corpse’s arms, compelling Prosecutor Hasekura to inquire. “Hmm—the left arm is bent inward, you see.” “Before long, you’ll understand why this constitutes such a crucial point.”

Then Hōsui looked at Lukin,

“Do you remember how long this candle was when you left here last night?” “Yes, about five minutes’ worth remained.” “Though Lazarev might have used it afterward.” Hōsui made a troubled expression but immediately stripped off the garments and began examining the corpse’s entire body. There was only faint leakage of excrement and urine—no external wounds to speak of, nor even minor traces of subcutaneous hemorrhage. Yet around its abdomen, a sash bulged thickly with what resembled bundled bills.

“This is it,” Lukin said resentfully. “This was Lazarev’s sole hobby. A miser—this guy! So they’re a pitiable lot, I tell you. Because he pinched pennies on the electric bill, those two sisters had to make do with dim kerosene lamps—and if they tried to make them last even a little longer, he’d throw a fit.” Upon completing the forensic examination of the corpse, Hōsui entered Lazarev’s room. Constructed in a ladder-like fashion within the gap between the chapel’s domed ceiling and the bell tower floor, the space beyond the door contained a wooden platform spanning about two tsubo (roughly six square meters), from which a ladder descended to the bedroom below. A skylight identical to the one in the sisters’ room pierced the floor, covered by thick wire mesh with wide gaps. Both this peculiar structure and the room’s complete invisibility from outside suggested it had likely served some secret purpose during the White Russians’ heyday. Yet the interior remained orderly, and ultimately Hōsui found nothing he could touch.

Then, before reaching the daughters’ room on the opposite side, there was a single discovery. This was because, on the floor at the center of the section corresponding to the chapel’s domed ceiling, there were two stained-glass skylights, and from there down to below the hanging rope—though sparse—small coagulated blood fragments that seemed to have flaked off were scattered. However, Hōsui merely gave them a glance and instead gazed suspiciously at a spot about three shaku (approximately 90 cm) below the hanging rope. There was a short gas pipe wedged there. Soon he pulled something out from beneath it, quickly pocketed the object, and briskly walked off. The door to the sisters’ room had its latch fastened, with the key still inserted in the keyhole.

“The lock itself isn’t compromised,” Having said that, Prosecutor Hasekura pointed out the faint blood flecks scattered across the floor in front of the door. “Considering this sloppy handling, it seems the culprit performed rather complex movements.”

At that moment, with a clattering of footsteps, Head of the Investigation Bureau Kumashiro Takuyoshi appeared with his burly frame, leading all divisions including even the foreign affairs staff. Hōsui let out a shrill, off-key voice, “Well, Archbishop Cothion!”

However, Kumashiro’s wry smile had half-faded as he stared dumbfounded at Lukin beside him, but upon finishing listening to Hōsui’s explanation, he composed himself and— “Indeed, it’s nothing but pure resentment.” “The hallmarks evident in the method also align with the conclusion that the culprit is a man of considerable skill,” he declared gravely. He promptly ordered his subordinates to investigate the entire premises, but before long, an inspector leading a squad outside returned in a state of intense agitation.

“It’s truly baffling—utterly beyond comprehension.” “Aside from you three who first entered, there are no footprints whatsoever.” “The sleet stopped around two o’clock last night, so any prints on the frozen ground would’ve been obvious even to a child—let alone us.” “Then we found the murder weapon about twenty meters from the chapel’s back gate, having pierced through a fallen kite.”

With that, the inspector thrust out a Western-style dagger. Bloodstains dotted from the copper guard to the hilt, and the blade portion shaped like a cuttlefish shell appeared to have been washed. It was revealed by Lukin to be Lazarev’s property, which was ordinarily kept on the shelf behind the door. Moreover, the kite appeared to have been made from two and a half relatively recent demon masks, with a hook-shaped cut on its string. “Surely he didn’t wear the messenger god’s boots.” Just as Hōsui showed no sign of agitation, the other two also felt that something vaguely hinting at an escape route leaving no footprints and the inexplicable location where the murder weapon was left was being suggested, and they firmly believed that conclusive forensic evidence proving this would undoubtedly emerge from within the bell tower. Therefore, Kumashiro made such a sour face at his subordinates’ flustered state that he promptly urged Hōsui to question the sisters.

When the door opened, what first met the eye was how this room's structure matched Lazarev's exactly. At that moment, Iriya—the younger sister who had been halfway down the ladder—whirled around as if startled, but upon seeing the inspector's formal uniform, her severe tension dissolved immediately. Her nearly six-foot frame with its ample flesh truly deserved the Amazonian epithet. That round face lacking sharp angles or edges might at first suggest an innocent simplicity of character, yet when viewed from certain angles, deep shadows formed that could only hint at concealed reservoirs of resolute will and meticulous calculation. She called for her sister in a voice as deep and broad as a man's, betraying not a flicker of unease.

Zinaida, the older sister, covered the chamber pot beneath the bed with a scrap of cloth before calmly ascending. Her divine beauty—likely around twenty-seven or twenty-eight—held a vestige of Saint Beatrice even in her coarse garments. That this spoke of lofty intellect and wisdom went without saying, but her overall impression differed profoundly from her sister’s in its complexity—wrapped within an impregnable solemnity that seemed to harbor both fragile neurotic acuity and something eerily contemplative. Precisely because of this, one could discern in her no capacity for merciless execution. Yet beyond these traits, what arrested Hōsui’s notice was both the tragically absolute contrast between Zinaida and Lukin and the sisters’ utter lack of eyelash movement when told of their father’s unnatural death.

“Even if my father—once known as Father Christian—meets an unnatural end, we must say it’s only natural…” Zinaida twisted her lips, first revealing a cold sneer at her father’s death.

“But he was your biological father, wasn’t he?” “However, he is my adoptive father.” “We two, having lost both our parents at once, were taken in by the benevolent Father Christian and thereafter raised under a love surpassing even that of a biological father.” “Iriya remained under Father’s care, while I, upon coming of age, entered the convent as I had long desired…” “At that time, Father was called the Saint of Kiev, but—” However, Zinaida sharply arched her eyebrows and moved on to her next words.

“However, in 1925, when the monastery I resided in was finally destroyed, I had no choice but to return to Father, who had by then moved to Paris.” “There, I found a father who bore no resemblance to his former self.” “Oh, what a transformation he had undergone! Before we knew it, Father had abandoned his holy orders, using the money from selling sacred vessels to squeeze the blood and marrow from the émigrés.” “And needless to say, his attitude toward us was no longer that of the Father we once knew.”

“That is entirely possible.” Hōsui nodded gravely. “The shockwaves of revolution. Postwar personality transformations have reportedly caused tragedies numbering in the thousands.” “And then?” “From that point, Father began clawing away at his past glories with filth-blackened talons.” “Blinded by petty lucre, he even stooped to forging the notorious ‘Zinoviev Letter’ under Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich.” “Thus even after quarreling with his comrades and fleeing to Japan, he purchased his caretaker position here with funds wrung from destitute souls.” “A grudge-bearing suspect? On that basis, every White Russian in Tokyo would qualify!” “With such rapacity and usurious rates, even God’s infinite patience must have curdled to loathing.” “When I compare this present Father to his former noble self, I cannot reconcile them as the same being.”

Thereupon, Hōsui’s questions finally turned to the main subject. “By the way, you heard the sound of the bells, did you not?” “However, before that, there was an eerie incident.” "When I awoke around four-thirty, the stairway wall lamp was lit." “Since Father is as you know him, I thought perhaps Lukin had returned, but if he had come, the alarm device should have sounded.” “However, I did not pay it much mind, but soon after, the clacking footsteps moving away from near this room’s door were heard in the bell tower.”

“Did that have any distinctive features?” “It was such that where one would normally take two steps, there was only one, making each stride remarkably long.” “It seemed as though he was walking while deep in thought.” “Then, it seems things are taking a strange turn.” With that, Hōsui sank into silent contemplation. But when he finally raised his face, his complexion turned as pale as a corpse’s. “If I recall correctly, you claimed that your father’s ghost was walking around, didn’t you?” “But the death had already been medically proven an hour before that.”

It was precisely the sensation of a heart contracting all at once. "But more importantly—where on earth is the basis for that assumption?" At Hōsui’s unexpected words, those surrounding them were all startled. Yet only Zinaida remained as calm as water. "The medical particulars are not the issue." "For this world brims with immeasurable mystical ciphers and symbols." "I maintain with certainty that it was Father." "Moreover, the sound possessed such clarity that there existed not the faintest possibility of auditory error." "And even were it some erased resonance beyond fleshly ears’ perception, it would assuredly have manifested to me as a revelation no less distinct."

What solemnity! Hōsui responded in a solemn tone, as if reciprocating it. “I see. However, it is said that the visions of Jesus frequently seen by Heinrich Soize—a renowned thirteenth-century German theologian—had their source in the sacred paintings he intimately contemplated. Moreover, didn’t someone say these very words—‘Considering one’s soul as a garden and imagining the Lord deigning to walk there—isn’t that a joy?’”

Before the last phrase had ended, fine tremors rippled all over Zinaida’s body. But in the next instant, she burst into a dry cackle. “This is quite astonishing, isn’t it?” “I’m flattered you would imagine me as the culprit.” “No matter what terrible treatment we are currently suffering at Father’s hands, when we consider the great favor of him rescuing us from the orphanage, such things are nothing at all.” “Kindly keep this point firmly in mind.” “And another thing, Mr. Hōsui—after all the time natural sciences have spent, what they’ve conquered amounts to nothing more than the sorcery of Kabbalah and Indian yoga sects, you know…”

Hōsui felt not only a conceptual opposition to theology but also as if he were being ridiculed; however, Zinaida, having observed his silence with a sidelong glance, continued speaking with increasing composure. "So, in any case, I lit the lamp and tried to look, but it seemed the lock had been fastened from the outside—the door wouldn’t budge an inch." "So I woke my sister, but both of us were so terrified that we couldn’t even climb the ladder to extinguish the lamp." "Then, soon after, the bells began to toll."

“That’s what’s strange.”

Iriya cut in. “First the large bell boomed, and then the small ones followed.”

“What? What did you say⁉” Hōsui turned deathly pale in an instant. However, Zinaida also added her voice, repeating Iriya’s earlier statement.

That was precisely what one might call an eerie aura made manifest. The bell-tolling mechanism would never allow such an inverted ringing sequence through any conceivable method. Even for someone like Hōsui—who had believed this case contained not a speck of supernatural oddity so long as one attributed the bells’ cause to some aspect of the criminal’s actions—Iriya’s single statement instantly shattered his chain of logical deduction. Prosecutor Hasekura shuddered violently,

“Now that you mention it, that’s exactly how it was.” “I must’ve carelessly overlooked a crucial point.” Hōsui, as if unable to endure another moment, bolted outside the door and repeatedly craned his neck to stare up at the bell tower. Noticing this, one of the detectives who had been wielding a magnifying glass approached his side.

“Mr. Hōsui, the bells?” “But even after going up to inspect that large bell just now—if two or three people try pushing it by hand, it won’t budge an inch because of the gears, see?” “And even if someone were to manually move the internal pendulum, you’d only get this oddly choked ringing sound. Since the main bell itself doesn’t move, there’s no way for the vibrations to reach the smaller bells above.”

“I see. So you’re saying the bell can only be tilted using the bell rope.” “No, thank you.”

Hōsui returned to the sisters' room, but having now completely understood all aspects of the bells' mechanisms, he saw no room left for further scientific analysis of their mysterious tolling. First and foremost—why had they needed to be rung at all? He found himself utterly unable to comprehend it. If the culprit were indeed responsible, why would they dare take such a risk—exposing their own existence—to accomplish this? (Moreover, applying a simplistic interpretation led to the conclusion that when the bells tolled, no one but the corpse had been present in the lower bell tower.) Yet considering Zinaida's claim that Lazarev—who should have been a corpse—had been walking about, one might speculate there existed a divine thaumaturge who manipulated a tenacious spirit divorced from its flesh—a theory suggesting extreme sensitivity to a form of animal magnetism—thereby manifesting footsteps while miraculously moving the bells. But for Hōsui, entertaining such thoughts represented the ultimate humiliation. Soon after, he posed a question to Zinaida with unprecedented intensity, though its content appeared no weightier than casual conversation.

“By the way, this may seem a peculiar question—the convent where you resided—which one was it?” “Ah, it was in Bienroselvsk, but…” “Then, to which sect did it belong?” “It was of the Trappist order.” “Ah, Trappist.”

With just that, Hōsui’s words ceased abruptly, but for several seconds afterward, a harrowing silent duel seemed to unfold between the two. However, when forensic officers entered at that moment to collect the sisters’ fingerprints, the tension that had fortuitously built up dissolved, allowing all present to finally exhale.

During that time, Hōsui had been examining the nearby standing lamp when he stumbled upon a discovery worthy of note. This Nadekov-type standing lamp had been popular among upper-class Russian households before electric lighting became widespread. Where standard models would have a wick-adjusting screw, this one instead featured an area shaped like a small taiko drum—far larger than conventional designs. Moreover, it possessed over a dozen vertical slits arranged like armor-plated doors. When outside air entered through these openings, it created a current with the heated air above, pushing against a valve in the central tube to rotate it and gradually extend the wick. Yet what made Hōsui catch his breath lay not in this mechanism, but in the lamp base crudely patched together with cheap collar ornaments. When he absently peeled away the patchwork, he discovered an inscription on the inner parchment: "From Ivan Todroitch to Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich." A foreign affairs officer peering over his shoulder exclaimed in astonishment.

“This is it—the one that had an official transfer notice from the Paris police headquarters about four years ago.” “After the Grand Duke’s death, it was discovered that Karaik’s crown and this table lamp—a gift from Chief Chamberlain Todroitch of the Emperor—had gone missing from the inventory handwritten by him personally.”

"No wonder we were strictly ordered to hide this under the bed during the day." "My father would not hesitate to steal." As Zinaida sighed in apparent shame, Kumashiro nodded with a self-satisfied look.

“It must surely hold some dramatic secret.” “In any case, there’s more than sufficient motive.” “But Hōsui-kun, if that’s the case, killing one person or three makes no difference.” “Yet why would they leave the door locked from the outside and flee?”

“If we can figure that out, we’ll have a lead on the culprit. But in my estimation, I believe the cause lies in the floor’s skylight window. From here, you can see the rotating window on the outer wall—that’s positioned exactly at the ceiling of the staircase. So long as one of the sisters removes the wire mesh and breaks through the glass, by the time the culprit detours and arrives beneath the window, they can easily escape outside. In other words, I believe the intelligent culprit perceived those dangerous conditions and chose only to remove one obstacle last night, biding their time for the next opportunity.”

Then, Hōsui turned to Zinaida once more,

“By the way, about the key…” he asked. “There is only one key, shared with Father’s room,” she replied. “We always keep it in the vase in Father’s room, but neither of us has ever locked up at night. In any case, please understand that aside from the footsteps and the tolling of the bells, nothing else made contact with us.”

But the moment she finished speaking, Zinaida suddenly let out a faint groan and staggered unsteadily. Hōsui barely caught her sideways, but thick sweat streaked down from her forehead, and her face had taken on a waxen yellow hue. Somehow, this sight—of one who had completely exhausted her will to resist—made her appear in the most wretched form of a criminal, yet…⁉

After laying Zinaida, who had suffered from cerebral anemia, down on the bed, Hōsui went to the bell tower with Iriya. At that moment, an S station officer arrived and reported that they had brought along a Russian man in his thirties who had been caught at a checkpoint around six o'clock at a location about fifteen or sixteen *chō* away from the cathedral. When they heard the name Damian Vasilenko,

“Ah, finally,” Iriya murmured the same words as Lukin. “That man has a terrible way of provoking Sister.” “But Sister has absolutely no interest in what makes people human—whether it’s Issunbōshi or even someone handsome like Vasilenko—they must all look exactly alike.” “So Vasilenko isn’t my older sister’s lover then.”

“Far from it—” Iriya said in a somewhat flippant tone, “My sister goes so far as to say she likes Lukin the most. Therefore, her refusal to marry Lukin last night also seems to me like nothing more than defiance against Father. The truth is, last night went like this—Father chose Lukin as my sister’s groom because he was after Issunbōshi’s savings from the start. And it seems he had been receiving a considerable amount in secret, but it was only the day before yesterday that he confessed this to my sister. For those two days, he persistently hounded her, pressing for the marriage to be carried out. However, no matter what was said to her, my sister did not utter a single word, obstinately continuing to refuse as she argued with Father into the night. Then, when Father saw that his daughter’s change of heart was hopeless, he suddenly changed his attitude and this time demanded an exorbitant sum of money from Lukin. Of course, a fierce argument erupted between the two, and for a moment it seemed things might take a dire turn. But then, as if by providence, a telegram addressed to Lukin arrived on the scene—which managed to avert the crisis, though only temporarily.”

Hōsui was more than a little surprised by how freely Iriya chattered away, but somehow feeling preempted, he thought—This woman may seem simple, but she’s no fool. Iriya continued, “The argument between my sister and Father was at its most intense around five in the evening.” “Despite the sleet blowing in sideways, my sister stood under the bell rope, drenched in snow, and continued to silently glare at Father’s face.” “That was truly a dreadful expression.”

“So this becomes the symbol of a trampled wedding ceremony.” Hōsui took out a mud-stained, crushed white rose from his pocket. “This hair ornament was caught about five sun below the bell rope—it must belong to your sister.” He tossed it onto the floor, adding, “But now that we’ve confirmed this, it serves no purpose.” Then, with a thoughtful frown, “Yet there’s something peculiar here. If she doesn’t dislike him, marriage shouldn’t be out of the question.”

“To tell the truth about that,” Iriya flushed and said, “Because she knows I’m the one who likes Lukin.” “The Shirano in old Russian orthography comes from within the monastery.” “That’s an interesting observation indeed.” “Now, please explain the staircase.”

And then.

When the investigation shifted to the rotating window on the staircase’s outer wall, Kumashiro noticed a single thick vermilion line drawn horizontally across the center of the windowpane. “Ah, so while Lukin found it suspicious that this wall lamp was left on, the reason undoubtedly lies in this vermilion line.” “But why did this have to be visible from the outside?”

Hōsui brushed the dust off the window frame with a light swipe, “It only opens halfway! Judging by the rusted hardware, it seems it hasn’t been opened in a long time.” “Then, Ms. Iriya, what about this power line running under the window?” The two thick electric wires stretched straight to the utility pole beside the main gate, their surfaces free of frozen snow. Iriya began explaining everything about their surroundings. “Yes, it’s the power line from when we had a pipe organ.” “And there’s an iron pipe about three feet long protruding above the window, running parallel to the power lines.” “They used to tie the Romanov flag to that on ceremonial days.” “The bare wire wrapped around the iron pipe is my radio antenna.” “Once when an army plane’s message cylinder fell onto the bell tower roof, I asked the soldier who climbed up to kindly hook its end onto the cross.” “Now that you’ve heard all this, please release me so I can care for my sister.”

When they returned to the bell tower, a report was delivered by the hall staff member in charge— That no bloodstains even as small as poppy seeds were found on either individual during their physical examinations. That no anticipated clothing fibers were discovered on the bell rope either. Furthermore, that a secret passage had been found beneath the chapel altar showed no signs of use and was completely collapsed midway, making passage utterly impossible. And finally, with fingerprints proving ineffective and no sleet accumulation on the dome due to gale winds and its slope—among other factors—all efforts had come to naught.

“The bells tolled in a bizarre, acrobatic fashion, and in the end, we’ve lost track of the criminal’s escape route.” “And even if someone threw the dagger upward from below, it’d just strike somewhere in the tower’s gaps—it’s barely five feet tall.” The prosecutor muttered dejectedly, but there remained something he urgently needed to ask Hōsui.

“Why did you imagine Lazarev in the footsteps Zinaida heard?” Hōsui’s eyes flashed briefly, but he spoke in a dull voice. “That’s because the corpse’s left arm was bent inward. Judging from how he could walk, it was relatively mild—likely only causing dizziness at onset—but Lazarev’s left side suffered from hemiplegia that had nearly reached recovery. As evidence of the paralysis subsiding, his arm was twisted inward with fingertips forming a hooked shape. Moreover, in such cases, difficulty bending limbs leads to the circular gait that evoked those footsteps. To elaborate: he moved the affected leg by tilting the sole diagonally to prevent toe buckling, sweeping it outward in an arc from the inside. Consequently, sound only occurred when moving the healthy leg—so even after two steps, only one footfall was heard. Therefore, hearing such a rhythm repeatedly would naturally lead one to imagine Lazarev.”

From the fact of Lazarev’s left-sided paralysis, they were astonished by Hōsui’s logically rigorous deduction— “I see,” Kumashiro nodded deeply. “So I’ve figured out why there’s a gas pipe clamped to the bell rope.” “Lazarev would hook his foot on that to assist in pulling with his partially paralyzed body.”

“Well, Kumashiro, precisely because I hit the mark so directly, there was an unexpected benefit,” Hōsui’s face flushed. “At that time, Zinaida’s outward appearance was supremely composed, but within her lay an extraordinary agitation.” “Though human psychology drives us to utter trivial lies when sensing even slight fear—regardless of such tendencies—there existed one fabricated element within that angelic woman’s testimony.” “Tell me, Kumashiro—Zinaida did say her convent belonged to the Trappist order, correct?” “However, the truth is—it was the Reformed Carmelite Order.”

“The Carmelite Order?” “That’s the well-known barefoot nuns’ order. They went barefoot, wore a single serge garment year-round, slept on wooden boards, adhered to strict vegetarianism, and in the past, reportedly fasted for eight months out of the year—astonishing austerities that were part of their doctrine, or so the story goes.”

“But how did you figure that out?”

“That is because earlier I said something like: ‘Would it not be the greatest delight to imagine one’s soul as a garden where the Lord walks?’ At that moment, Zinaida appeared genuinely startled. Of course, I had intended it merely as an intimidating metaphor. But what shocked her wasn’t realizing she was being cast as the culprit. Criminals inherently prepare themselves for such points in advance, you understand. The reason lies in that very phrase being the words of Saint Teresa—founder of the Carmelite Order—who described her own mystical ecstasies. It’s a mistake to think Spanish women are all Carmens. Long ago, there existed a great mystic who led a sect of mystical theology and was said to have achieved feats like levitation and bilocation. And another thing—though this face would be unfamiliar to even five hundred people here in Japan—an image of the monk Molinos, called Saint Teresa’s successor, hung on the wall beside her bed.”

“Now that you mention it, there was indeed an image resembling a medieval monk,” Prosecutor Hasekura concurred. “Well, precisely,” Hōsui continued. “To what extent had Zinaida pursued ascetic training within this sect during her chaste life? And why did she feel compelled to lie?—I can’t say for certain, but…” His expression abruptly hardened with gravity. “The mere fact that she alone gave false testimony positions that woman as the prime suspect.”

Kumashiro shouted in surprise.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you forgotten about the key?”

“Well, about that…” “This doorway has neither a revolving window nor any gaps below.” “However, the trick of manipulating a lock with thread isn’t limited to Vandine’s *The Kennel Murder Case*.” “You know the phantom knot, don’t you?—where one thread bites into itself, but if you pull the other, it slips free smoothly.” “Well, it’s something that will become clear if we experiment.”

Hōsui tied the key’s ring-shaped handle with a phantom knot and stood before the door to Lazarev’s room. “Remember this well.” “First insert the key and twist it to the brink where one more turn would make the bolt spring out.” “Then take one thread—the non-slip one—and wind it around the handle’s corner shaft twice without tying it, keeping it taut.” “Next thread the slip-knot thread through the keyhole, leaving some slack.” “This only works because the key’s latch faces upward.” “When you enter inside and turn the handle, the thread pulls the key to rotate—the latch drops but stays halfway supported by the thread.” “Then pull the thread through the keyhole.” “The ring’s knot naturally comes undone. Rotate the handle repeatedly while loosening the wound thread—see? It slides smoothly inside.” “Finally the key’s latch stands vertical, leaving no trace.”

However, Hōsui opened the door with a fatigued expression. "Yet with these bells tolling, we can't conclude the case based on this single notion. The lack of footprints on the grounds ultimately implies the culprit remained within the chapel—that's what it suggests."

Prosecutor Hasekura and Kumashiro stood momentarily dumbfounded, but soon Kumashiro went downstairs and returned after completing his interrogation of the two prisoners.

“Lukin insists that everything Iriya said must be true—except for the supposed trip to Gotokuji, which he’s stubbornly clinging to as a pretense. What a foolish alibi that is! Furthermore, Vasilenko is some sort of political operative supported by the right-wing group Tenryūkai, but he’s a severe tuberculosis patient with no trace of his former self. He apparently got worked up over the rumor that Zinaida was getting married last night and spent the whole night wandering around the area—but… However, that man isn’t the culprit.” With that, Kumashiro snapped his grease-stained fingertips with a crisp sound.

“Hey, Hōsui-kun—the fierce winds and steep slope left no sleet accumulated on the dome.” “Yet the absence of footprints on that dome gives free rein to the imagination.” “And somehow, I feel we’re closing in on the culprit.” “Then there’s the matter of what caused the bell to toll.” “How preposterous.” Hōsui sneered scathingly. “So tell me—what method would you employ to make the bell ring in such an uncanny manner?” “Moreover, there exists no one among our current suspects who possesses the primary characteristics of the perpetrator.”

III “Don’t be ridiculous. How could there be any culprit other than Lukin?” Kumashiro’s voice rose involuntarily. “The mystery of the corpse will also be solved by eliminating the discrepancy between six feet and three and a half feet.”

“Hmm, so you’re saying…” “That’s because there are no footprints within the grounds. But imagining the culprit among the sisters is impossible—the bell tolling provides clear counterevidence.” “In the end, we can only conclude that the culprit was already inside the hall around two o’clock when the sleet stopped and, after committing the crime, vanished without their heels ever touching the ground.” “It goes without saying that the bell tolled at that time, but the escape route was remarkably simple.” “First, they climbed up the bell rope to reach the tower window, threw the murder weapon toward the rear gate from there, descended the dome via the overhead power lines, then hung down from the power line retracted beneath the revolving window and slipped out of the grounds like a monkey.” “Now, what led me to make that inference? First, the absence of sleet ice on the power lines, and second, the white rose stuck in the bell rope. That rose—Lukin had picked it up to cherish Zinaida’s lingering fragrance, and it must have transferred to the rope during his climb.” “And another point is that among the current characters in this case, there exists a person equipped with both the physical strength and practiced skill to perform such an acrobatic feat and escape.” “Not only could someone effortlessly climb a rope over nine meters long, but if a person with average strength and weight were to traverse the power lines like a monkey, noticeable damage would likely appear at the retraction points or junctions on the utility poles!” “I doubt someone could easily traverse a distance of over a hundred meters.” “In that case, the supremely challenging conditions of above-average arm strength inversely paired with a child’s weight—these are effortlessly resolved by Lukin.” “Moreover, the fact that no textile fibers remain on the rope will paradoxically prove that it was Lukin—solidified in his waterproof clothing—who did it.”

Prosecutor Hasekura stared at Kumashiro in exasperated disbelief. "If that's all there was to it, I needn't have troubled you for your opinion." "You've become so intoxicated by this facile interpretation that you've entirely overlooked the bell's mechanical system." Yet at that moment, no practical explanation existed that could surpass Kumashiro's interpretation in accounting for the enigma of the bells' tolling.

“Now, listen carefully.” “When I said the bell rang due to the rope’s vibration earlier, I wasn’t referring to when it made that inexplicable tolling.” “That had occurred prior.” “In other words, there were two instances when the bells tolled at irregular times.” “Since the second toll reached your ears—and those of the sisters—the initial one during the escape must have been too faint to hear.” “Because someone with Lukin’s level of arm strength wouldn’t need to inchworm up—they could yank the bell fully to one side and climb using just their arms to maintain its position.” “Thus, there would only be two faint clangs—one at the start and one at the end.”

“So, this second bell toll you mentioned—” “Heh heh heh, that was merely an embellished incident.” Kumashiro asserted his bell-toll dismissal theory with nonchalance. “Indeed, there are no traces of direct contact with the bell! Even if there were, merely pushing by hand or striking the clapper wouldn’t make the large bell budge an inch. So how could the large bell have moved, transmitting vibrations to the small one in reverse and making the whole set toll in such a topsy-turvy manner? It defies understanding.” “Of course, if we speak of mysteries, there’s none greater—but in this case, it’s nothing more than a trivial sideshow.” “The reason is that everything inferred from the bell and corpse perfectly matches the dwarf Lukin’s extraordinary traits.” “Moreover, not only that—the bell phenomenon occurred after the culprit’s escape.” “So even if it adds theatrical flourishes that complicate the case, it ultimately doesn’t affect the core truth.” “Listen, Hōsui-kun—there’s no shortage of cases where investigators lost their grip on solutions by getting distracted with macabre curiosities.” “Why, I nearly stumbled into that very pitfall myself.”

“Indeed, this is quite the masterpiece of yours lately,” Hōsui sneered vehemently, blowing a smoke ring. “But if that’s the case, then the killer and the one who climbed the rope would have to be two separate individuals.” Kumashiro, perhaps because his opponent was Hōsui, showed a look of caution bordering on timidity, but Prosecutor Hasekura slapped his thigh and,

“Hmm, that must be it,” Prosecutor Hasekura agreed with Hōsui before presenting his own theory. “Hey, Kumashiro, the corpse is crouched in a bizarre position unlike any other murder victim.” “Not only that, but mysteries surround every aspect of the corpse.” “First—no signs of struggle. Though his face and fingertips show agony’s contortion, there’s no evidence of thrashing or clawing at floors to escape, nor any attempt to staunch the wound.” “Even you must realize a severed trachea alone doesn’t cause lightning-quick death.” “Furthermore, there’s only one external injury—its path angling upward through the throat—a trajectory seen solely in suicides.” “To strike such an improbable target effectively with one blow would be near impossible unless the victim deliberately positioned himself advantageously.” “Of course Lukin would need to leap to reach that wound height—yet if we posit Lazarev was crouching, everything grows doubly inexplicable.” “Moreover, no signs suggest the hand-candle fell from above—no scorch marks on clothes—and it sits there primly placed.” “Thus every circumstance reveals Lazarev’s own will at work.” “Kumashiro—I maintain Lazarev’s death was suicide.”

“So—by what method did the corpse bring the murder weapon outside the hall?”

“It was taken out afterward, you see.” “You’re saying the one who took it out is the culprit.” “Now, this may be an eccentric conjecture—but I shall explain what drove Lazarev to suicide.” “Since seeing Nadekov’s oil lamp, I’ve come to think there exists a graver secret between Lazarev and Lukin—or rather, that Lukin holds some fatal weakness of this old man.” “In exchange for that weakness, I believe Lukin demanded Zinaida.” “But since Zinaida stubbornly kept refusing, their entangled conflict must have dragged on past midnight.” “That’s why Lukin stayed in the dining hall even when telegrams arrived—he never actually left.” “Yet finding himself cornered beyond escape, Lazarev swiftly devised a scheme.” “To have even his younger sister Iriya confront Lukin.” “That woman seems perverse in some way—she confessed her feelings toward him unprompted.” However, Lukin—whose obsession with Zinaida remained unyielding—would not lay a finger on the younger sister. Because of this, Lazarev—who had been watching through the door’s crack—ultimately took his own life in despair. “You recall the wall lamp left burning?” “Likely forgotten by Lukin—but because of it, Lazarev witnessed the thunder-god-like romantic spectacle between Lukin and Iriya.”

Hōsui smirked while billowing out thick smoke, "I see—so each person has their own theory." "Then, Prosecutor Hasekura, how do you explain the hand-candle?" "It’s like this." At that moment, Lazarev lit the candle that had about five minutes left and stood before the door, but due to the paralysis in his left hand, he first placed the hand-candle on the floor before opening the door a crack. In doing so, he forgot to extinguish the hand-candle as he stared intently until the candle burned out, forcing him to confront a final horrifying conclusion in that darkness. Now, regarding what Lukin—who discovered Lazarev’s suicide—did next: he attempted to leverage it to gain an advantage in his relationship with Zinaida. "This is because Lukin—driven by his groundless suspicion that Vasilenko was operating behind Zinaida—eliminated Vasilenko and was witnessed prowling around the chapel like a madman late at night." "Then, after silencing Iriya, he removed the dagger, locked the sisters’ room, and followed the path you deduced to escape the premises." "Now, if that’s the case, it goes without saying that Lukin rang the bell." "That phantasmagorical and unfathomable method was undoubtedly Lukin’s secret alone, but uncovering it quickly would have been of utmost benefit to that scoundrel." "The reason the bells had to be rung has now been clearly established." "So, Kumashiro, this case ends up having no single culprit at all."

“Then what becomes of the mystery surrounding the corpse?” “I believe there’s no choice but to accept a certain pathological possibility.” At the moment the blade was thrust, a hemorrhage occurred in the previously healthy left hemisphere of the brain, resulting in apoplectic paralysis of the freely movable right half of the body. “One can understand this by observing how hemiplegics are constantly on nervous guard against sudden falls, but when subjected to abnormal mental shocks or physical trauma, the remaining hemisphere often develops secondary symptoms.” “In that sense, we must await the autopsy report’s findings—that’s what I’m saying.”

“Hmm,” Kumashiro nodded with a spiteful grin. “However, that’s something you’d say in a murder case, rather than suicide.” “Moreover, you’re overlooking the corpse’s peculiar halberd-like crouch.” “Of course, if we don’t obscure that detail, there’s no risk of such an absurd suicide theory gaining traction—but then again.” “What’s more, once the true cause is understood, Lazarev’s will disappears from the very trajectory your theory takes as its starting point.” “Now, if we ask what created that posture—it’s the physique of the dwarf Lukin. Let’s suppose first that Lukin called out from outside the door.” “Given that Lazarev naturally knew his height, he likely bent his upper body halfway out of habit and thrust his head through the door gap without fail.” “He was stabbed upward from below there.” “And so Lazarev collapsed in that very position—but at that moment, apoplectic paralysis struck his healthy half.” “In short, since Lazarev’s throat appeared above Lukin’s head—rather than concerning ourselves with the perpetrator’s posture—given Lukin’s unique stature, there was no other way for him to stab that spot in that direction.”

“Then there must be scorch marks on the clothing.” Prosecutor Hasekura, half-aware of his impending defeat, spoke in a voice devoid of strength. “Of course he must have placed the hand-candle down and opened the door, but there wasn’t enough time for the candle to burn out.”

Thereupon, Kumashiro stated his final conclusion.

“However, what if the candle that Lukin said was about five minutes had been used once during that time?” “And even though it was down to just the wick, if stingy Lazarev lit it, the lower part would burn—so as the wax melted below, it’d tilt sideways and the flame couldn’t stay upright,” he proclaimed triumphantly, though casting a timid, furtive glance around.

“By the way, Hōsui—what’s your opinion?” he inquired. “Well—my opinion’s simply…” However, his gaze held the sharpness of one who had reached a decision. “The trouble is that I’ve merely elevated the bell tolls to a leading role—but I’ll ask for your patience and take it upon myself to correct your theories.” First turning to the Prosecutor, he continued, “To begin with your suicide theory—the corpse’s final breath proves it’s fallacious.” “As you know, while the trachea was cleanly severed, the culprit didn’t immediately withdraw the dagger from the scene, leaving it embedded for some time—I’ll explain why later.” “Thus, with the airway flattened shut, it created an effect akin to strangulation.” “Of course, without an autopsy we can’t determine which of the two competing conditions caused death—but what’s certain here is that Lazarev lost consciousness from suffocation before blood loss reached lethal levels.” “The evidence lies in his excreted waste and petechial hemorrhages in the sclera.” “The critical juncture becomes whether his final breath—that is, taken just before being stabbed or, per your theory, just before stabbing—was exhaled or inhaled. Yet examination shows it occurred immediately after exhalation.” “This matters because—as a rule for suicides or rather due to physiological imperatives under duress—one must dispel chest pressure by filling their lungs before acting.” “Meinert’s theory states that when peripheral arteries constrict severely, causing thoracic pressure, one can’t act until exhaling fully to relieve this instability.” “But since Lazarev’s corpse lacks this, how could empty lungs permit such action?” “Therefore, I paradoxically cite this contradiction as evidence for murder.”

“I see.” Prosecutor Hasekura nodded frankly. “So does that mean Kumashiro’s Lukin theory is now established?”

“However, that’s not the case.”

Hōsui smiled quietly and brought his face closer to Kumashiro. “I have strong objections to your theory of dwarf murder as well.” “Therefore, first of all, I assert that apoplectic paralysis did not occur in Lazarev’s right half of the body.” “And as evidence of that, I wish to cite the temperature of both arms of the corpse.” “The paralyzed area should have become as cold as corpse temperature; however, upon comparing both of Lazarev’s arms—not only the left arm where paralysis had lessened but even the problematic right arm—a faint body warmth remains at equal levels.” “Even if I say that, you’d likely argue one cannot rely on something as subtle as skin sensation. But if so, I have another definitive evidence to refute it.” “Before addressing that, I’d like a more concrete explanation regarding the shape of the candle you claimed had been reduced to just its wick.”

Kumashiro gave a nervous blink but, “Of course, I’m imagining the actual state of that hand-candle. As you know, the residual wax has built up beyond the metal core’s stopper. Therefore, if all the wax surrounding the wick melts away, the wick would adhere to the metal core and stand upright, with only a small portion at its lower end buried in the melted wax—resulting in that shape.”

“Yeah, I have no objection to that.” “After all, it’s a form I’ve been shown so often since childhood that I’m thoroughly familiar with it.” “And you’re saying that precisely when it was in that state, the miser Lazarev blew it out, then reused it at dawn when Lukin knocked on the door?” “However, attempting to prove no scorch marks remained based solely on that—though an odd turn of phrase—shows complete disregard for what one might term a candle’s intrinsic nature.” “Moreover, you’ve failed to account in your calculations for the thickness of that metal core—capable of supporting even a hyakume candle.” Hōsui then commenced an analysis of extraordinary precision, marshaling exhaustive scholarly references.

“However, rather than me tediously explaining this myself, I shall introduce records left by our great predecessors.” “Speaking of 1875—in Japan, this was the dawn of criminal police work, before the proclamation of the Minor Offenses Law.” This was during the constable era when Tsukioka Yoshitoshi’s blood-drenched woodblock prints adorned kawaraban shopfronts—a time when the Donauwörth police force included an inspector named Wenzel Scherdelupp, who possessed deductive abilities far surpassing yours as head of today’s scientific police. That inspector once saved a blind man from death row by estimating the length of a candle from a large burned-out candlestick—yet his deduction hinged on a detail so utterly mundane that everyone else overlooked it. “It’s about the metal core’s temperature. Since a candle’s wick naturally leans to one side of its hole, when burning down to the edge with such a thick core, the flame can’t properly reach the opposite side.” “This causes uneven wax combustion, creating a steep tilt.” “Meaning even if one side burns down to bare wick, some wax must remain on the other.” “But if left burning completely, the heated core would scorch until even the opposite wax slowly melts away... Yet if extinguished at bare wick and relit later when cooled—” “Then only wax directly beneath the wick would briefly melt on relighting, leaving upper portions intact or at least preserving a wax film.” “However, that hand-candle shows merely a charred core with all wax consumed.” “Doesn’t this prove even residual candle-shaped wax burned out entirely?” “And scorch marks would inevitably remain.”

Kumashiro turned ghastly pale, his lips quivering, but— “So, that’s where the culprit’s trick lies,” the Prosecutor interjected, not letting Hōsui speak.

“Yeah, that’s right.” “In fact, Lazarev’s corpse was standing upright and positioned out of the flame’s reach.” “Therefore, since a trick was necessary there—once that is unraveled—the mystery of the corpse that made one imagine apoplectic paralysis, had you insist on the suicide theory, and led Kumashiro to envision Lukin’s illusion is entirely dispelled.” “Now, this was a single sturdy string.” “The culprit strung it between the handle and the key wedged in the gap of the plank wall to the right, leaving a margin of six or seven sun.” “Thus, Lazarev—with his paralyzed left hand—placed the hand-candle on the floor, turned the handle with his right hand, and attempted to push the door open with his left shoulder to exit. But unfortunately, the door only opened as wide as the string’s span, causing his shoulder—angled sideways in his attempt to exit—to become completely lodged within, rendering him immobile from his head down to his right arm.” “The culprit pressed down on it from the outside, calmly avoiding the carotid artery to prevent being splattered with blood as they aimed at the immobilized target and delivered a composed strike. However, they did not immediately withdraw the weapon at that moment—to prevent any groan from escaping—and instead remained there for a while, watching Lazarev fade away.” “Of course, since the candle would eventually go out, when they loosened the string slightly, Lazarev—with the string around his waist—folded in two.” “Then, after confirming his death, they gradually loosened the string and gently lowered him to the floor—so the corpse assumed a crouched posture, and the wound descended vertically onto the pooled blood below, leaving no unnatural irregularities in the bleeding pattern.” “Moreover, his free right hand completely lacked freedom of movement, so he couldn’t even claw at the door.” “So then, Kumashiro, for a dwarf like Lukin, that would be a feat he couldn’t possibly achieve unless he were reborn.” “In other words, to define Lazarev’s murderer—it is a person of ordinary physique who lacks the strength to achieve their goal through conventional means. However, this not only compensates for physical inferiority but also includes a cunningly cold-blooded plan designed to disrupt investigative strategies.” “So, looking solely at the method, Lukin’s illusion vanishes, and the shadow of Vasilenko gripping the dagger emerges, you see.”

“Ah, that guy’s no good.” “There’s no way he could have come and gone except on foot.” Kumashiro let out a sorrowful sigh, but Hōsui’s face grew even darker and more despondent.

“Yeah, we’re on the brink of a breakthrough, but…” “Moreover, since the act of killing and the ability to escape form two distinct scenarios lined up like models, the culprit might unexpectedly be a new individual who possesses both these characteristics.” “Or perhaps, if some brilliant idea surfaces here, everything will converge conclusively on Zinaida, or Vasilenko’s secret movements will be exposed—but in any case, Lukin is no longer within the suspect sphere.” “So then, Kumashiro, since we’ve now accounted for ninety-nine percent of the evidence gathered thus far, it should be safe to say that the solution’s key lies hidden in the one remaining piece.” “In other words, the criminal’s form manifests in these bell tolls—mechanically inverted to ring with supernatural semblance… But must we truly animate a corpse and force it to pull bell ropes in its hand, as Zinaida insists⁉”

And thus, the bell tolls leapt from being a simple supernatural occurrence to taking center stage in the case.

Kumashiro concealed his shudder and forced himself to put on a bold front,

“In any case, the motive must ultimately lie with that standing lamp.” “I intend to have my men stationed at this temple for the time being.” “And next time, I’ll catch them whether they like it or not.” “And since there’s a bridge invisible to our eyes, they’re bound to come eventually,” he declared, yet none of his usual vigor was visible.

Around that time, sleet began to fall, mingled with fierce winds, and the weather became exactly like yesterday’s. But Hōsui kept everyone at bay, sequestered himself alone in the bell tower, and showed no sign of emerging. And during that time, what seemed to be his experimental bell tolls rang several times, but they ultimately could not hear the single expected peal. When evening came, Hōsui finally appeared in a state of utter exhaustion,

“Kumashiro, I wish you success.” “But should you fail to apprehend the culprit then, have one of the sisters send Nadekov’s standing lamp to my office.”

And he departed through the sleet, but about an hour later, his voice sounded once more beyond the door.

“It’s Hōsui here.” “My apologies, but please erase the red line on the rotating window and turn on the wall lamp.”

As one of the detectives went to light the wall lamp, he happened to glance out the window and saw a kite floating midair glide smoothly closer like a ghostly galleon in the dark night. Ah, why on earth had Hōsui lit the wall lamp, erased the red line, and flown the kite?

However, that night, no matter how late it grew, Hōsui made no attempt to sleep, focusing all his senses through eyes and ears as if trying to perceive or capture something unseen. Sure enough, he heard the bell tolls of St. Alexei Church around 1 a.m. Moreover, first came the gong of the great bell… The sanctuary’s mystery and terror once again traversed the night sky. Yet upon hearing this, he inexplicably smiled faintly before sinking into a deep sleep.

IV

Around noon the next day, Iriya arrived carrying the standing lamp.

“I hear there was quite a commotion last night.” “Yes, but why weren’t they caught? Even though it’s clear they entered, there are no footprints, and the bells rang in such a way.”

"Of course." "I was the one who rang them." "So,the Lazarev case has been solved," Hōsui said, ignoring a startled Iriya as he took out a sealed letter from beneath the standing lamp. "Then...could it mean my sister...?"

“That’s correct.” “It’s your sister’s confession letter.”

Hōsui could no longer bear to look directly at her face, but when Iriya heard this, she lost all rigidity in her body, staggered back into the chair, and for a time stared vacantly at nothingness. During this interval, Hōsui read through the confession letter, but before long Iriya regained her composure and began to sob.

“I can’t believe it. Why did Sister have to kill Father, who showed her such great kindness?”

“That is because a certain strong force instinctively dominates Sister.” Then Hōsui began explaining Zinaida’s motive while avoiding particularly provocative terms: “When I learned she had been a virgin nun of the Carmelite Order, I realized that beneath that beautiful veneer lay fanatical blood cultivated through vows—blood that would not hesitate to kill even someone called father.” “As you know, a virgin nun must stake everything—even her life—to uphold her role as a bride of God.” “But what would happen if the iron wall separating her from this world were to crumble one day?” “Consider how these brides of God would suffer in their new lives under such circumstances.” “Moreover, as she endured imposed trials, that virgin nun developed a sort of heroic idealism toward her bizarre existence.” “Physically speaking too—those astonishing austerities hidden behind poverty and chastity end up provoking masochistic-sadistic sensuality.” “Within pain defying natural laws, she compels herself to envision tangible reality—God’s skin and caresses.” “But when this occurs, we can no longer dismiss it as mere fastidiousness common among pure virgins.” “It becomes clear mental derangement.” “In Sister’s case precisely—when Lazarev forced marriage with Lukin upon her—she chose to plunge the blade into her adoptive father’s throat rather than blaspheme God.” “Though Paul’s words—‘Monastic life is excellent but not obligatory’—must have tormented her temporarily, they proved powerless against her entrenched obsession.” “By the way, her confession contains this passage: ‘Cartilage offers such peculiar resistance.’” “‘Yet at that moment,’ she writes, ‘amidst the agony of killing my adoptive father—I profoundly savored that noble spiritual ecstasy known only to virgin nuns.’” “Now you understand what drove adoptive father Lazarev’s murder.” “To summarize with another Pauline reference—this tragedy arose because one who could not divide their heart among family duties met revolutionary calamity and returned home.”

To this grim motive, Iriya must have wanted to cover her ears. Her closed eyelids quivered with ceaseless tremors.

Hōsui, finally feeling liberated, shifted his explanation to the murder method.

“However, astonishingly, Sister’s crime demonstrates a split-personality contrast between its method and motive.” “In stark contrast to that obscurantist religious worldview, the actual execution of the crime reveals a truly brilliant scientific mind.” “When I realized that, I was utterly dumbfounded.” “If you separate those two aspects and view them individually, who would ever think they’re the work of the same person⁉ Now, the crime began with a fake telegram addressed to Lukin. Sister disguised herself as a man that morning, bribed a neighborhood child, and had them deliver it to the post office around nine that night.”

“In any case, that single cord not only complicated the case but also skillfully concealed feminine physical limitations and made every aspect appear as Lukin’s crime.” “That’s why even veteran Kumashiro fell for it completely.” “However, the true wonder lies in the mysterious bell-tolling technique I’ll now explain. But first I must mention those footsteps in the bell tower—they were actually a fabricated lie meant to confirm who rang the bells. My own excessive nerves ended up complicating that point.” “Meaning there are no other participants besides Sister.”

Then, Hōsui turned his eyes to the confession letter and,

“Now, I’ll continue from where I left off reading, so please listen.—The reason I chose something from among natural objects to serve as a conductor was due to a chance discovery.” “When I peered through the floor’s skylight and saw it reach the vermilion line on the outer wall’s rotating window—how many more minutes would pass before it touched the power line below?” “After conducting experiments several times, I was able to achieve an accurate measurement of that timing.” “And not only does that conductor vanish in an instant, but Iriya’s overhead line—which continues up to the cross at the summit—is entangled around the iron pipe serving as its starting point.” “Furthermore, the base of the cross supports the iron crossbeam from which the bells are hung.” “Now, having timed the moment and lit the standing lamp, I awaited the impending terror of St. Alexei.” “Therefore, I lit the wall lamp halfway up the stairs to check the conductor’s condition, as the light reached precisely that area.” “Moreover, since the wall reflected in the glass appears black, it doesn’t obstruct the view.” As soon as he finished reading to the end of that section, he abruptly laid the confession letter face down on the desk and looked up.

“From this point onward, I will proceed based on my own conjecture.” “Now, what do you think that conductor was?” “Indeed, the line that connected the conductor and the standing lamp via the large bell’s counterweight was a spark that leapt from Sister’s brain.” “Don’t you see?…It’s the icicle that starts at the tip of the iron pipe and extends downward with meltwater from the sleet.” “However, prior to that, it was necessary to prepare a certain mechanism.” “This refers to a roll of photosensitive film which was cut slightly longer than the vertical line from the iron pipe to the power line. Along its entire length, a single straight line of adhesive was drawn, onto which aluminum powder had been fixed.” “Now then, after that, she formed a loop at the end of the rolled-up photosensitive film—with that side facing inward—and tied that roll to the kite found at the dagger’s discovery site before flying it.” “At the same time as she skillfully fitted the photosensitive film’s ring into the tip of the iron pipe, she manipulated another thread attached to a hook cutter to sever the thread tied to the photosensitive film, and furthermore used that hook cutter to nick a point on the power line directly below.” “So with this mechanism—what do you think she intended for the large bell overhead?”

“Well…”

Iriya’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, her sister’s crime now forgotten. “The purpose was to remove what had been tilting the large bell.” “But before I get to that, I must first address the weather from two days ago.” “The reason is that around five o’clock, in the midst of sleet accompanied by sideways-blowing wind, Sister took the first step in the crime.” “You said that at that time, the father and daughter had a fierce argument directly under the bell rope, but Sister’s true heart lay elsewhere.” “While gradually stepping on the end of the rope with her foot, she pulled it with all her strength and body weight in one hand, tilting the bell.” “Naturally, the small bell would have become horizontal, but the large bell tilted slightly, causing its clapper to contact the inner wall.” “However, that driving storm.” “The sleet, blowing in relentlessly, eventually caused the clapper and inner wall to freeze firmly together.” “However, while this naturally had no effect on the small bell concealed above, even after resetting the rope, the large bell—with its heavy clapper adhering to one wall—had to tilt due to the shifted center of gravity.”

“So, what made it ring?” “Because the electric current melted the ice binding the clapper.” “Now, to explain the path… Water droplets that had collected at the end of the iron pipe would flow down onto the photosensitive film, but on the smooth celluloid surface, they would slide off and accumulate only on the uneven aluminum powder.” “And then, the icicle that had formed there would gradually extend as it grew linearly in length, its lower end pressing against the reel of the photosensitive film—that was Sister’s brilliant contrivance.” “When it had finally fully extended, the end of the aluminum powder line would touch the damaged section of the power line’s insulation coating—inevitably causing an instantaneous current to travel up to the large bell in the tower.” “The result was self-evident.” “Of course, the icicles vanished instantly while the photosensitive film ignited, and soon after, white ash enveloping silver-colored aluminum powder—unable to bear the water droplets’ weight—crumbled to the ground.” “However, this lightweight metal powder—blending with the snow’s hue—gradually dispersed beyond investigators’ visual range, simultaneously erasing every trace of the mechanism.” “Therefore, when the transmitted current melted the ice binding the clapper, it naturally struck the opposite side as the bell righted itself. This produced vibrations achievable only by pulling the bell rope—thus creating that seemingly miraculous tolling.” “Last night’s bell tolling was merely my faithful reenactment, as favorable weather permitted.” “Yet the most crucial clue remained that rose hair ornament.” “The trampled piece had been impaled about six inches below the bell rope.”

“Oh my!” Iriya involuntarily let out a cry of amazement. “But what about the dagger?” “Why on earth was it left in such an absurd place?”

Hōsui embarked on his final deduction. “That was thrown by that standing lamp.” “After Sister confirmed Lazarev’s death, she pulled the dagger from his throat, washed it in the washroom downstairs, and then returned to the bell tower.” “This time, she attached a weight to the end of a long hemp thread and threw it upward so that it would pass over the crossbeam between the two large bells.” “Then, she adhered one end to the dagger’s hilt using the coagulated blood—thick like paste—and threaded the other end from the gas pipe wedged into the bell rope, through the door’s keyhole, tying it to the spindle that rotated the cylinder inside the standing lamp.” “Of course, since this device was set up before the operation of lowering the key from outside was completed, it follows that two threads had been threaded through the keyhole where the key’s latch was facing upward.” "And then, first Sister manipulated the lock with the thread to close the door, checked the condition of the icicles, lit the standing lamp, and opened the armored vertical window." “Therefore, as the internal cylinder began rotating due to the airflow, eventually the cord was pulled taut with a twang, lifting the dagger attached to one end.” "Now, the reason an extremely precise calculation was required between the time it took for the icicles to reach the power line and the number of cylinder rotations is because the icicles had to conduct electricity just before the dagger reached the hem of the large bell." “Because there was no other way to achieve the dagger’s trajectory except by relying on the magnetic force induced in the bell through electric contact.” “In other words, while the magnetic force generated in the bell attracted the dagger’s head, it was simultaneously being hoisted sideways—and at that moment, the other bell struck away its copper guard.” “At that moment, the coagulated blood that had adhered the thread to the hilt came loose and fell near the bell tower’s clerestory window, you see.” Furthermore, what was found in front of the door served no other purpose than to demonstrate the path through which the thread had passed. “And so, once the thread had completely passed through the keyhole and was wound into the cylinder of the standing lamp, simultaneously, the key’s latch—which until then had been supported by the thread—descended vertically, thereby bringing the entire crime to its perfect conclusion.”

As the proof concluded, the glow faded from Hōsui’s face,

“What do you think⁉ This time, with the bell tolling at its core, doesn’t it vividly depict Lukin making his escape?” “Naturally, that constitutes one of the two alibis Sister engineered.” “Though the trick of lowering the key from outside appears rather crude, the bell’s resonance transcends mere mystique.” “While we fortunately unraveled it, if asked whether anyone could conceive such a scheme—regrettably, one must answer no.” “In any case, Sister stands as the most formidable opponent among all criminals who have ever challenged me.”

“So, does that mean Sister will get the death penalty?” Iriya had finally broached the subject, but Hōsui folded the last few lines of the confession and showed them to her. Then, suddenly, she gripped the edge of the desk with a vice-like grasp, her face twisting in fury.

“Poison!! So you’re making Sister commit suicide…” “Don’t be absurd. Save your anger until after you’ve heard me out.” Hōsui stood up as he spoke and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Yesterday evening, when leaving, I stopped by your room. At that time, I slipped it into Sister’s pocket. Of course she must have noticed immediately, but with the midnight bell tolling and such commotion, there was no chance to take the poison—I had no choice but to wait until today when you went out. Though the package bears an alkaloid’s name, its contents were merely a sleeping drug that happened to be in my pocket. In other words, this conclusion arises from my unique interpretation of the case’s origins—I deemed committing the perpetrator to a mental hospital more fitting than prison. If the truth remains mine alone to know, then naturally the right to judge should be mine alone.”

A few hours later, the sleeping car in which the two rode together passed through the gates of B Mental Hospital, following crimson trails of melting snow.