Pathway to Japanese Literature

Even now, when I recall the sight of that night, I shudder. It was shortly after Tokyo had been struck by the Great Earthquake. When it grew past ten o’clock that evening, the sky indeed began to look ominous, and large raindrops started falling sporadically, accompanied by the sound of the typhoon. That morning, I had seen in the newspaper that “a typhoon will strike the imperial capital around midnight,” so even while at the office, I had been anxious all day—and unfortunately, the meteorological observatory’s prediction had proved accurate. The reason for my anxiety was that I had to serve on night patrol from twelve to two that night, and a night patrol during a storm is not exactly welcome. This night patrol system originated from the Great Earthquake of the Eastern Capital just about a month prior—when all transportation networks had been severed and various rumors arose, the surviving residents of Yamanote, armed with whatever weapons they could grasp, formed what were called self-defense groups—that was how it all began.

To confess—when I saw from this Shibuya Town hilltop the blazing white smoke billowing over the sky of the distant lower city, and at my feet the crowds of refugees scrambling up Dogenzaka slope, barefoot except for their tabi socks and clad in mud-caked clothes—I truly wondered what would become of this world. And so, startled by all manner of terrifying rumors, I too became one who walked around my house in broad daylight with the family heirloom sword at my side.

Now, as several days passed for these self-defense groups, people's minds gradually settled down, they were eventually prohibited from carrying weapons, and daytime vigilance too was abolished—but night vigilance proved difficult to abolish. In short, the self-defense groups had transformed into night patrol groups—organized into several neighborhood units where each household contributed one man, patrolling their assigned area through rotating shifts each night with a designated number of men. Later, even the Metropolitan Police Department supported abolishing this system, and considerable opposition arose among the members themselves—yet through repeated voting, majority consensus always upheld its continuation. I too—a clerk at the XX Ministry, a man in my forties soon to receive a government pension, with no other men in my household besides myself—found it most bothersome, yet still had to go out once a week to clack wooden clappers in the dead of night.

Now, to speak of that night. Around the time of the twelve o'clock shift change, the storm truly began to rage. When I left slightly late for my shift change, the previous watchman had already returned home, and two men—Retired Army Colonel Aoki Shinya and a young man who called himself a newspaper reporter, Matsumoto Junzo—were sitting in the makeshift guardhouse, still wearing their overcoats as they waited. This Aoki was effectively the leader of our night patrol group, while the journalist—likely a beat reporter—had evacuated from downtown to a house two or three doors down from mine. The sole merit of these night patrols might be said to lie in two things: first, how they disrupted the habits of Yamanote’s so-called intellectual class—those who lived in houses like seashells (larger ones akin to turban snails, smaller ones like clams), partitioned their gardens—narrower than a cat’s forehead—with hedges, feigned ignorance of neighboring gardens even when visible, and belonged to a stratum that had never exchanged words with those next door—allowing homeowners within a single block to at least become acquainted; and second, how refugees arriving from all districts joined in, letting us glean varied knowledge from people of diverse professions. Yet since this knowledge rarely proved reliable, it eventually came to be brushed aside with remarks like “Ah, just more night patrol talk.”

Aoki seemed slightly older than me—an ardent supporter of the night patrol and a longtime advocate of military expansion. Matsumoto, being young, stood at the vanguard of those calling for the patrol’s abolition and argued for military reduction—a stance that grated unbearably. In between their rounds clacking wooden clappers every thirty minutes, they waged debates fierce enough to rival the tempest’s howling fury. “Your reasoning holds merit,” Colonel Aoki said. “Yet during that great earthquake’s chaos—mark this—a hundred men from self-defense groups armed with bamboo spears and drawn swords proved no match for five properly armed soldiers.”

“Therefore, it doesn’t follow that we need a military,” said the newspaper reporter. “In other words, until now, the army had been too fixated on an elite-soldier doctrine—they believed only the military required proper training. We civilians had received far too little. Particularly the Yamanote intellectuals—all talk, loathing to subordinate themselves to others, utterly incapable of collective action. The uselessness of self-defense groups and the necessity of the military are separate issues.”

“However, even you must acknowledge the military’s contributions after the earthquake.” “I certainly do acknowledge that,” the young man said. “But using that to argue against military reduction is unacceptable. There appears to be a notion that material civilization was effortlessly defeated by nature in this disaster—that’s utterly preposterous. The culture we’ve cultivated wouldn’t crumble before an earthquake of this magnitude. Can’t you see buildings still standing completely unaffected? If we properly apply our scientific knowledge, we could withstand nature’s fury to a significant degree. The truth is we failed to establish genuine cultural foundations in the imperial capital. Had merely half the military funds spent after the Russo-Japanese War been devoted to cultural infrastructure, the capital might have avoided this scale of devastation. Military reduction is now our only viable course.”

While listening absently to the young man’s grand arguments amid the storm’s clamor, I was dozing off when Aoki’s booming voice suddenly cut through, jolting me fully awake.

“No—by no means can we abolish the night patrol! Especially when every household makes sacrifices to maintain the patrols—regardless of right or wrong—that bastard Fukushima remains utterly contemptible. We ought to burn that wretch’s house to ashes!”

The Colonel must have been cornered by Matsumoto again over the night patrol issue. The residual fury of this defeat seemed to have been redirected toward Fukushima—the owner of a rather large, newly built house situated directly behind Aoki’s own—who had always been the target of his scorn. I was startled and thought I might need to intervene if a fight broke out, but since Matsumoto fell silent on his end, nothing came of it. And past 1:35 a.m., the two men left me in the hut and set out on their final patrol.

The typhoon seemed to have reached its very peak.

1:50—the reason I remember the time so precisely is that there was a clock in the hut, and with nothing else to do, I would inevitably check it whenever something happened—Matsumoto returned alone to the hut while clacking wooden clappers. When I inquired, it appeared Aoki had said he would stop by his house briefly, so they had parted ways before his residence. At two o'clock, Aoki returned. Soon after, the next shift's members arrived; after some conversation, Matsumoto and I left the guardhouse toward the left while Aoki went right. Just as we reached the vicinity of my home, I believed I heard a human scream pierce through the distant howling storm.

The two of us started running. The people from the guardhouse also started running. When I looked, Colonel Aoki was frantically shouting "Fire!!" I suddenly caught a whiff of something like burning sugar. I thought the sugar had burned.

We, together with people who had rushed over from the neighborhood, drew water into buckets that had been prepared beforehand and strove to extinguish the fire amid the storm. Through the efforts of many, the fire was extinguished before it could become a major disaster, but what burned down was none other than the problematic Fukushima residence. The fire apparently started in the kitchen, burning through the kitchen, dining area, and maid’s quarters, yet not reaching the sitting room at all. The people, exhausted from their efforts, celebrated that catastrophe had been averted and breathed sighs of relief. Finding it strange that my wife remained so quiet, I shone my flashlight and entered the sitting room. There, near what seemed to be the boundary with the living area, lay a dark mass.

When I shone the flashlight, it became clear this was indeed a man. The next instant, I involuntarily cried out—the sound escaping me as I stumbled two, three steps back. A corpse! The tatami mats had turned a sickly black from the dripping blood.

At my scream, the people who had finally extinguished the fire and were catching their breath came clamoring in. By the light of the people’s lanterns, it became unmistakably clear that this was a brutally murdered corpse.

Not a single soul drew near. Amidst this, by the light of a lantern held high by someone, when looking into the inner room, there a bed had already been laid out, but a woman and a small child could be seen collapsed in a posture as if they had crawled out of it. Before long, from the mouths of the people who had gathered there, it became clear that the deceased were the caretaker couple of this house and their child. Fukushima’s entire family had evacuated to their hometown, and only the master had remained behind, but it was said he too had returned to his hometown that very evening.

I was listening intently to these people’s whispers when I happened to glance toward the corpses and was startled to find that Matsumoto had arrived at some point and was examining them as though embracing them. His manner had the air of being thoroughly accustomed to this as an investigative journalist. He shone his flashlight, entered the inner room, and continued examining it in detail. I ended up completely in awe of that boldness. Amidst this, the night began to pale into dawn.

Before long, Matsumoto, having apparently finished investigating the corpses, emerged from the inner room—but without so much as a glance in my direction despite my proximity—and began surveying the living area. As I followed his gaze and looked around the window that had grown somewhat brighter, what caught my attention was a single tatami mat lifted at the corner, with the floorboards beneath having been raised. Matsumoto darted there like a swift bird. I too found myself involuntarily pursuing him. When I looked, a single scrap of paper lay fallen near where the floorboards had been raised. Matsumoto—who had keenly spotted the paper scrap—made as if to pick it up with a momentarily surprised expression but abruptly stopped and instead produced a notebook from his pocket. When I quietly peered at the scrap of paper on the floor from beside him, there was something written that resembled incomprehensible symbols. And when I looked at his notebook—weren’t identical symbols already transcribed there?

“Oh, it was you?” Matsumoto, having noticed me peering, hurriedly closed his notebook and said. “How about it? How about we go investigate the fire?” I silently followed him and walked toward the burned area. Half-charred objects lay scattered in disarray, and the blackened wood hissed with white steam. The source of the fire indeed appeared to be the kitchen, and not a single unusual item that might suggest signs of arson could be found.

“How about it? The sugar’s burnt after all, isn’t it?” What Matsumoto showed was the base of a large glass jar whose upper part had been removed, with a black plate-like substance caked on its bottom. As I inwardly marveled at this young man’s sharpness—he had clearly heard me mutter “It must be burnt sugar” when I rushed over upon hearing Aoki’s shout—I had no choice but to affirm that what filled the jar was indeed charred sugar.

He began meticulously examining the area. In the midst of this, he took out a brush from his pocket, swept something from the floor onto a page torn from his notebook, then carefully picked it up and showed it to me. They were several small white balls rolling about on the paper.

“Mercury, isn’t it?” I said.

“That’s right. It was probably inside this one.” As he answered, he showed fragments of a glass tube about six millimeters in diameter.

“Couldn’t it simply be a broken thermometer?” I said, feeling a sense of superiority toward him. “Or does it have something to do with how the fire started?” “A thermometer wouldn’t leave this much mercury behind,” he answered. “I don’t know whether it’s connected to the fire or not.”

That’s right—there was no way he could have known. I was so struck by this young man’s vigorous activity that I momentarily thought he had discovered the secret key.

The front grew noisier. A large crowd came clamoring in. It was the prosecutor and a group of police officers. The young reporter and I answered one of the police officers that we were on night patrol that night and had rushed to the scene upon hearing Aoki's shout—he being the first to discover the fire. The two of us were told to wait for a while. The man was around forty years old and bore considerable signs of having struggled violently. A sharp blade—it was undoubtedly the small skinning knife abandoned at the scene. —the left lung had been pierced by a single thrust. The woman, in her early thirties, had been killed when stabbed from behind with a sickening thrust that also pierced her left lung as she leaned forward from the bedding to pick up the child. The sliding doors separating the tea room and sitting room—the room where the three had been sleeping—had been hacked to pieces with a kitchen knife. On the desk by the pillow lay a confectionery box and a tray. In the tray lay apple peel that had apparently been eaten just before going to bed.

The other notable things were the aforementioned raised floorboard and the suspicious paper fragment left behind.

The interrogation began. First up was Aoki.

At the forefront was Aoki. “After finishing my night patrol shift—it must have been about twenty minutes past two—I was heading back home.” Aoki said. “Since going around the front would’ve taken longer, I tried cutting through Fukushima’s garden to enter through my back door when I saw red flames in the kitchen ceiling.” “That’s why I shouted.”

“Was the garden gate open?” The prosecutor asked. “During night patrols, we sometimes enter the garden, you see, so the gate is kept open.” “Around what time did you conduct the patrol before discovering the fire?”

“It was a little before two, I believe… Matsumoto-kun.” Aoki turned to look at Matsumoto.

“That’s correct.” “Since we finished the patrol and returned to the hut five minutes ago, the time I parted with you in front of this house would have been about ten minutes ago.”

“What do you mean by saying you parted ways in front of this house?” “No—we patrolled together up until here when I briefly stopped by my house; only Mr. Matsumoto returned to the hut.” “So you went through the garden again?”

“That’s correct.” “Was there anything unusual at that time?”

“There wasn’t anything.” “What reason did you have for going back?” “It wasn’t anything important.” At that moment, a police officer came before the prosecutor. The autopsy revealed that the murder had been committed around ten o'clock in the evening. Since there were no external abnormalities on the child’s corpse, it was decided that an autopsy would be performed. At the same time, the confectionery box was also sent to the forensics department.

Given the timing, whether there was any connection between the murder and the fire seemed to have become a point of debate among the detectives. In any case, an assailant grappled with the man, stabbed him to death with a skinning knife that was by the pillow, then killed the woman from behind as she tried to flee with the child. Then he tried to conceal the corpses by lifting up the floorboards but failed to complete the task. Wasn't the reason he cut up the sliding doors to use them as firewood for burning the corpses? "But how did they get in and escape amid such strict night patrols?" One of the detectives said.

"That’s a simple matter," Matsumoto interjected. "Since night patrols begin at ten o’clock, they could have sneaked in before then; they could have escaped by blending into the crowd during the fire commotion; or they could have fled between one patrol and the next." "What on earth are you?" The detective retorted irritably. "You put on quite the know-it-all act—did you actually witness the culprit fleeing or something?" "You’ll catch them if you see them," Matsumoto answered.

“Hmph.” The detective seemed increasingly irritated. “Quit your insolent talk and stay out of this!” “I can’t simply stay out of it.” Matsumoto answered composedly. “There remain matters I must report to the prosecutor.” “What exactly do you need to tell me?” The prosecutor cut in. “It appears the detectives are operating under a minor misapprehension.” “While I cannot speak to the child’s case, the other two victims were not slain by the same individual.” “The one who killed the woman and he who murdered the man are distinct perpetrators.”

“What did you say?” The prosecutor raised his voice. “What was that?” “I’m saying the ones who killed the two are different.” “Both were killed with the same murder weapon.” “And both were definitely struck in the left lung.” “However, one was from the front, and one was from behind.” “Stabbing the left lung from behind would normally be somewhat difficult, wouldn’t it?” “Moreover, look at the cuts in the sliding doors.” “All of them are made in straight lines, passing from left to right.” “After all, the spot where the blade is thrust in forms a large hole, and as it’s withdrawn, the wound narrows—so it should be clearly discernible.” “And then you all—” He turned toward the detectives. “Did you examine the apple peel? The peel was fairly continuous, but it spirals to the left.” “The one who peeled the apple was left-handed; the one who stabbed the sliding door was left-handed; the one who stabbed the woman was left-handed; but the one who killed the man was right-handed.”

The prosecutor, the detectives, and I—or rather, everyone present—listened half-dazedly as this young man explained without any particular air of triumph.

“I see.” Eventually, the silence was broken by the prosecutor. “So the woman was stabbed by that dead man lying there, correct?”

“That’s correct.” The young man answered simply. “So you mean the man was stabbed with his own weapon by someone?” “Rather than ‘someone’—” The young man said. “It would be more accurate to call him ‘that man.’” The entire room was startled again. Everyone stared silently at the young man.

“Inspector, don’t you recognize this scrap of paper?”

“That’s right.” After a moment’s thought, the Inspector groaned. “Now that you mention it—I remember. This is definitely from that man’s case back then…” “Correct,” said the young man. “At the time, I was involved as an insignificant roving reporter. I’ve seen this paper scrap before—in the room of Iwami Keiji, known for that ‘Mysterious Man’s Shoplifting Case.’”

Hearing Iwami’s name, I too was startled. Iwami! Iwami! Was that man involved in this case again? I too had taken considerable interest in the Iwami Incident when it was sensationalized with grandiose headlines at the time, having pored over every detail. Ah, so that was why Matsumoto had been comparing the symbols he’d noted in his notebook earlier!

I shall now convey to the readers the story exactly as it was published in the newspapers at that time.

The account given by this mysterious young man who identified himself as company employee Iwami Keiji was thus.

It was a certain clear afternoon at the end of June last year. Iwami, clad in white striped trousers, a black alpaca jacket, a straw hat, and white shoes—his necktie, of course, a bow-tied one—was dressed with the impeccable neatness typical of any young company man of the time. His chest puffed out triumphantly, securely storing two envelopes: one containing this month’s salary, the other an unexpected bonus he had resigned himself to not receiving this summer. A bachelor with no one waiting for him, he strolled along Ginza’s display windows, step by deliberate step, calculating the money that would remain after deducting the installments for his suit and the landlady’s advance—musing on things he wanted to buy but ultimately wouldn’t.

After all, strolling shouldn’t require money. However, the "pleasure" of peering into display windows at things one desires but never buys—all while carrying money that could be spent without consequence—is something those who have never experienced it would not understand. Iwami too was now immersed in this "pleasure."

He came to a stop in front of a haberdashery. Had there been someone observing him keenly at that moment, they would have noticed him subtly tugging at his coat sleeve. It was when he gazed at the gold cufflinks in this window—which some colleague had and he had long desired—that he suddenly felt ashamed of his own shabby cufflinks and unconsciously hid them.

Having resolutely left that window behind, he proceeded further toward Shinbashi and this time came to a stop before a large clock shop. He wanted a gold-cased watch again. But of course, he wasn’t going to buy it. Then, quickening his pace slightly, he crossed Shinbashi while pondering "shopping without buying," turned right at the corner of Tamakiya, walked about two blocks, and then turned left into a side street. At that moment, he suddenly slipped his right hand into his coat pocket. When something small he didn’t recognize brushed against his hand, he took it out, wondering what it could be—it was a small paper package. When he hurriedly opened it—Oh! It was the gold cufflinks he had wanted earlier! He rubbed his eyes. At that moment, he felt some sort of weight in his left pocket as well. What emerged from his left pocket was a gold-cased watch. He could no longer make sense of anything. It was just as in a fairy tale—as if by a wizard’s doing, anything he desired came springing forth on the spot, creating an air of enchantment. However, he could not remain in a daze forever. The hand holding his watch was firmly grasped by a sturdy hand that came from behind. Behind him stood a large, unknown man. He was forced to go to the haberdashery from earlier with this unknown man. While he was utterly confused about what was going on, the clerks at the haberdashery confirmed that this was indeed the man in question but stated that nothing had been stolen. When he was next taken to the watch shop, Iwami finally began to feel as though things were making a little sense. The moment the clock shop clerk saw him, he declared, “This is the bastard without a doubt.”

Detective—this large man was undoubtedly a detective—promptly began searching Iwami’s person and took out a single ring from his hip pocket. It was shining brilliantly indeed. “It’s not one you see often,” the detective said to Iwami. “You’re no amateur.” “Don’t joke about this!” Iwami desperately began to say. “I don’t understand any of this. What on earth is going on?”

“Hey, hey, cut it out already!” The detective said. “Buying cufflinks and a watch—that’s all well and good. But swiping a diamond ring while you’re at it? That’s a problem. Quite the skillful hands you’ve got.” “I have no recollection of buying either a watch or a ring.” He protested. “First of all, if you examine the money, it’ll become clear.”

As he tried to prove his own innocence by taking out the salary and bonus envelopes from his inner pocket, his complexion changed. The seals had been cut. The detective who had been observing the situation, now somewhat confused, softened his voice and— “Anyway, come down to the station,” he said. When they arrived at the Metropolitan Police Headquarters, Iwami unapologetically stated things he had no recollection of. Having finished listening to the young man’s account, the detective tilted his head. If the young man’s account was true, this was a truly strange case. At that moment, a thought suddenly flashed through the detective’s mind. Upon hearing that the young man Iwami was an employee at the Oriental Jewelry Company within the XX Building, he inadvertently recalled a daylight robbery case from two or three months prior. When they promptly interrogated Iwami, to their surprise, it became clear that he was one of the individuals most deeply involved in the case.

The daylight robbery case referred to here was this kind of incident.

It was early April, when the flowers were just two or three days away from their peak bloom.

At noon on a gloomy, overcast day, in the manager’s office of the Oriental Jewelry Company on the tenth floor of the XX Building, the manager was about to open the safe to store several diamonds that had arrived from the branch office that day. The manager’s office was an alcove within the large rectangular room where all employees conducted their work, its entrance leading solely to that room. Near the entrance stood clerk Iwami. Just as the manager turned toward the safe—having apparently heard some noise—he looked back to find a masked man pointing a pistol at him. A man lay collapsed at his feet. While glaring at the manager who had turned rigid as a rod, the culprit edged closer to seize the jewels on the desk—the instant he reached out, an eerie shriek sounded behind him. The cry had come from clerk Iwami lying motionless on the floor. At that moment, the culprit bolted toward the entrance. The next instant brought clamoring employees rushing to the manager’s office doorway. “The manager’s been attacked!” came a shout from within. “A doctor!” Iwami yelled as he burst out. As employees moved to enter, they collided with ashen-faced manager emerging pale-faced from within.

“What happened to the culprit?” The manager shouted.

The employees were the ones completely bewildered. Iwami came bursting out shouting that the manager had been attacked. Next came the manager himself rushing out demanding to know what became of the culprit. When the employees finally pushed inside, they met with their third shock—there lay Iwami on the floor, gasping for breath like a dying man. The truth eventually emerged: an assailant bearing uncanny resemblance to Iwami—or perhaps disguised as him—had slipped through the near-empty office at noon wearing Iwami’s face. After masking himself, he bided his time. The moment the manager turned his back to open the safe, the man lunged at Iwami, pistol-whipping him with the gun’s grip before advancing on the manager. But Iwami—who should have been unconscious—let out a groan, startling the culprit into fleeing empty-handed.

When the manager saw the culprit fleeing, he hurriedly threw the salvaged jewels into the safe, and no sooner had he closed it than he gave chase to the culprit. When many employees rushed to the scene, the assailant—disguised as Iwami and shouting something about the manager being injured—dashed out of the room. Consequently, the entire group of employees was completely deceived; upon entering the room and seeing Iwami again, they stood utterly dumbfounded. They had finally lost sight of the culprit. However, the manager, relieved that the jewels were at least undamaged, first restrained the clamoring employees and returned to his room. As a precaution, he reopened the safe to check—only to find that one of the diamonds he had hurriedly thrown into the safe, worth tens of thousands of yen at current prices, was missing. The agile culprit appears to have already stolen it before the manager put it into the safe.

The dispatched officials who had received the urgent report were at a loss about how to proceed. The manager and Iwami were rigorously investigated, but since the manager’s account proved entirely credible and Iwami had been nearly unconscious at the time, there remained no grounds to suspect either of them. The detective who learned that Iwami Keiji—a shoplifting suspect in Ginza—was connected to this daylight robbery case subjected him to even stricter interrogation. Yet he persistently protested having any recollection of shopping or similar activities. But given that he did in fact have stolen goods on his person, he was placed under detention and taken to the holding cell.

However, yet another incident occurred. Around 1 AM, when the jailer on his rounds checked—as he had been thoroughly instructed to pay special attention to the particularly peculiar young man—to their astonishment, Iwami had already vanished from the holding cell unnoticed.

The Metropolitan Police Headquarters was thrown into an uproar. Fearing the major criminal might escape, an emergency cordon was immediately set up. However, just like that, the night ended. And then, around 10 a.m., he, Iwami, was captured without difficulty at his boarding house. Though convinced it was futile, the detectives had staked out his boarding house when, around ten o’clock, he returned with a vacant look on his face.

His response once again took the officials by surprise. Around eleven o’clock, a policeman came to the holding cell, told him to come along, led him out, and released him outside, saying his suspicion had been cleared. The night had grown late, and fortunately he had money on him; moreover, driven by the sheer absurdity of it all, he decided to make a scene. He simply took the train to Shinagawa, went up to a certain establishment, and returned early this morning—or so he claimed.

“Just what are you all—” He said resentfully. “First you let me escape, then you capture me—aren’t you all just toying with me?”

Officer XX was immediately summoned, but though the young man said, “This is him,” the police officer responded that he didn’t know him at all. Meanwhile, a certain establishment in Shinagawa was investigated, and both the timing and every detail matched the young man’s account.

The Intelligence Crime Division and the Violent Crime Division gathered their heads and held a conference. As a result, just as in the previous robbery case, it came to be theorized that someone was manipulating Iwami—who knew nothing of the matter—leading many to argue that he might be innocent.

However, this unfortunate young man was ultimately not released. This was because Officer XX—resentful at having been exploited by the villain who had disguised himself as him and seeking to prove his own innocence—investigated Iwami’s boarding house and discovered a piece of paper inscribed with a peculiar cipher. As for the jewel case, he was acquitted due to insufficient evidence; however, regarding the theft case—since he was in possession of the stolen goods and the shop clerks identified him as the perpetrator—he was ultimately indicted and sentenced to two months’ imprisonment.

＊　　　＊　　　＊

“I was an investigative reporter at the time,” Matsumoto said. “Having developed a keen interest in this case, I once examined Iwami’s boarding house—I still recall these peculiar ciphers distinctly.” “Should you collect fingerprints from this paper fragment, it would offer firmer confirmation.”

The prosecutor followed his advice. As the prosecutor and police officers were conferring, a portly gentleman with coarse features nearing fifty entered through the front entrance, accompanied by a single constable. This was Fukushima, the owner of the house.

When he saw the corpse lying there, he turned pale and began to tremble. The prosecutor suddenly tensed and began his interrogation. “Yes, that’s correct. They are indeed the caretaker couple I left here.” While finally regaining his composure, he answered. “That is Sakata Otokichi. He was a carpenter who used to work at my residence.” “He was from Asakusa Hashiba, had two or three disciples, and was known among his peers as left-handed Otokichi—a man of some renown.” “He was dedicated to his work and was a truly gentle man.” “However, in this recent Great Earthquake, of their four children—starting with a ten-year-old as the eldest—the three oldest went missing, and only the youngest child, who was two years old, survived because his mother held him tightly and fled.” “The man’s dejection was truly pitiable.” “On my part, I had my entire family evacuate to our hometown for a time—though I alone could not leave entirely due to business matters, so I remained here and occasionally visited the hometown.” “—Fortunately, I had just taken in this couple as caretakers.” “I departed for my hometown yesterday evening and returned early this morning.”

“Yesterday, did they show any unusual signs?” “There were no unusual signs.” “Have there been any visitors to Sakata’s place recently?” “No.” “Is there anyone who might hold a grudge against you?” “I don’t believe anyone holds a grudge against me.” As he spoke, he noticed Aoki standing nearby and added, “Well, actually, I’ve been rather hated by people in this neighborhood lately—because I don’t join the night patrols. Mr. Aoki here, for one, was said to have been so furious that he even declared it’d be better if my house burned down.”

The prosecutor glanced briefly in Aoki’s direction.

“Outrageous!” Aoki, already crimson and stammering, said, “Wh—what?! Are you suggesting *I* set the fire?!” “No—that isn’t what I meant.” He answered coldly. “I merely stated that you had made such remarks.” “Aoki-san, did you indeed say those things?” “Yes—I spoke those words in a momentary fit of anger.” “What time did you discover the fire?” “As I stated earlier—it was slightly past 2:10.”

“Based on how the fire had spread, it must have been burning for twenty to thirty minutes after ignition. Yet you were passing through this house’s garden prior to that—at ten minutes before two o’clock—is that correct?”

“That’s correct.” Aoki answered uneasily. “However, the exact opposite I—” “No—we are currently focused on establishing facts.” The prosecutor said sternly. This time, he turned to Fukushima and asked, “Do you have fire insurance?” “Yes, I have a policy of fifteen thousand yen on the house, seven thousand yen on movable property, totaling twenty-two thousand yen in coverage.”

“Were the household belongings left as they were?” “With no freight trains available, I only brought back the bare essentials to my hometown and left everything else behind.” “Do you have any leads about the murders?”

“Well, I don’t recall anything.”

At that moment, a detective approached the prosecutor and whispered something.

“Mr. Matsumoto.”

The prosecutor called the young reporter. “The results of the autopsy and other examinations have come in, it seems.” “This is not something that should be disclosed to anyone outside the authorities, but in light of your valuable assistance thus far, I feel compelled to inform you—please step over here for a moment.”

The prosecutor and Matsumoto went to a corner of the room and began speaking in low voices. As I had taken the closest seat, I caught fragments of their conversation.

“What?!” “Potassium chlorate poisoning… Hmm.” I could hear Matsumoto speaking.

From what I gathered of the conversation, the confectionery box on the desk had contained monaka, and within them was a small amount of morphine. The confectionery box had been purchased around 2:00 PM that day at Aokidō Confectionery in Shibuya Dōgenzaka, and the appearance of the person who bought it closely resembled Iwami. However, the monaka had not been touched, and the child had collapsed from potassium chlorate poisoning.

Before long, the prosecutor returned to his seat and resumed the interrogation. “Mr. Aoki, I would like to hear the reason you returned home so soon after the night patrol shift change.” “Well—that’s…” Aoki answered. “It’s nothing worth mentioning—there’s no particular reason to speak of.” “Now, if you refuse to provide that reason, it will only work against you, I warn you.” The Colonel remained silent and did not answer. I was terribly worried. “According to your earlier statement,” Fukushima said. “Aoki-san, did you come to my residence at the time of the fire?”

"That is not something you need concern yourself with." The prosecutor answered in his stead. At that moment, Matsumoto emerged from the adjacent room carrying a large tome.

“Ah, Mr. Fukushima—I hear you once studied pharmacology and have quite an impressive collection of books. I too dabbled in that field some time ago, and I must say, Mr. Yamashita’s *Commentary on Pharmacy Law* is an excellent work.” “I had almost forgotten, but seeing this book reminded me.” “Moreover, I thought potassium chlorate poisoning was quite rare.” Matsumoto said to the prosecutor, who seemed somewhat taken aback by his abruptness. “I examined Mr. Yamashita’s *Commentary on Pharmacy Law*, and in the section on potassium chlorate, it states that a large quantity can be fatal. Therefore, it must have been the child who was poisoned.” “However,” He showed the prosecutor the open book and said, “I’ve made this discovery.”

“What is this?” The prosecutor skeptically looked at the indicated passage, where it read: “Potassium chlorate. When mixed with oxidizing metals such as manganese dioxide or copper oxide and heated, it already releases oxygen at 260 to 270 degrees Celsius, which accounts for its potency as an oxidizing agent at high temperatures……………… Furthermore, when twice its volume of cane sugar is mixed with this compound and a single drop of concentrated sulfuric acid is added, it ignites immediately, etc.”

“When we first discovered the fire, we smelled burning sugar.” “At the scene, we found a large glass sugar jar with its broken bottom coated in pitch-black charcoal.” “In short, I believe someone exploited potassium chlorate’s property of decomposing through sulfuric acid to generate chlorine peroxide.”

“I see.” The prosecutor nodded for the first time. “So then, the perpetrator mixed sugar and potassium chlorate with the intent of arson and added sulfuric acid drop by drop, correct?” “Well, I don’t believe I am the perpetrator.” “Because there is a considerable span of time between the murder and the arson, and furthermore, the mixing of these chemicals was likely done quite some time earlier—probably around evening.” “So you’re saying…?”

“In other words, the child died because the mother probably added sugar to milk or something.” “However, that sugar already contained potassium chlorate.” “That is why the child was poisoned.”

“Hmm.” The prosecutor nodded.

“With this, I believe I have somewhat resolved this case. Suppose the child began suffering from poisoning and finally died.” Having witnessed this, the father—who had already lost three children and his home in the Great Earthquake—now deprived of his last remaining child, likely flew into a frenzy. “Suddenly gone mad, he stabbed the mother from behind, then rampaged wildly, slashing indiscriminately at tatami mats and sliding doors. At that moment, Iwami—the man in question—had sneaked in for some reason, so he must have slashed at him. There was a struggle, and in the end, I believe he was stabbed to death by Iwami. As for the arson not being Iwami’s doing, he likely lacks any knowledge of chemicals, and besides, there would be no need to employ such a roundabout method in that situation.”

“Then who is the arsonist?” “Probably someone who wanted this house to burn down.” “I hear there was quite substantial insurance on it.” “Don’t spout such nonsense!”

Fukushima, who had been silently listening until now, roared in anger. "Without any evidence, it's outrageous to claim I set the fire entirely for insurance money!" "First of all, wasn't I away from home that very night?" "If you were at home setting the fire, you wouldn't have needed to resort to potassium chlorate."

“Still spouting such nonsense? Even in front of Mr. Prosecutor, I won’t let this slide!” Perhaps out of respect for the young journalist’s calm and composed demeanor, the prosecutor made no particular attempt to stop him. “If you insist on that claim, I’ll explain it to Mr. Prosecutor instead.” “Ah, I must admit I was impressed by the ingenuity of your invention.” “I collected fragments of glass tubes and a small amount of mercury at the scene.” “Until just now, no one could uncover anything from this, but upon hearing that the child died of potassium chlorate poisoning and examining the *Commentary on Pharmacy Law*, I finally grasped the truth.” “Mr. Prosecutor.” He turned toward the prosecutor and spoke. “In a mixture of potassium chlorate and sugar, if you pour just one drop of sulfuric acid—yes, a single drop—it will ignite with tremendous force.” “A drop of sulfuric acid—is there not a device to automatically pour it at the appropriate time?” “The use of a mercury column was an astonishing invention.” “A glass tube with a diameter of one centimeter—just like these fragments—is bent into a U-shape with one end sealed. While tilting it, mercury is gradually poured in from the other end until the sealed side is completely filled with mercury.” When the U-shaped tube was then returned to its original position, the mercury column descended slightly. “If both ends were open, the mercury column would come to rest at equal heights on both sides. However, since one end is sealed, atmospheric pressure maintains the column at a fixed height, creating a difference of approximately 760 millimeters between the left and right sides.” “This is precisely atmospheric pressure. Therefore, it stands to reason that if atmospheric pressure decreases, the height of the mercury column will drop.” “Around two o’clock last night, Tokyo was precisely at the center of the low-pressure system. According to the Meteorological Observatory’s measurements, the atmospheric pressure was approximately 750 mmHg around five in the afternoon and 730 mmHg by two in the morning.” “Thus, a difference of 20 millimeters was produced.” “Therefore, one mercury column descended by 10 millimeters, while the open side’s mercury column rose by 10 millimeters.” “Now, what if someone were to place a small amount of sulfuric acid on top of the mercury in the open end?”

“Naturally, the sulfuric acid would overflow.” “Mr. Fukushima.” Matsumoto turned toward Fukushima—pale and silent—and declared, “You—in your misguided scheme to fraudulently obtain mere tens of thousands of yen—first killed the caretaker’s child, then murdered his wife, and finally slaughtered even the father himself.” “And now you attempt to pin your monstrous crimes upon Mr. Aoki.” “Is this not heaping sin upon sin to obscene extremes?” “Why not make an honest confession?”

Fukushima, without a moment’s resistance, was utterly overwhelmed.

While marveling at the young journalist’s clear-sighted judgment, the prosecutor—

“Well, Mr. Matsumoto—you are a fearsome man. It would be a boon for our police force if someone like you were to join us.” “…And what about the reasons—the reason Iwami sneaked in, and the reason he brought the confectionery box containing poison?”

“As for that point, I must admit I’m still unclear myself.” The young journalist Matsumoto answered in a decisive tone.

＊　　　＊　　　＊

Two or three days later, the newspapers reported Iwami’s arrest. His confession matched Matsumoto’s account to the letter. However, he too did not utter a word regarding his reason for sneaking into Fukushima’s house.

After that, I had no opportunity to meet Matsumoto. I returned to my former life, day after day passing through the battlefield-like bustle of Shibuya Station as I commuted to my government office. One day, as I was clacking up the slope as usual, someone called out to me. When I looked, it was Matsumoto. He was grinning and said there was something he wanted to ask me, so I accompanied him into the upstairs dining car of the Tamagawa Tram.

“I hear Iwami has been arrested.” I opened my mouth. “I hear he’s finally been arrested.” He answered. “Isn’t it exactly as you deduced?” I praised him. “It was just a fluke.” He answered nonchalantly. “What I wanted to ask you about is that Fukushima house—when was it built?” “Ah, that one? Let me see—I believe construction began around May this year and was completed just before the earthquake.”

“Was it vacant land until then?” “Yes—it had been vacant land for quite some time. Though the cliff had been properly reinforced with a stone wall, and stone steps had been constructed there.” “Ah, I see.” “Does this relate to the case?” “No,” he said. “There’s just a minor detail I wanted to verify.”

After that, he no longer touched on the Iwami case and instead recounted his various experiences as a reporter in an engaging manner. Then he took out a splendid pipe with a golden band set in amber from his pocket, puffing on tobacco and proudly showing it to me.

After parting with him and returning home, when I was about to change into a kimono, I suddenly reached into my pocket and felt something small and hard. When I took it out, it turned out to be Matsumoto's amber pipe that he had shown me earlier. I considered various possibilities, but I couldn't conceive of any scenario where this could have ended up in my pocket. I was perplexed; I wondered what to say to return it to Matsumoto. For several days after that, I kept thinking of returning it to Matsumoto, but the opportunity never arose, and it passed by as it was.

One day, a thick envelope arrived. When I turned it over, the sender was Matsumoto. I hurriedly opened the envelope and read through it—involuntarily letting out an “Ah!” I let out a cry.

The contents of the letter were as follows. It has been some time since we last met—we may never meet again. I have at last succeeded in deciphering both Iwami’s strange behavior and the meaning of the cipher. As you had shown such keen interest in this case, I shall now provide you with a complete account.

Let me begin with that shoplifting incident. In that case, Iwami is likely innocent. The reason being, not only does he lack such ingenious skill, but even when considering the surrounding circumstances, his own actions seem to prove his innocence. Then what became of the items he was found carrying? You must recall that in the XX Building daylight robbery case, the culprit was disguised as Iwami. In the Ginza incident as well, this same culprit disguised as Iwami played an active role. This man, upon seeing Iwami stop at a haberdashery and show interest in cufflinks, entered the store after Iwami had left and purchased those very buttons. Next, he bought a watch in similar fashion and slipped it into Iwami’s pocket. At Shibaguchi, when Iwami first noticed the cufflinks and stood there dumbfounded, the culprit seized that moment to steal the bonus bag. Then, while Iwami was distracted by discovering the watch—shocked a second time—the culprit swiftly took money from the bag before returning it to his pocket, stuffed shoplifted jewels into his trouser pocket, and made his escape. Afterward, Iwami was arrested by detectives, with everything proven up through testimony from the manager. Why would this criminal—having already framed Iwami—risk disguising himself as a detective at night to extract him again? That was likely to monitor Iwami’s movements. If Iwami had hidden stolen goods somewhere after committing some misdeed, wouldn’t he have gone to check that hiding place once released from custody? That was precisely the villain’s aim. What could Iwami have concealed? It was one of the gems lost in that notorious incident. The thief who broke into the trading company had fled empty-handed due to Iwami’s scream. And when the panicked manager grabbed jewels from his desk to lock in the safe—the single most valuable gem among them fell to the floor.

As the manager chased after the thief, Iwami found the gem, conceived a wicked idea, and on impulse hid it under a rug or somewhere—then feigned unconsciousness; this must have been what happened. The culprit who learned of the gem’s disappearance through the newspaper must have concluded it was Iwami’s doing. At that point, when he realized his plan had been thwarted and that gem had been stolen from him, how fiercely he must have vowed to reclaim it. Of course, he undoubtedly conducted as thorough an investigation as possible. And he saw through it—that those strange symbols indeed marked the hiding place of the gem. However, this was merely anchored in Iwami’s own memory up to a certain location—a spot he could easily recall—and beyond that point, he had committed the remainder to memory through the cipher. Thus, even if one deciphered the code, without knowing that initial location, there was nothing to be done. Thus, he had Iwami apprehended by the authorities and then chose the desperate measure of securing his release himself. However, even that was foiled by Iwami’s ironic act of heading to Shinagawa. Of course, when considered later, Iwami’s hiding place was in a state where even Iwami himself could do nothing about it.

However, the culprit had by chance discovered the location of the gem. This was because Iwami had broken into a certain house during this recent incident—from which the culprit came to know the gem was undoubtedly hidden somewhere within that residence. From there on, it was simple. The symbol with an arrow in the corner of the rectangle indicated the corner of the stone steps. S, S, E denoted south-southeast by compass. 31 was naturally thirty-one shaku; the inverted T-shape represented a right angle. W–15 meant fifteen shaku westward. In other words: starting from the stone steps' corner, proceed thirty-one shaku south-southeast, then turn at a right angle and go fifteen shaku west. When Iwami had hidden the gem, the land had been vacant except for those completed stone steps—though as you know well, the entire area was grassland then. Iwami had received a prison sentence for shoplifting and lost his chance to retrieve the gem when Fukushima’s house was built on that land. Upon his release from prison, he fixed his sights on Fukushima’s residence and bided his time. Eventually, he plotted to send morphine-laced sweets to the caretakers, anesthetize them, and leisurely retrieve the gem. Then he exploited the storm to infiltrate. Yet far from lying drugged by morphine, his targets became those who struck back with slashing blades. That was why he had been atop the floorboards—searching for the gem.

But what became of the gem?

That, I have indeed received. You may have already realized this, but I am the perpetrator of the XX Building daylight robbery. To spare you undue alarm—and for two purposes: one to substantiate my capabilities, the other to serve as my eternal memento—I have placed that amber pipe in your inner pocket. It is not a suspicious item; please use it with peace of mind.

(Published in *Shin Seinen*, June 1924)