Pathway to Japanese Literature

Prologue

St. Alexei Church—. In the secular world, this grand Catholic edifice—a near-replica of Nikolai Cathedral—stood towering on I Hill in Tokyo’s western suburbs, surrounded by mixed woods, its spires vying with R University’s clock tower for dominance… And as for those musical chimes that rang out clearly at seven in the morning and four in the evening—you, dear readers, must surely have heard them.

Now, before commencing our tale, let us briefly recount the origins of this church.—It was in October 1920 that General Ataman Abramov, commander-in-chief of the Far Eastern White Army, dedicated this preposterous folly to eternal remembrance of the last crown prince of the Romanov Dynasty. And so it was that until November 1922, these two sacred years—guarded by resplendent episcopal vestments and elaborate rituals—saw white terror strike somewhere in the Socialist Federation each time a secret order issued from this sanctuary, jangling the nerves of a Moscow still under construction. But then circumstances changed abruptly. With the Japanese military’s withdrawal from Primorsky Krai as the turning point, the decline of the Far Eastern White Russians began, and almost overnight, it transformed into a free lodging house for destitute White refugees. Though exiles once overflowed its halls, they soon trickled away from Japan one by one, until now only the caretaker Lazarev and his daughters—along with the holy icons—remained.

As a result, the beautiful chimes that once announced prayers had become an antiquated time bell, and the frail figure of old Lazarev could occasionally be seen on the streets, begging for meager alms.

And so it came to pass that the name of St. Alexei Church had been reduced to nothing more than a symbol of the White Russians’ misfortune and defeat—until one day, upon their rose-hued dome where the Romanov eagle, its political and military lifeblood utterly drained, at last lay as a colossal carcass. Yet just as this fading ember seemed forgotten, it suddenly flared anew: for within those utterly ruined sacred halls, there occurred a murder of unparalleled grimness. (The reader is kindly requested to consult the diagram on the following page while reading.)

I

Hōsui Rintarō—former investigation bureau chief, now one of the nation’s foremost criminal defense lawyers, hailed as a once-in-a-generation genius for his profound deductive reasoning and superhuman imagination—would typically appear only after investigative authorities had struggled exhaustively with a case. Yet for this incident alone, he became involved from the very outset. This was not only because his and his friend Prosecutor Hasekura’s private residences were near the church, but also due to the truly eerie precursor that had occurred. The church bell—regulated by the timekeeper never to ring off-schedule—sent lingering vibrations through air as cold as a corpse at 5 AM dawn on January 21st.

Though it lasted a mere one or two minutes with a low, melancholic tolling, the sound happened to reach the ears of the prosecutor, who had risen to use the restroom. Then something immediately pricked the prosecutor's sharp instincts. This referred to the 1921 White Russian Protection Petition, which notably included a provision stating that—in preparation for an assassination plot against White leaders by Red Russian Emergency Committee spies at the time—off-schedule bell-tolling would serve as an emergency alarm. Thereupon, the prosecutor promptly telephoned Hōsui nearby and arranged to meet in front of the church.

The sleet mixed with violent winds that had begun the previous evening softened around midnight and now ceased completely; yet thick layers of snow clouds still blotted out every trace of light in the sky. As he walked through this gloom, Hōsui suddenly encountered something strange near the main gate. A small, pitch-black human-shaped mass suddenly rolled out from the side street. When Hōsui reflexively challenged it, the human-shaped figure froze as if petrified. For a while, only the sound of ragged, labored breathing could be heard—then it began to trudge forward with heavy steps. First, the figure of a child—approximately three shaku and five sun tall—appeared before Hōsui’s eyes; yet most unexpectedly, in the next instant, a broad low-pitched sound groaned out.

“Hey, I am Yarov Avramovich Rukin.” He was a Russian—yet spoke in oddly composed, perfectly fluent Japanese— “My stage name is Dwarf Mashikofu; I’m a vaudeville acrobat.”

“Ah, the dwarf Mashikofu?!” Hōsui remembered having seen him on stage before. What left an especially strong impression was his upper body—deformed like a weightlifter’s—with an eerily large face and palms on his limbs, while around his shoulders swelled several globular masses of flesh like camel humps. He appeared to be in his late thirties like Hōsui himself, with a florid round face and high forehead that at first glance suggested a mild-mannered merchant—yet his eyes alone were narrow and sharply pointed like spearheads.

At that moment, Prosecutor Hasekura, who had noticed 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 from the district court.”

“Well, you see, there’s a fellow who’s done some outrageous mischief.” Still frozen mid-turn from having been caught off guard, Rukin answered with relative composure. “Out of single-minded loyalty to the emperor, I carelessly trusted a forged telegram and ended up ruining our wedding night.” “Wedding night⁉” The prosecutor retorted with a provoked edge.

“Indeed, the bride of this cripple is Zinaida, daughter of the church caretaker Lazarev here.” “Of course, we didn’t have any formal ceremony, but it was just as our first night together 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 to the back of the mental hospital near Gōtokuji Station by two o’clock.” “However, in the end, for me, my comrades’ sanctions were more terrifying than the pleasures of the bedroom.” “So, I reluctantly went out.”

“What comrades?” The prosecutor pressed the point with professional rigor. “It’s a new White political organization.” “Moreover, as an operative, my body is endowed with perfect innate stealth techniques.” “This much I can declare openly.” Rukin leaned back arrogantly, striking the pose of a revolutionary martyr. “After all, we receive formidable support from certain quarters of this nation!” “The only thing to dread is the GPU’s spy network.” “Indeed—Trotsky wasn’t mistaken to call it an ass’s brain.” When Hōsui laughed derisively, Rukin’s face twitched with irritation before he pressed on.

“But what do you know? 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 a villain who envied my happiness. And I had no choice but to walk back.” “However, despite being so exhausted, you dashed out before me like a bullet just now,” Hōsui said in a hammering tone.

“Because I heard the bell.” “Among our comrades, we use off-schedule bell tolling as an alarm for emergencies.” Rukin twisted his body restlessly and made his voice tremble. “No sooner had it rung than it stopped, and when I consider that feeble sound, I can’t help feeling as though a hand that had grasped the bell rope was unreasonably intercepted from the side.” “In other words, I think it wasn’t about discovering an incident that had already occurred, but rather a rescue signal sounded during an ongoing emergency.” “Moreover, even before that, I was lured out by a forged telegram.”

“Let’s go.” The prosecutor shouted in exasperation. “Indeed, crows or kites wouldn’t make that bell budge an inch.”

The appearance of the mysterious dwarf Rukin utterly overturned Hōsui’s earlier assumptions about the bell sounds. He felt as though he had stepped into an atmosphere thick with ghastliness... At the very least, unless this convergence of bell tolling and Issunbōshi was mere coincidence, some trace—whatever its form—must have been left within the sanctuary by causal necessity. The frozen ground cracked sharply beneath their feet, and icy meltwater splattered up without mercy. Soon emerged the dim outline of the hall’s full structure through the darkness—its facade bristling with hundreds of icicles like peppermint sticks.

When he twisted the handle of the entrance and found it locked, Rukin looked up at the prosecutor. “First, please try pulling the rope hanging there.” “The clappers that ring are in both the old man’s room and the daughter’s room.”

However, despite the prosecutor desperately pulling the clappers, not a single soul responded from within. Yet, the sound ringing inside was clearly audible to them outside... As they waited in anticipation, a considerable amount of time had already passed.

“This isn’t just a jumble!” Gritting his back teeth, the prosecutor released the rope, and into that hand Hōsui placed a bundle of master keys. And finally, when the seventh one fit, the door was opened.

Hōsui’s meticulous care swiftly halted the two men about to charge up the stairs; first, he stationed the prosecutor on guard by the entrance door they had just passed through, then took Rukin with him to inspect the downstairs rooms. The chapel, abandoned to decay, resembled a ruin. Beneath the dome stood only about ten icons; not a trace remained of the once-resplendent golden Catholic vessels, save for patches of peeled decorative foil here and there. Hōsui’s investigation ended with the restroom and makeshift kitchen, but nowhere were there any human figures—let alone anything resembling an abnormality to be found.

Upon returning to the door where the prosecutor stood, Hōsui ascended the left-hand staircase leading to the bell tower, while the prosecutor and Rukin went up the right-hand one. "I simply can't make sense of this." Seeing a wall lamp left burning on the midway wall of the gently curving staircase, Rukin said. "When we looked from outside earlier, there was one bright window." "That's this wall lamp's light seen through the rotating window on our side." "Leaving a lamp burning like this—such extravagance would be utterly unthinkable unless Lazarev's miserly nature had turned him into an outright madman."

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

“Ah! The shadow moved!” “Then it seems the sisters are unharmed.” “Well now, what needless panic this caused!” “No doubt even the bell sounds will prove to have some trifling explanation.” “Still—if they were awake, why didn’t they answer earlier?” The prosecutor muttered dubiously, but Rukin suddenly wore an awkward expression and remained silent.

The bell tower was in complete darkness. Frigid outside air descended from above like a heavy fog. Ahead of the two, far in the distance within a circular reddish light, the panels of the plank wall kept appearing as Hōsui’s flashlight continued its dizzying rotation. When the light finally converged on a single point, Rukin let out a cry and thundered over with heavy steps. In the gap of the half-opened door lay a tall, gaunt white-haired old man hunched forward in prostration, his chin buried in a pool of blood.

“Ah, Lazarev!!” Rukin’s knees buckled with a thud as he made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Christian Isagovich Lazarev…”

II

“Is he dead?” When the prosecutor knelt on one knee, Hōsui dropped the corpse’s left hand with a thud, “Yeah, he was struck in the throat. “Since the murder weapon isn’t near the corpse, this is clearly a homicide.” “Plus, he still has some body heat despite the low temperature, and rigor mortis is just setting in.” “He probably died around four o’clock, but the bells rang an hour after that.” Then he asked Rukin, “Where’s the switch?”

“No, there’s no electric lighting installed in the bell tower.” “Also, the sisters seem to be unharmed.” “That’s precisely why it’s odd—they’re awake.”

The prosecutor interjected. "The fact that they didn't respond even when hearing the clappers' sound might mean the sisters knew about this incident and caused us to have some strange misunderstanding."

“In any case, that’s not particularly significant.” “But without electric lighting, we’ll have to wait until full dawn.” Hōsui delivered this unhurried remark yet immediately instructed the prosecutor to make arrangements, concluding with a request that no one except the police doctor and headquarters personnel be permitted within the grounds.

For the thirty minutes until the prosecutor ascended with the police doctor, it was a silent vigil of two men flanking the corpse in darkness. Only Rukin,

“It’s Vasilenko after all.” He had only heard Rukin mutter faintly, “That poor fellow…” when Hōsui started to question him about it—but just then came the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. However by that time dawn was breaking in the tower’s upper levels as the bell cluster’s outlines emerged faintly through the haze.

“The small upper bells were too dark to make out, but only the two large ones below were visible.” Without so much as glancing toward where the police doctor was examining the corpse, Hōsui looked up and muttered to himself. “From the floor to the dome’s apex must be about five meters—and roughly the same distance again from there to the bells.” “That’s correct.” Rukin struck a confirming beat. “All the bells are hidden in a hollow at the spire’s summit—only the base of the large ones barely shows through the tower windows—so they won’t budge an inch even in a tempest.” “Eight small bells sit above the two large ones. When you pull the rope, a mechanism makes the small ones ring first before reaching the large ones.” “Then the iron rod supporting their horizontal axis stretches all the way up to form a great cross at the peak.”

Hōsui experimentally pulled the rope. The bell was heavy enough to require both hands to pull, but just as Rukin had said, first the small bell emitted a sound of crystalline clarity, followed by the solemn tolling of the large bell intermingling with it. Through this, he learned of the unchanging mechanical system governing the sequence of the bells’ tolling and how the two large bells swung alternately in opposite directions. A short while later, as their breaths began to appear like white smoke, he now noticed Rukin’s attire. From his hat and coat down to his trousers, everything was tightly clad in rubber-lined waterproof gear, yet he was drenched from head to toe.

Soon, the police doctor’s report began.

“It would be approximately two and a half hours postmortem.” “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 while gouging upward diagonally, resulting in the airway being horizontally penetrated by the blade.” “And the base of the wound is where it grazed the second cervical vertebra, I must say.” Nodding at each point, Hōsui stared down fixedly at the corpse’s unnatural posture. The corpse wore a brown overcoat over nightclothes, crouched with his waist oddly thrust out and his upper body prone, while both hands were flung forward in the shape of water buffalo horns, all fingers hooked into claw-like curves. Beneath the wound, the spilled blood had formed a lake-like pool. However, there were only slight splatters scattered from the surrounding floor to the inside of the door, with no signs of disturbance anywhere. This clearly proved not only the absence of any signs of a struggle but also that the corpse showed no indication of movement after being stabbed. What further corroborated this inference were the fingertips of both hands—no bloodstains that would have resulted from pressing the wound were present on them. —And within the bell tower, no bloodstains were discovered beyond that single area, and the prosecutor who had gone to search for the murder weapon returned empty-handed.

“I just can’t make sense of it,” Hōsui muttered, yanking the corpse’s hair upward. “Having his trachea severed alone shouldn’t cause instantaneous death like a lightning strike.” He continued, “Look at the wound path. This direction of attack has no precedent in dagger murders. Moreover, they calmly avoided the carotid artery with a single thrust.” His voice sharpened. “When you combine this with the corpse’s bizarre pike-like posture—what stance could the killer have possibly used? It becomes utterly incomprehensible.” He gestured at the body’s face. “Despite that hideously contorted expression of agony, there’s no sign he thrashed on the floor even for seconds. The limbs suggest spasms, but nothing definitive.” Turning abruptly to Hasekura, he demanded, “So—what do you make of this?”

The prosecutor could not answer, but in each inexplicable aspect of the corpse that Hōsui had pointed out, he already sensed the profound mystery lying at the heart of this case. Hōsui then lowered his gaze to the corpse’s arms, alternately grasping them as if comparing something, before proceeding to examine both eyes in detail.

"There are petechiae," he muttered, then turned the corpse onto its back. Then, from around the groin area—specifically about an inch below the threshold—a brass hand-candle appeared. It was a bowl-shaped object about fifteen centimeters in diameter, with a mound-like volcanic remnant of wax swelling up from the iron core’s receptacle like the base of a crater. And from between them protruded a thick iron core—charred black as if meant for a large candle—with the burnt-out wick lying sideways near its base. However, when they examined the clothing around where the hand-candle had been, not only were there no scorch marks, but not even traces resembling the iron core protruding slightly horizontally could be found. That it had not been inserted afterward was clear from the faint blood spatter extending from the floor to the base of the hand-candle.

“What is this? What tremendous resolve.”

When he placed the hand-candle down, as Hōsui’s eyes were drawn once more to the corpse’s arms, the prosecutor found himself compelled to ask. “Yes—the left arm is bent inward.” “Before long, you’ll understand why that is an extremely crucial point.” Then Hōsui looked at Rukin,

“Do you remember how long this candle was when you left here last night?” “Indeed, I believe it was about five minutes’ worth.” “However, Lazarev might have used it afterward.”

Hōsui made a troubled expression but immediately began removing the clothing from the corpse to examine its entire body. There was only slight excretion of bodily waste, with no external wounds—let alone even minor traces of subcutaneous hemorrhage—to be observed. However, on the abdomen’s money belt, a shape resembling bills bulged prominently.

“This is it.” Rukin said irritably. “This was Lazarev’s only hobby, you see.” “He’s a miser.” “This guy.” “So it’s pitiful, really.” “Since 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 bit longer, this bastard would throw a fit.”

After completing the examination of the corpse, Hōsui entered Lazarev's room. The room had been built in a stepped formation, utilizing the void between the chapel's dome and the bell tower floor. Beyond the door lay a wooden floor spanning about two tatami mats, from which a ladder descended to the bedroom below. There was a skylight in the floor identical to those seen in the sisters' room, covered with thick wire mesh of coarse weave. Both this strange construction and the room's complete invisibility from outside suggested that during the White Russians' former glory days, it had likely been assigned some secret function. However, the interior remained perfectly orderly, and ultimately Hōsui found nothing he could examine.

Then, before reaching the girls’ room on the opposite side, they made a discovery—on the central floor beneath the chapel’s domed ceiling lay two stained-glass skylights, with sparse clumps of coagulated blood scattered from there down to the bell ropes below, as if flaked off from above. Yet Hōsui barely glanced at these traces; instead, his gaze fixed suspiciously on a spot three feet beneath the ropes where a short gas pipe had been wedged into place. He soon extracted something from beneath it and briskly pocketed the item before striding onward. At the sisters’ room door hung a lowered latch—and in its keyhole remained an inserted key.

“There’s none on the key, but—” With that, the prosecutor pointed out the faint scattered blood flecks on the floor before the door. “Given such careless handling, it appears the culprit must have performed rather intricate maneuvers.”

Just then, with a clattering of boots, Head of the Investigation Bureau Kumashiro Takuyoshi appeared, mustering every division—even the Foreign Affairs Unit—as he thrust his corpulent frame into view. Hōsui let out a shrill cry, “Well, well, Bishop Caution!” However, Kumashiro’s bitter smile had half faded as he stared at Rukin beside him in astonishment; but upon finishing listening to Hōsui’s explanation, he composed himself and... “It’s nothing but pure resentment. The characteristics evident in the method also align with the notion that the culprit is a man of considerable skill,” he added pompously, nodding. And he promptly ordered his men to conduct a comprehensive investigation of the premises, but before long, an inspector leading a team outside returned in a state of extreme agitation.

“I must say, this has become utterly baffling.” “Because aside from you three who first entered, there are no footprints.” “Since the sleet stopped falling around two last night, any footprints on the frozen ground would’ve been noticed even by a child—let alone professionals like us.” “Furthermore, we found the murder weapon had pierced through a fallen kite some twenty meters from the chapel on the back gate side.”

With that, the inspector thrust out a Western-style dagger. Bloodstains dotted from the copper guard to the hilt, and the blade—shaped like a squid’s carapace—appeared to have been washed. That was Lazarev’s possession, and the fact that it was usually placed on the shelf behind the door was immediately revealed by Rukin. The kite was made of two and a half sheets of relatively recent hannya masks, and the string had a hook-shaped notch. “Surely, they haven’t put on the divine messenger’s boots.” Just as Hōsui showed no sign of being perturbed, the other two also felt that something vaguely hinting at an escape route leaving no footprints and the inexplicable placement of the murder weapon was implied—and they believed that from within the bell tower, something providing forensic proof of it would undoubtedly emerge. Therefore, rather than sharing their panic, Kumashiro actually grimaced at his men’s flustered state and promptly urged Hōsui to interrogate the sisters.

When the door was opened, the first thing that came into view was that this room’s structure was identical to Lazarev’s. At that moment, Ilya—the younger sister, who had been halfway down the ladder—turned around as if startled, but upon seeing the inspector’s uniform, her severe tension immediately dissolved. Her nearly six-foot-tall, ample build was indeed worthy of the descriptor “Amazon.” And yet, when one saw her peacefully round face devoid of sharp angles or edges, she seemed to possess an innocently simple character; yet depending on how she turned her face, deep shadows would form that could only be thought to conceal a proactive will and meticulous deliberation. She called out to her sister in a manly, broad voice, showing not the slightest hint of perturbation.

Zinaida, the elder sister, covered the chamber pot beneath the bed with a cloth fragment before ascending with composure; yet in her divine beauty—she appeared to be in her late twenties—even in her coarse garments there lingered the semblance of Saint Beatrice. Needless to say, this spoke of profound intellect and wisdom, but her overall impression differed greatly from her sister’s—intensely complex—seeming to envelop both a fragile nervous sharpness and a meditative eeriness within an unassailable dignity. For that very reason, one could not acknowledge any ruthless decisiveness in her. However, beyond these traits, what caught Hōsui’s attention was both the tragically stark contrast between Zinaida and Rukin and the fact that even when informed of their father’s unnatural death, the sisters showed not even a flicker of their eyelashes.

“Even if my father—who was once called Father Christian—has died an unnatural death, I must say it’s only to be expected…” Zinaida twisted her lips, first revealing a cold sneer at her father’s death. “But he was your own father, wasn’t he?”

“However, he was my adoptive father.” “We two—having lost both parents at once—were taken in by the benevolent Father Christian and raised under a love surpassing even that of a true father.” “Ilya remained in Father’s care while I entered the convent when I came of age, as I had always wished...” “At that time, Father was called the Saint of Kiev,” However, Zinaida sharply arched her eyebrows and continued.

“However, in 1925, when the convent where I had been residing was finally destroyed, I had no choice but to return to my father, who by then had moved to Paris.” “And there, I found a father bearing no resemblance to his former self.” “Oh, what a transformation he had undergone! Before I knew it, Father had abandoned his holy orders and was wringing the blood and marrow from the émigrés, using the money from selling off sacred vessels as his capital.” “And needless to say, his attitude toward us was no longer that of the father we had once known.”

“That is possible.” Hōsui nodded heavily. “It’s the shock of revolution.” “They say postwar personality transformations have caused tragedies numbering quite significantly.” “And then?”

“After that, Father continued to strip away the glory of past days with his pitch-blackened claws.” “Blinded by mere paltry sums, he even forged that infamous ‘Zinoviev Letter’ under Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich.” “Thus even after quarreling with his comrades and coming to Japan, he purchased his position as church custodian here with money wrung from destitute souls.” “Motives for resentment⁉ Were that the case, every White Russian in Tokyo would stand suspect.” “With such greed and usurious rates, even the most forbearing God could not help but despise him.” “Therefore, when I behold my father now and recall those noble sentiments of old, I simply cannot perceive him as the same being.”

At this point, Hōsui’s questions finally shifted to the main subject. "By the way, you did hear the bell sounds, didn’t you?"

“However, there had been an eerie incident prior to that.” “When I awoke around four-thirty, the stairway’s wall lamp was lit.” “Given Father’s habits—as you know—I wondered if Rukin had returned, but had he come, the alarm would have sounded.” “Yet I gave it little thought until moments later—when the clack-clack of footsteps retreating from near this room’s door arose in the bell tower.” “Was there anything distinctive about them?”

“They took one step where there would normally be two, making each stride unnervingly long.” “They seemed to be walking while deep in thought.” “Then this seems poised to take a strange turn.” With that, Hōsui sank into silent contemplation. But when he finally raised his face, his complexion had turned as pale as a corpse’s. “You claimed that your father’s ghost was walking, didn’t you?” “But his death had been medically confirmed a full hour before that.”

It truly felt as though every heart constricted simultaneously. But then, where on earth was the basis for this assumption? At Hōsui’s unexpected words, the surrounding people were all startled. But Zinaida alone was as calm as water.

“Medical matters are not the issue. “For this world brims with unfathomably mysterious ciphers and symbols. “I maintain absolute conviction that it was indeed Father. “Moreover, the sound possessed such crystalline clarity that misapprehension was utterly inconceivable. “And even had it been an effaced sound beyond physical hearing’s reach, it would have manifested to me as nothing less than divine revelation.”

What solemnity! Hōsui responded as if reciprocating it, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I see. However, it is said that the visions of Jesus frequently seen by Heinrich Zoize—a renowned thirteenth-century German theologian—originated from the religious paintings he intently contemplated. Moreover, did not someone utter these words? 'Is it not delightful to conceive one's soul as a garden and imagine the Lord walking therein?'—as they say."

Before the final phrase had ended, a fine tremor coursed through Zinaida’s entire body. But the next instant, she burst into a hollow, metallic laugh. “This is quite a surprise. “I’m flattered you would entertain the thought of me as the culprit. “No matter how terribly we are being treated by Father now, when I consider the great debt we owe him for rescuing us from the orphanage, such things are nothing at all. “Kindly keep this point firmly in your memory. “And another thing, Mr. Hōsui—it’s also that what natural sciences have conquered after expending so much time and effort is nothing more than the magic of Kabbalah and Indian yoga sects…”

Hōsui felt mocked beyond merely their ideological clash over theology, but Zinaida, glancing sidelong at his silence, continued speaking with ever-greater composure.

“So, after lighting the lamp and attempting to look, it appeared the lock had been engaged from the outside—the door wouldn’t budge.” “So I woke my sister, but both of us were so terrified that we couldn’t even bring ourselves to climb the ladder and extinguish the lamp.” “Then, soon after, the bells began to ring.”

“That’s what’s odd.” Ilya cut in.

“First came the deep gong-gong of the large bell, and only afterward did the small bells begin to ring.” “What on earth?!” Hōsui turned deathly pale in an instant. However, Zinaida also chimed in, repeating Ilya’s earlier statement.

That was truly an eerie aura in the literal sense. The bell’s mechanical apparatus would not permit such an inverted ringing by any means. Generally speaking, even Hōsui—if he attributed the cause of the bell’s tolling to some aspect of the criminal’s actions and had believed this case contained not a grain of the supernatural—found the logical progression of his deductions instantly shattered by Ilya’s single remark. The prosecutor too gave a violent shudder,

“Now that you mention it, that was indeed the case.” "I carelessly overlooked a crucial point." Hōsui, as if unable to bear it any longer, rushed out the door and repeatedly gazed up at the bell, but upon seeing this, one of the detectives who had been wielding a magnifying glass approached his side.

“Mr. Hōsui, is it about the bells?” “However, as for that large bell—even now when we look up at it—if two or three people were to push it by hand, with the gears in place, it wouldn’t budge an inch.” “Even if someone were to manually move the internal clapper, it would only produce a strangely muffled clang, but since the crucial main bell itself doesn’t budge, the vibrations can’t be transmitted to the smaller bells above.”

“I see. So the only way to tilt the bell is by using the swinging rope, you’re saying.” “No, thank you.” Hōsui returned to the sisters’ room, but now that he had exhaustively learned every detail of the bells’ mechanisms, he felt there was no longer any room left to scientifically analyze the mystery of their tolling. First of all—why had they needed to be rung at all? The question had become impossible to answer. If the culprit were indeed responsible, why would they have dared take such a risk—one that would expose their own existence? (Applying a simplistic interpretation would lead 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, he found himself speculating whether there existed a theurgist who manipulated an obstinate soul divorced from its flesh—a theory involving extreme sensitivity to animal magnetism—capable of manifesting footsteps while miraculously moving the bells. But to entertain such thoughts was the utmost humiliation for him. Eventually, Hōsui posed a question to Zinaida with unprecedented tension, though its content seemed no more than casual conversation.

“This may seem an odd question, but the convent where you resided—what order was it affiliated with?” “Ah, it was in Bienroselvsk, but…” “Then, which sect was it?” “It was Trappist.” “Ah, Trappist.” With that alone, Hōsui’s words were abruptly severed. For several seconds thereafter, a tragic battle of silence seemed to pass between them.

However, at that moment, as forensic officers entered to collect the sisters’ fingerprints, the coincidental easing of the tense atmosphere finally allowed everyone to exhale in relief.

During that time, Hōsui was examining the nearby standing lamp but happened upon a discovery worthy of attention. The so-called Nadekov-type standing lamp had been popular among Russia’s upper-class households before electric lighting became widespread. It lacked the wick adjustment screw found in standard models at a certain section—instead featuring a portion far larger and shaped like a small taiko drum. It had over a dozen vertical slits arranged like armored doors; when outside air entered through them, a current arose between it and the hot air above, pushing against a valve in the central cylinder to rotate it and gradually push out the wick. However, what made Hōsui hold his breath was not this mechanism but the base of the stand—cheap collar trimmings had been patched together and pasted over it. When he peeled it off without much thought, written on the inner parchment was: *From Ivan Todoroitch to Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich*. Looking over his shoulder, a foreign affairs officer exclaimed in surprise.

“This is it—the one mentioned in that official notice from the Paris Police Headquarters about four years ago.” “After the Grand Duke’s death, among the inventory of furnishings he had written in his own hand, both the Karaik crown and this standing lamp—a gift from Chief Chamberlain Todoroitch to the Emperor—were found to be missing.” “That explains why Father had strictly ordered us to hide this under the bed during the day.” “Father would never stoop to theft.” As Zinaida sighed with a look of shame, Kumashiro nodded with a self-satisfied air.

“There must be some dramatic secret involved.” “In any case, they’ve more than sufficient grounds for motive.” “But Mr. Hōsui—if that’s so, killing one or three would amount to the same.” “Yet why would they leave the lock fastened from 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. Since you can see the rotating window on the outer wall from here, that must be positioned exactly at the ceiling of the staircase. Therefore, if even one of the sisters were to remove the wire mesh and break through the glass, by the time the culprit detoured and arrived beneath the window, they could easily have fled outdoors. In other words, I think the astute culprit perceived those dangerous conditions and merely removed one obstacle last night, deciding to wait for another opportunity.”

And then, Hōsui turned to Zinaida once more, “By the way, about the key,” he asked. “There is only one key, shared between Father’s room and ours.” “And we have made it a practice to always place it in the vase in Father’s room, but neither side has the habit of locking the door at night.” “In any case, please understand that aside from the footsteps and the bell sounds, nothing else made contact with us.”

But at the very moment she finished speaking, Zinaida suddenly let out a faint moan and staggered unsteadily. Hōsui barely managed to support her sideways, but thick sweat trickled in streaks from her forehead, and her face took on a waxen pallor. It somehow seemed to present the most pitiful visage of a criminal—one who had completely exhausted her will to resist—and yet…⁉

After laying Zinaida, who had suffered from cerebral anemia, on the bed, Hōsui went to the bell tower with Ilya. But just then, an S Precinct officer arrived to report that they had brought along a Russian man in his thirties who had been caught at a police cordon around six o'clock at a location approximately fifteen or sixteen chō away from the cathedral. When they heard the name Damian Vasilenko,

“Ah, finally,” Ilya muttered the same words as Rukin. “That person flies into such terrible rages over Sister,” someone remarked. “But Sister has absolutely no interest in what makes people human—whether it’s a dwarf or the handsome Vasilenko, they’d both look the same to her.” “So Vasilenko isn’t Sister’s lover?” Hōsui asked. “Far from it,” Ilya replied with a flippant air. “Sister even says she likes Rukin best of all. So her refusal to marry him last night seems to me like nothing but defiance toward Father.” “The truth is,” she continued, “Father chose Rukin as her bridegroom because he wanted the dwarf’s savings. He’d apparently been receiving money from him secretly but only told Sister about it two days ago. For those two days, he kept pestering her relentlessly to go through with the marriage.” “But no matter what anyone said,” Ilya went on, “Sister refused to speak a single word and kept stubbornly resisting him until night fell.” “Then Father—seeing how hopelessly her heart had turned—suddenly changed his tune and demanded an outrageous sum from Rukin instead,” she explained. “Of course this led to a furious argument between them—it looked like things might turn dangerous any moment—but just then a telegram arrived for Rukin. That’s what stopped things from escalating... at least for a while.”

Hōsui was not a little surprised by how freely Ilya chattered away, but somehow feeling outmaneuvered, he thought, *This woman may seem simple, but she’s no fool—* Ilya continued, “The argument between Sister and Father was at its most intense around five in the evening.” “Despite the sleet blowing sideways, Sister stood drenched in snow from head to toe beneath the bell rope, silently glaring at Father’s face all the while.” “That was a terrifying visage.”

“So this becomes the symbol of a desecrated wedding ceremony.” Hōsui pulled a mud-caked, crushed white rose from his pocket. “This hair ornament was snagged about five *sun* below the bell rope—likely Sister’s.” “But now that we’ve confirmed this,” he tossed it onto the floor, “it’s useless. Yet something puzzles me.” “If she doesn’t dislike him, marriage would be feasible.” “To speak truthfully,” Ilya’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “Because she knows I care for Rukin.” “The Shilano in archaic Russian script emerges from the convent.”

“I see, that’s an interesting observation.” “Now, please explain the staircase.”

Then.

When the investigation shifted to the rotating window on the staircase’s outer wall, Kumashiro noticed a thick red line drawn horizontally across the center of the windowpane. “Ah, Rukin found it suspicious that this wall lamp was left on,” he remarked, “but the reason undoubtedly lies in this red line. However”—his brow furrowed—“why did this have to be visible from the outside?” Hōsui brushed dust from the window frame with a swift motion. “It only opens halfway!” he observed sharply. “Given how rusted these metal fittings are, it appears this hasn’t been opened in years.” Turning abruptly to Ilya, he demanded, “And this power line running beneath the window—explain it.”

The two thick power lines stretched straight to the utility pole beside the main gate, with no frozen snow accumulated on them. Ilya began to explain the entire surrounding area.

“Yes, these are the power lines from when there was a pipe organ.” “And then, above the window, there’s an iron pipe about three feet long protruding parallel to the power lines, you see.” “In the past, they used to tie Romanov flags to that on ceremonial days.” “Also, the bare wire entangled around the iron pipe is my radio’s antenna.” “Once, a report cylinder from an army plane fell onto the bell tower roof. At that time, we asked the soldiers who climbed up to hook its tip onto the cross.” “Well now that you’ve understood this much, release me and let me tend to my sister.”

When they returned to the bell tower, a report was delivered by the staff member in charge of the hall— The fact that not even a bloodstain as minuscule as a mustard seed was found on either of them during their physical examinations. The fact that no clothing fibers—which had also been anticipated on the bell rope—were discovered. Furthermore, a secret passage was discovered beneath the chapel’s altar; not only were there no traces of its use, but it had completely collapsed midway through, making passage utterly impossible. And finally, due to the fruitless fingerprint analysis and the absence of sleet accumulation on the dome despite the gale and slope—among other factors—everything came to naught.

“The bells rang with acrobatic tolling patterns, and now we’ve completely lost track of the criminal’s escape route.” “And even if someone threw the dagger upward from below, it would just strike somewhere in this tower’s crevices—not even five shaku tall.” The prosecutor muttered dejectedly, but there was something he urgently needed to ask Hōsui.

“Why did you imagine Lazarev from the footsteps Zinaida heard earlier?”

Hōsui’s pupils flashed sharply, but he let out a dull voice. “That’s because the corpse’s left arm was curved inward. Given that he could walk, it must have been quite mild—likely an onset that merely caused dizziness—but Lazarev’s left side had been afflicted with a paralytic stroke whose symptoms had nearly subsided into recovery.” As evidence that the paralysis had been receding, his arm was twisted inward with hook-shaped fingertips. “Moreover, during such episodes when he found it difficult to bend his limbs, that circular gait—which made one imagine those footsteps—would manifest itself.” He leaned forward slightly. “In other words, he would move his paralyzed leg by tilting the sole diagonally and swinging it outward in an arc to keep his toes from buckling.” A dry click echoed as he tapped his own knee joint. “Therefore—since only his healthy leg produced sound—even when moving both legs you’d hear just one footstep.” His voice flattened into finality. “Thus if someone heard such rhythms repeating… naturally there’d be no choice but to imagine Lazarev.”

From Lazarev’s left-side paralysis, they were astonished by Hōsui’s logically rigorous deduction— “I see,” Kumashiro nodded deeply, “so that explains why there’s a gas pipe clamped to the bell rope. Lazarev, with his half-paralyzed body barely functional, must’ve hooked his foot on it to supplement his pulling strength.”

“Ah, but Mr. Kumashiro—precisely because I hit the nail on the head—there was an unexpected gain.” A flush rose to Hōsui’s face. “At that time, Zinaida’s outward appearance was remarkably composed, but inwardly, it was an abnormal impulse. Of course, in our psychology, when we feel even slight fear, we end up telling lies in the most trivial of places—but regardless of that, there was one fabricated fact in that angelic woman’s testimony. Hey, Mr. Kumashiro, Zinaida definitely said the convent she belonged to was Trappist, didn’t she? However, the truth is, it’s the Reformed Carmelite Order, you know.”

“The Carmelite Order?” “That’s the well-known barefoot nun order. They went barefoot, wore only a single serge garment through summer and winter, slept on wooden planks, adhered to strict vegetarianism—and in the old days, they reportedly fasted eight months of the year. Astounding asceticism was their doctrine, or so the story goes.” “But how did you figure that out?” “You see, earlier I said something like, ‘If one considers their spirit a garden and imagines the Lord walking within it, isn’t that the greatest joy?’ At that moment, Zinaida indeed seemed genuinely surprised. In my mind, I had merely used it as a threatening metaphor, but the reason Zinaida was surprised was not because she realized she was being framed as the culprit. Criminals, by nature, are prepared for such points in advance, you see. Well, the reason is that this very phrase comes from Saint Teresa, founder of the Carmelite Order, who described her own mysterious trance-like states. It’s a mistake to think Spanish women are all Carmens, you know. Long ago, there was a great mystic who led a sect of mystical theology and performed feats as far as levitation and bilocation. And another thing—though his face would be unfamiliar to even five hundred people in Japan—there was an image of the monk Morinos, called the successor to Saint Teresa, hanging on the wall beside the bed, you see.”

“Now that you mention it, there was indeed a painting that looked like a medieval monk.” The prosecutor nodded in agreement. “Ah, that’s where—” “To what extent had Zinaida pursued this sect’s ascetic practices during her life of chastity?” “And why did she have to lie? I don’t know why, but—” Hōsui began, his expression suddenly turning solemn. “In any case, even just the fact that she alone made a false statement would suggest that woman is the closest to being the culprit.”

Kumashiro exclaimed in surprise.

“Don’t be absurd! Have you forgotten about the lock?”

“That’s just it. This doorway has no rotating window, nor any gap beneath it. However, techniques for manipulating locks with thread aren’t limited to Van Dine’s *The Kennel Murder Case*. You know about the phantom knot, don’t you?—where one thread keeps tightening while pulling the other makes it slip free smoothly. Well, it’s something we can figure out by testing.” Hōsui tied the key’s ring shape with a phantom knot and stood before the door to Lazarev’s room.

“Bear in mind, Mr. Kumashiro: First insert the key and twist it to the verge where one more turn would make the bolt spring out. Then take one thread—the non-loosening side—and wind it around the corner shaft of the handle two or three times without tying it, keeping the middle section taut. Next, pass the other thread—the one that loosens when pulled—through the keyhole while leaving some slack. This is only possible precisely because the key latch was facing upward. When you enter inside and turn the handle, this thread pulls and rotates the key so the bolt drops—but the key latch stops halfway down, supported by the thread. Then pull the thread passed through the keyhole. Naturally, since the knot on the key’s ring will come undone, rotate the handle repeatedly while loosening the thread wound around the corner shaft as you pull—there, see? It’ll slip smoothly inside. And then the key latch stands vertical, leaving no trace.”

However, Hōsui opened the door with a slackened expression. “However, because of the bell sounds, we can’t just wrap up the case with this one idea alone. The absence of footprints on the premises ultimately implies that the culprit was inside the chapel—or so it suggests.”

The prosecutor and Kumashiro stood dazed for a short while, but soon Kumashiro went downstairs and finished interrogating the two prisoners. “Rukin agrees with everything Ilya said, but he’s insisting to the bitter end about that phony trip to Gotokuji—what an idiotic alibi.” “Moreover, Vasilenko is some sort of activist operative backed by the right-wing group Tenryūkai, but he’s a severe tuberculosis patient—hardly a shadow of his former self.” “That guy apparently got all worked up last night over the rumor that Zinaida was getting married and spent the whole night wandering around here, but…” “However, that man isn’t the culprit.” With that, Kumashiro snapped his grease-stained fingertips with a crisp sound.

“Hey, Mr. Hōsui—due to the fierce wind and slope angle, no sleet has piled up on the dome.” “Yet this very lack of footprints on the dome paradoxically liberates our conjectures.” “And somehow I feel we’re nearing identification of the culprit.” “Then there remains the matter of what caused those bells to ring.” “That’s preposterous.” Hōsui skewered him with acerbic wit. “So enlighten me—by what method could you possibly make bells toll in such an uncanny fashion?” “Moreover, there exists no individual among our known suspects bearing the perpetrator’s defining traits.”

III

“Don’t be ridiculous! There’s no culprit but Rukin!” Kumashiro’s voice involuntarily rose in volume. “The mystery of the corpse will also be resolved by how we eliminate the difference between six feet and three and a half feet.”

“Hmm, so you’re saying—” “That’s because there are no footprints on the premises. However, imagining the culprit among the sisters is impossible—the bell sounds provide definitive counterevidence.” “Ultimately, we must conclude the culprit was already inside the chapel by two o’clock when the sleet stopped. After committing the atrocity, they vanished without so much as brushing the ground.” “Naturally, the bells rang during this—but the escape route was absurdly simple.” “First, they climbed the swaying rope to reach the tower window, discarded the weapon toward the rear gate there, then shimmied along the overhead wire to descend the dome. After that, they rappelled down the power line drawn beneath the rotating window and slipped out of the compound like an ape.” “Now, what led me to this deduction? First, the absence of sleet ice on the power line. Second, the white rose caught on the swaying rope—the one Rukin picked up to savor Zinaida’s lingering fragrance. It must have transferred when he climbed during some jostling movement.” “Furthermore, among this case’s dramatis personae exists someone endowed with both the physical prowess and training to execute such acrobatics unscathed.” “Not only could he effortlessly scale a rope three jō long—if someone of ordinary strength and weight attempted to monkey-crawl along that power line, conspicuous damage would appear at the connection points and conduits!” “I doubt one could easily traverse over one chō of distance that way.” “Thus, those supremely contradictory conditions—superhuman strength paired with a child’s negligible weight—are effortlessly satisfied by Rukin.” “Moreover, the lack of textile fibers on the rope paradoxically confirms it was Rukin—encased in waterproof gear.”

The prosecutor stared at Kumashiro with exasperation, but—

“If that’s all there is to it, I needn’t have troubled myself to ask you.” “You’ve gotten so elated by your facile interpretation that you’ve completely forgotten about the bell mechanism.”

However, at that time, there was still no practical explanation for the mystery of the bell sounds that surpassed Kumashiro’s interpretation.

“Now, listen closely. “I said the bell rang just now due to the rope’s vibration, but that does not refer to when it made that inexplicable ringing. “It had occurred earlier. “In other words, there were two instances when the bells rang at irregular times. “Since that second instance reached your ears—and those of the sisters—the first one during the escape must have been too faint to hear. “Because someone with Rukin’s level of arm strength wouldn’t need to inchworm-like stretch-and-contract—they could initially pull the bell taut to tilt it to one side, then use only their arms to climb while keeping it from returning. “Then there’d only be two instances—the start and end—where you’d hear a faint clattering impact.”

“So, what about this second bell you mentioned?” “Hmph, that was just an embellishment.” Kumashiro maintained his bell sound exclusion theory with detached composure. “Indeed, there’s no evidence of direct contact with the bell! Even if there were—given that a mere hand push or clapper strike wouldn’t budge the large bell—how could it move to transmit inverted vibrations to the smaller ones, making the whole set ring so topsy-turvy? Of course, you couldn’t find a greater mystery if you tried—but here, it’s merely a trivial sideshow.” “The reason? Every deduction from both bell and corpse perfectly matches Rukin’s extraordinary traits as a dwarf.” “Moreover, the bell phenomenon occurred after the culprit’s escape.” “So while it adds theatrical complexity, it doesn’t touch the case’s essence.” “Listen, Mr. Hōsui—countless investigations have failed because officers developed a taste for the macabre.” “Why, I nearly stumbled into that very rut myself.”

“Well, that’s quite the masterpiece you’ve concocted lately—” With undisguised derision, Hōsui blew a smoke ring. “But then we’d have two separate individuals emerging—the killer and the rope climber—wouldn’t we?” Kumashiro—perhaps because his interlocutor was Hōsui—wore an expression of caution verging on timidity, but the prosecutor slapped his thigh and— “Yes, that must be it,” Hasekura concurred before advancing his own theory. “Now Mr. Kumashiro, the corpse lies in a posture unseen among homicide victims—crouched in death.” “Not only that, but every aspect surrounding the body defies explanation.” “First—no signs of struggle. Though his face and fingertips twist in agony, we find neither traces of thrashing nor clawing at floors, nor evidence he clutched his wound.” “Surely even you can’t believe mere tracheal severance caused lightning-quick death.” “Moreover, there’s but one wound—its trajectory angling upward through the throat—a path found solely in suicides.” “To strike such an improbable target with lethal precision would be nigh impossible unless the victim deliberately positioned himself.” “Rukin couldn’t reach that height without leaping—yet if we posit Lazarev crouched voluntarily, everything grows doubly perplexing.” “Add to this—the hand-candle shows no signs of being dropped, no scorch marks on garments—placed with fastidious care.” “Thus across all evidence, Lazarev’s own will appears manifest—” “Mr. Kumashiro—I maintain this was suicide.”

“Then, by what method did the corpse manage to take the weapon outside?”

“It was removed afterward.” “You’re pointing to whoever removed it and calling them the culprit.” “Now, this may be a fanciful notion, but I shall explain what drove Lazarev to take his own life.” “Since seeing Nadekov’s placed lamp, I have come to think there exists a more profound secret between Lazarev and Rukin—or rather, that Rukin holds a fatal weakness over this old man.” “And I think Rukin demanded Zinaida as part of that exchange.” “However, since Zinaida continued to stubbornly refuse, the entangled conflict must have dragged on past midnight.” “That’s why Rukin stayed in the cafeteria even when the telegram arrived.” “However, driven into such an inescapable predicament, Lazarev immediately devised a plan.” “That was to have Rukin challenge even his younger sister Ilya.” “That woman seems to have some aberrant tendencies, as she’s been voluntarily confessing her feelings toward Rukin.” “However, Rukin, whose obsession with Zinaida remains unyielding, refuses to lay even a finger on her younger sister.” “Because of this, Lazarev—who had been peering through the crack in the door at how things were unfolding—ultimately took his own life in despair.” “You remember the wall lamp that had been left on, don’t you?” “Most likely Rukin forgot to turn it off, but because of that very oversight, Lazarev was able to witness the thunderous amorous spectacle between Rukin and Ilya.”

Hōsui smirked while billowing dense clouds of smoke, "So, each to their own theory, then." "Well then, Mr. Hasekura, how do you explain the hand-candle?"

“It’s like this: At that moment, Lazarev lit a candle that initially had about five minutes left, stood before the door, but due to his left hand’s paralysis, first placed the hand-candle on the floor before opening the door a crack. And so, while staring intently—forgetting even to extinguish the hand-candle—the candle eventually burned out entirely, and in that darkness, he had to make a final, dreadful conclusion about what lay ahead. Now, as for what Rukin—who discovered Lazarev’s suicide—did next: he attempted to exploit it to gain an advantageous position in his dealings with Zinaida. This is because Rukin, driven by his baseless suspicion that Vasilenko was operating behind Zinaida’s back, was witnessed prowling around the chapel like a madman late at night in his effort to eliminate him. And after silencing Ilya, he removed the dagger, locked the sisters’ room, then followed the path you inferred and escaped outside the premises. Now, given that, it goes without saying that Rukin was the one who rang the bell. That phantasmagorical and inexplicable method was, of course, Rukin’s secret alone, but discovering it as soon as possible was of the utmost benefit to that scoundrel. The reason it had to be rung had now become abundantly clear. “So, Mr. Kumashiro, that’s why this case ends up having not a single culprit.”

“Then what becomes of the mystery surrounding the corpse?” “I think there’s no choice but to believe in a certain pathological possibility. At the moment the blade was thrust, a hemorrhage occurred in the previously healthy left hemisphere of his brain, resulting in apoplectic paralysis of his free right side. As you can see from how hemiplegics are constantly on nervous guard against sudden falls, when they receive an abnormal mental shock or physical blow, secondary symptoms often develop in the remaining hemisphere. That’s precisely why we must await the autopsy findings.”

“Hmm,” Kumashiro nodded with a malicious smirk, “But that’s precisely what one would say in a murder case.” “You’re also overlooking the corpse’s peculiar crouched posture.” “Of course, unless you keep those points ambiguous, your ludicrous suicide theory can’t possibly stand.” “Moreover, once we grasp the true cause, Lazarev’s will evaporates from your wound trajectory hypothesis.” “Now, what shaped that form? Rukin’s dwarfish physique.—First, assume Rukin called out from beyond the door.” “Knowing his height instinctively, Lazarev must have bent halfway—habitually—and thrust his head through the gap.” “That’s where it was pierced upward from below.” “Lazarev collapsed exactly as positioned—but then apoplectic paralysis struck his healthy side.” “In short—with Lazarev’s throat looming above Rukin’s head—the dwarf’s stature left no alternative but to strike that spot from that angle.”

“Then, there must be scorch marks on the clothing.” The prosecutor, 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.”

At that point, Kumashiro stated his final conclusion.

“However, what if the candle that Rukin claimed would last about five minutes had been used once during that interval?” “And if stingy Lazarev lit a candle that had burned down to just the wick, the lower part of the wick would catch fire. Then, as the wax below melted, the flame would be pushed sideways and cease to stand upright,” he declared triumphantly—but cast a furtive, almost timid glance—

“By the way, Mr. Hōsui, what is your opinion?” he asked. “Well, my opinion is merely—” However, his gaze held the sharpness of resolve. “The troublesome matter is that I only have enough evidence to elevate the bell sounds to prominence, but I must ask your patience and shall undertake the task of correcting your theories,” he began, turning to the prosecutor. “First, regarding your suicide theory—the corpse’s final breath proves it fallacious.” “As you know, the trachea was cleanly severed, but the culprit didn’t immediately withdraw the dagger from the scene, leaving it embedded for a time—though I’ll explain why later.” “Consequently, the airway became abruptly obstructed, creating a state akin to strangulation.” “While an autopsy remains necessary to determine which of the two competing causes was ultimately fatal, in this case it’s certain Lazarev lost consciousness from suffocation before blood loss reached lethal levels.” “As evidence: he excreted waste and exhibited petechial hemorrhages in the sclerae.” “The critical juncture lies in whether his final breath—or rather, per your theory, the breath taken an instant before stabbing himself—was an exhale or inhale. Yet examination of the thoracic cavity shows it occurred precisely after exhalation.” “To clarify—we must consider this because a physiological phenomenon intrinsic to suicidal psychology should inherently be present.” “This aligns with Meinert’s theory: when peripheral arteries constrict severely under duress, causing chest pressure, one cannot act decisively without first inhaling deeply to dispel discomfort.” “Yet Lazarev’s corpse lacks this inhalation pattern—how then could empty lungs permit such an act?” “Thus I paradoxically cite this contradiction as evidence supporting homicide.”

"I see." The prosecutor nodded candidly. "So does that mean Mr. Kumashiro's Rukin theory stands confirmed?" "Yet that isn't so."

Hōsui smiled quietly and brought his face closer to Mr. Kumashiro. “I have significant objections to your theory of the dwarf’s murder. So first, I will assert that apoplectic paralysis did not occur in Lazarev’s right side. And as evidence for that, I wish to present the temperature of both arms of the corpse. The paralyzed area should have been as cold as the corpse’s cooling, but when comparing Lazarev’s arms—the left arm with diminished paralysis goes without saying—the right arm in question also retains a faint body warmth at an equal temperature. Even if I were to say that, you’d probably argue that something as subtle as skin sensation can’t be trusted—but if that’s the case, there’s another definitive piece of evidence that can refute it. Now, before I get to that, I’d like a more concrete explanation regarding the shape of the candle you claimed had burned down to just the wick.”

Kumashiro gave a slightly 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 iron core’s retaining clip.” “Therefore, once all the wax surrounding the wick melts away, the wick would adhere to the iron core and stand upright, with only a small portion at its lower end buried in the melted wax—resulting in that shape.”

“Hmm, 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 at the very moment it was in that state, the miser Lazarev blew it out, and then Rukin used it again when he knocked on the door at dawn?” “However, trying to prove that this alone left no scorch marks is—though it’s an odd term—due to a complete disregard for the physiology of candles.” “Moreover, you haven’t factored in the thickness of that iron core—which could even support a hundred-me candle—as part of your calculations.” And so Hōsui began an exceedingly meticulous analysis, marshaling erudite citations.

“However, rather than me droning on here, I should recount the records left by our illustrious predecessor.” “1875 in Japan predated the Minor Offenses Ordinance—the dawn of modern criminal policing.” “This was the era of police patrols when Tsukioka Yoshitoshi’s blood-drenched woodblock prints adorned picture-book shops—a time when the Donauwörth Police boasted an inspector named Wenzelscherdelp whose deductive prowess far surpassed yours in leading today’s scientific investigations.” “That inspector once estimated the length of a fully consumed candle from a grand candlestick, thereby rescuing a blind man who’d been the prime suspect from death row. Yet his deduction hinged on a point so elementary that everyone else had overlooked.” “It was the iron core’s temperature—since candle wicks naturally bias toward one side of their socket, when burning down to such a thick core, the flame becomes blocked and fails to properly reach the opposite side.” This caused uneven wax combustion, producing a steeply angled slope. “Meaning even if one side burns down to bare wick, some wax must linger on the opposite flank.” “But letting it burn out completely heats the iron core white-hot—so by the time the wick drops, all opposing wax would’ve melted away... However,” his tone sharpened, “if extinguished at bare wick then relit after time passes, the cooled core presents a different scenario.” Only the wax directly beneath the brief flame would melt then—leaving the upper portion intact or at least preserving a waxy film. “Yet that hand-candle shows merely a charred iron core with all wax consumed.” “Doesn’t this prove it burned out completely while retaining even a sliver of candle-like form?” “And scorch marks would inevitably remain.”

Kumashiro turned deathly pale, his lips trembling— “So that’s where the culprit’s trick lies,” the prosecutor interjected before Hōsui could speak. “Exactly,” Hōsui replied. “In reality, Lazarev’s corpse stood upright beyond the flame’s reach. Once this deception is understood, the entire mystery unravels—the apoplectic paralysis that made you advocate suicide and led Mr. Kumashiro to envision Rukin’s phantom.” He continued methodically: “The mechanism was a single sturdy cord stretched between the handle and a key wedged in the right wall panel’s gap, leaving six or seven *sun* of slack. When Lazarev—his left side paralyzed—placed the hand-candle on the floor and turned the handle with his right hand, he tried pushing the door open with his left shoulder. But it only opened as far as the cord permitted.” “The culprit pressed from outside,” Hōsui explained, “calmly avoiding the carotid artery to prevent blood spray before delivering a measured strike. They left the weapon embedded to stifle death throes, watching Lazarev’s final moments.” “As the candle expired,” he added, “loosening the cord made Lazarev fold at the waist. After confirming death, gradual slackening lowered him into a crouch—the wound aligned vertically over pooled blood, leaving no unnatural traces.” Hōsui turned pointedly to Kumashiro: “For a dwarf like Rukin, this feat would require reincarnation. Lazarev’s killer needed ordinary stature yet devised methods compensating for weakness—a cold-blooded scheme disrupting our investigation.” “Thus Rukin’s phantom fades,” he concluded, “revealing Vasilenko’s shadow clutching the dagger.”

“Ah, he’s no good.” “There’s no way in or out except by walking.” Kumashiro let out a sorrowful sigh, but Hōsui’s face grew even darker and more somber. “Hmm, just one more push needed, I suppose.” “Moreover, since it seems they both killed and managed to escape—two prototypes now lined up side by side—the culprit might unexpectedly be a new individual possessing both these characteristics.” “Or else, if we were to stumble upon some brilliant idea here—whether it leads to everything being tied back to Zinaida or unravels the secret behind Vasilenko’s movements—in any case, Rukin is already outside the realm of suspects.” “So then, Mr. Kumashiro, since ninety-nine percent of the materials we’ve gathered so far have been accounted for, it would be safe to say that the key to the solution lies hidden in the one remaining piece.” “In other words, the criminal’s figure is etched into those bell sounds—mechanically inverted to ring with near-supernatural resonance… But must we truly force the corpse to walk and make its hand pull the bell rope, just as Zinaida claims?!”

Thus, the tolling of the bells transformed from a mere eerie phenomenon to assume the leading role in the case. Kumashiro concealed a shudder and forced himself to put up a bold front, “In any case, the motive ultimately lies with that Western-style lamp.” “I intend to station my men at this church for the time being.” “And next time, I’ll make sure to catch them whether they like it or not.” “Moreover, since there’s an invisible bridge beyond our sight, they’re bound to come eventually.” Yet he showed none of his usual vigor.

Around that time, sleet began to fall mixed with fierce winds, replicating the exact weather conditions of the previous day. Yet Hōsui, having sent the others away, remained sequestered alone in the bell tower and did not emerge for hours. And during that time, though bells rang several times in what seemed like his experiments, he ultimately could not hear the single resonant toll he had anticipated. As evening fell, Hōsui finally appeared, his form thoroughly fatigued,

“Mr. Kumashiro, I pray for your success. But should you fail to apprehend the culprit then, please tell one of the sisters to have them bring Nadekov’s Western-style lamp to my office.”

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

“It’s Hōsui here. Excuse me, but kindly erase the red lines on the rotating window and light the wall lamp.”

One of the detectives who had gone to light the wall lamp glanced idly out the window and saw a lone paper kite floating in midair glide smoothly closer, like a sailboat in the dark night. Ah, why on earth did Hōsui light the wall lamp, erase the red lines, and fly the paper kite? However, that night, no matter how late it grew, Hōsui refused to sleep, focusing every nerve in his eyes and ears as though trying to perceive or capture something unseen. Sure enough, he heard the bell sounds of St. Alexei Church around 1 AM. Moreover, first came a resounding toll of the great bell... The cathedral’s mystery and terror once again swept across the night sky. Yet upon hearing it, he inexplicably smirked and then began to sink into a deep slumber.

IV

Around noon the next day, Ilya arrived holding the Western-style lamp.

“I heard there was quite a commotion last night.” “Yes—but why didn’t they catch him? Even though it’s clear someone entered, there are no footprints, and the bells rang like that.” “Of course.” “Because I was the one ringing them.” “So the Lazarev case has been solved.” With a sidelong glance at the stunned Ilya, Hōsui retrieved a sealed letter from beneath the Western-style lamp. “Then... could it be my sister...?”

“That’s correct.” “This is your sister’s confession letter.” Even Hōsui could not bear to look directly at her face, but when Ilya heard this, she lost all resilience in her body, staggered into the chair, and for a time stared vacantly at nothingness. As Hōsui read through the confession letter, Ilya soon regained her senses and began to weep. “I can’t believe it.” “Why did Sister have to kill Father—who showed us such great kindness?”

“That is because a certain powerful force instinctively controls Sister.” Then Hōsui, avoiding particularly provocative terms, began to explain Zinaida’s motive for the crime: “When I learned she had been a Bride of God in the Carmelite Order, I realized that beneath that beautiful exterior ran fanatical blood cultivated to kill even one called ‘father’—all for her vows.” “As you know, a Bride of God must stake everything in her struggle to remain the Lord’s bride.” “But what if the iron wall between her and this world were to crumble one day?” “Imagine then how the Brides of God would suffer in their new lives—” “Moreover, as they endure their ordained trials, these women come to embrace a sort of heroic idealism within that strange existence.” “And physically—beneath the guise of poverty and chastity—those astonishing rigors instead provoke a masochistic sensuality.” “Within pain that defies nature’s laws, they’re compelled to feel the Lord’s skin and caress as tangible reality.” “Yet when that happens, mere fastidiousness—the kind expected of chaste maidens—no longer suffices.” “It becomes a clear mental aberration.” “In Sister’s case, it was identical—Lazarev forced marriage with Rukin upon her at that very moment, so rather than blaspheme God, she plunged the blade into her adoptive father’s throat.” “For a time, Paul’s words—‘Monastic life is noble but not obligatory’—likely tormented her, yet they proved no match for her entrenched obsession.” “Now, her confession contains this passage: ‘Cartilage offers such peculiar resistance.’” “But in that instant,” he continued, “she claims she savored a sublime spiritual rapture known only to Brides of God—even amid the agony of slaughtering her father.” “Now you understand what drove her to kill Lazarev.” “To put it plainly—invoking Paul again—it was tragedy born when one who could not split her heart for domestic duty was thrust back into family life by revolution’s calamity.”

To this grisly motive, Ilya must have wanted to cover her ears. Her closed eyelids trembled with ceaseless impulses. Finally feeling unburdened, Hōsui shifted his explanation to the murder method.

“However, to my astonishment, Sister’s crime exhibits a schizophrenic contrast between its method and motive. In stark contrast to those obstinate religious views, the actual execution of the crime reveals a truly brilliant scientific mind. When I realized this, I was utterly struck speechless. If you separate those two aspects individually, who would ever think they’re the work of the same person⁉ Now, the crime began with a forged telegram addressed to Rukin—Sister had secretly disguised herself as a man that morning and bribed a neighborhood child to deliver it to the post office around nine in the evening.”

“In any case, that single string not only complicated the case but also skillfully concealed Sister’s physical frailty and attempted to frame everything as Rukin’s crime.” “That’s why even someone as seasoned as Kumashiro fell for it completely.” “However, the true marvel lies in the ingenious technique behind the bell sounds I’m about to explain—but before that, I must briefly address those footsteps heard in the bell tower. In truth, they were a falsehood meant to confirm who had rung the bells, but my overactive nerves ended up complicating it.” “In other words, there are no other characters involved besides Sister.”

Then, Hōsui turned his attention to the confession letter and, “Then, I’ll continue reading from where I left off. Listen carefully.—I chose a conductor from among natural elements due to a chance discovery.” “Peering through the floor’s skylight—when it reached the red line on the outer wall’s rotating window—how many more minutes would pass before it touched the power line below?” “After conducting several experiments, I was able to accurately measure the timing.” “Moreover, not only does the conductor vanish instantly, but at the iron pipe serving as its starting point, Ilya’s overhead line—which connects to the cross at the summit—is entangled.” “Furthermore, the base of the cross supports the iron beam from which the bell is suspended.” “Now, having gauged the timing and lit the Western-style lamp, I finally awaited the onset of St. Alexei’s terror.” “Therefore, I lit the wall lamp halfway up the stairs because the light reached exactly that area, allowing me to check the conductor’s condition.” “Moreover, since the wall reflected in the glass was black, it didn’t obstruct my view.” When he finished reading up to the end of the section, he abruptly placed the confession letter face down on the desk and looked up.

“From this point onward, I will proceed according to my deductions.” “Now then, what do you think that conductor was?” “Indeed, the line connecting the conductor and the Western-style lamp across the great bell’s pendulum 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, before that could be done, she had needed to prepare one mechanism.” “This referred to a roll of photographic film, which she had cut slightly longer than the vertical line from the iron pipe to the power line. After drawing a straight line of adhesive along its entire length, she had fixed aluminum powder onto it.” “Then, after forming a loop by rolling one end inward, she attached that roll of photographic film to the kite found at the dagger’s discovery site and launched it.” At the same time as she skillfully fitted the loop of photographic film into the tip of the iron pipe, she manipulated another thread attached to a hook cutter to sever the thread binding the photographic film, and furthermore used that hook cutter to make a cut at a point on the vertically aligned power line below. “So, with this mechanism, what do you think she intended for the great bell overhead?”

“Well...” Ilya had cast aside even the matter of her sister’s crime, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“The purpose was to remove what had been tilting the great bell.” “However, before addressing that, I must first touch upon the weather conditions from the day before yesterday.” “The reason being that around five o’clock during the height of that sleetstorm with its sideways-blowing wind—Sister took her first step toward committing the crime.” “You mentioned they’d had a fierce argument directly beneath the bell rope at that time, but Sister’s true intentions lay elsewhere.” While gradually stepping on the rope’s end with her foot, she poured all her strength into one hand to slowly pull the cord and tilt the bell. Though the small bell would have leveled out horizontally, the large bell tilted slightly until its clapper touched the inner wall. But then came that relentless downpour. The ceaselessly driving sleet eventually fused clapper and wall together in an icy bond. “However—while naturally leaving unaffected the small bell hidden above—even if someone later returned the rope to its original position, the large bell’s heavy clapper remained frozen fast to one wall. Thus its center of gravity shifted irrevocably, dooming it to permanent tilt.”

“Then… the one who rang it was…?”

“Because the electric current melted the ice binding the clapper.” “Now, to explain the path of that current… Water droplets gathered at the end of the iron pipe trickle down onto the photosensitive film, but they slide off the slick celluloid surface and accumulate only on the uneven aluminum powder.” “And as the icicle formed there grows longer in a linear formation, its lower end pushes against the spool of the photosensitive film, gradually extending it—that was Sister’s brilliantly conceived device.” “And when it had finally fully extended, the end of the aluminum powder line would touch the damaged section of the power line’s insulation, meaning that an instantaneous current had no choice but to travel up to the large bell in the tower.” “And the result, needless to say, was self-evident.” “Of course, the icicles vanish instantly and the photosensitive film ignites, but soon enough, white ash containing silver-colored lightweight metal powder, unable to withstand the weight of the water droplets, crumbles and falls to the ground.” “However, being lightweight and having camouflage coloration against the snow, the metal powder gradually disperses until it exceeds the investigators’ visual threshold, and with that, the entire mechanism vanishes.” “Therefore, the instant the transmitted current melted the ice binding the clapper, the clapper naturally swung to strike the opposite side while restoring the bell’s balance. This resulted in vibrations that could only be produced by pulling the bell rope—thus creating that so-called miracle.” “Of course, last night’s bell tolling was merely my reenactment, made possible by the fortunate weather conditions.” “However, the most valuable clue was that rose hairpin.” “The object that had been trampled was stuck about six inches below the bell rope, you see.”

“Oh!” Ilya involuntarily let out a cry of amazement. “But the dagger— why was it left in such an impossible place?”

Hōsui began his final deduction. “It was that Western-style lamp that threw it. After Sister confirmed Lazarev’s death, she pulled the dagger from his throat, washed it in the downstairs washroom, and returned to the bell tower. This time, she attached a weight to the end of a long hemp thread and threw it upward over the beam, aiming between the two large bells. Then she fastened one end to the dagger’s hilt using paste-like coagulated blood as adhesive, while threading the other end from the gas pipe pedal wedged in the bell rope through the door’s keyhole, tying it to the spindle inside the Western-style lamp that rotated the cylinder. Since this device had been installed before completing the operation of lowering the key from outside, two threads had passed through the keyhole where the locking plate remained raised. After manipulating the lock with the thread to close the door, Sister checked the icicles’ condition, lit the Western-style lamp, and opened the vertical armor-plated window. As the internal cylinder began rotating from airflow, the cord gradually tightened with a twang, lifting the dagger attached to its end. Now, those precise calculations between the icicle’s conduction time and cylinder’s rotation speed were necessary because the icicle had to transmit current just before the dagger reached the large bell’s lower edge. There was no way to propel the dagger except by exploiting magnetism induced through electrocution. To put it plainly—the bell’s magnetic force attracted the dagger’s head, but as it was being hoisted sideways, the other bell struck and dislodged its copper guard. At that moment, the coagulated blood adhering the thread to the hilt came loose and fell near the bell tower’s clerestory window. What lay before the door served solely to trace the thread’s path. Finally, after passing through the keyhole, the thread wound fully into the Western-style lamp’s cylinder while the locking plate—previously suspended by the thread—dropped vertically downward, thereby perfectly concluding every aspect of the crime.”

When his explanation concluded, the glow drained from Hōsui’s face. “Well?! This time, with the bell tolling at its core, you can visualize Rukin’s figure escaping, can’t you?” “Of course, that constitutes one of the two alibis Sister engineered.” “The trick of lowering the key from outside is rather crude, but the bell’s resonance isn’t solely about mystical theatrics.” “Though we fortunately unraveled it, if asked whether anyone could conceive such a scheme—I regret to say the answer must be no.” “Regardless, Sister stands as the most formidable opponent among all who have ever challenged me.”

“So… does that mean Sister will be sentenced to death?” Ilya had finally broached the subject, but Hōsui folded down the final few lines of the confession and showed them.

Then, suddenly, she clutched the edge of the desk tightly, her face twisting in horror.

“Poison!! So you made my sister commit suicide—” “Don’t be ridiculous. Save your anger until after you’ve heard what I have to say.” Hōsui stood up as he said this and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Yesterday evening, on my way back, I stopped by your room. At that time, I quietly slipped it into your sister’s pocket. Of course she must have noticed immediately, but with the bells ringing at midnight and no opportunity to take the poison, I had no choice but to wait until today for your outing. However, while the package is labeled with an alkaloid name, the contents are actually a hypnotic drug that just happened to be in my pocket. In short, after applying my own interpretation to the cause of this case, I concluded that executing punishment would be more fitting for a mental hospital than a prison. If the truth remains my secret alone, then naturally the right to judge belongs to me.”

A few hours later, the sleeper car carrying the two of them passed through the gates of B Mental Hospital, tracing crimson-threaded melting snow trails.