Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The color had completely drained from the man's face.
The way he staggered to his feet and walked toward the kitchen looked exactly like a ghost.
Taking care to make as little noise as possible, he stealthily turned the faucet and meticulously washed away the fresh bloodstains clinging thickly to the palm of his left hand.
Then he returned beneath the electric light, spread both hands wide, turned them over repeatedly, tilted them at angles to inspect against the light, and meticulously examined every crevice between his fingers down to the bases of his nails.

With a relieved expression, he vacantly lowered his eyes to the floor.
There lay a young woman, sprawled in a gruesome manner of death.
The lower part of the left breast - precisely where one would expect the heart to lie beneath - had been pierced through the hand-towel patterned yukata by a single dagger thrust, leaving her fallen supine. The left hand lay buried in blood as if desperately clutching the wound, while the right hand remained rigidly raised near the right temple.
The lower body lay in disarray, yet there were no particular signs of a violent struggle having occurred—it appeared she had died instantly from a single precise stab to a vital point.

As he stared intently, the dagger's handle—still embedded nearly perpendicular to the torso—appeared to quiver faintly. Yet in reality, the blood pooling abundantly around the wound had already formed pronounced wrinkles across its surface, leaving no doubt that at least one or two hours had passed since the victim had suffered this violent act.

The man turned sharply around, opened the closet's sliding door, took out a merino blanket, and gently draped it over the corpse.
The dagger's handle protruded slightly, but to an unknowing observer, it looked exactly as though she were exhausted and sound asleep.

Suddenly, the man knelt beside the corpse.
With an air of unbearable emotion, he touched the victim's pale forehead and pushed back her disheveled hair. Then, bringing his face until it nearly touched the corpse's, he pressed his lips against hers for a full five seconds - exactly as living lovers would.
When the man raised his face, his eyes were filled with large tears.
The tears trickled down his cheeks and fell in two or three drops onto the corpse's cold face.

Suddenly appearing to have recalled something critical, the man sprang abruptly to his feet. And then, like a spring-activated doll, he began moving with remarkable agility. He began opening the drawers of the long brazier, the dressing table, and then the cupboard one after another, examining every corner thoroughly yet with remarkable speed. Having finished that, he began looking around the room restlessly, pacing back and forth repeatedly as if searching for something, until suddenly—like a spring mechanism unwinding on its own—all movement ceased. He stood rigidly in the center of the room, releasing a heavy sigh. The target item ultimately appeared not to have been found.

The man knelt once more beside the corpse, brought his face close to the victim's as before, and gently rubbed his cheek against hers—then pressed her face to his own cheek with all his strength. Every one of these actions performed toward the corpse had been carried out in utter silence.

Before long, the man—like an actor who had successfully completed his assigned role and was exiting backstage—calmly made his way to the entryway, put on his hat, and sat down in the entryway to put on his shoes.
His eyes instantly tensed, and his gaze swung back and forth like a rapidly rotating searchlight.

His shoes were gone.
The shoes he had definitely left on the shoe rack had vanished without a trace.
Just to be sure, he opened the shoe cupboard, but of course there was no way his shoes could have moved there on their own.
In the earthen-floored entryway lay only a single pair of women's geta sandals, casually discarded.
The composure he had finally regained was overturned from its very foundation by this unexpected event.
Moreover, when he noticed, the front door he was certain he had closed stood wide open.

Someone must have opened this door and watched my actions through some gap.
That bastard had plotted to hide the shoes and confuse me.
Perhaps officers were already lying in wait outside—the moment he stepped beyond the gate, iron handcuffs might clamp around his wrists as part of some prearranged scheme. This suspicion flashed through his mind like lightning.
He even felt the sensation of cold metal touching his wrist.
He hurriedly hooked the women's geta on his toes and frantically rushed outside.

Unexpectedly, there was nothing unusual outside.
He felt a slackening of tension as if some pressure had been released, yet still maintained thorough vigilance toward his surroundings while exiting the alley onto the street.

The street in Yamabuki-chō, shortly after nightfall, was as crowded as ever. Around the night stall vendors, passersby with no particular business had gathered, forming clusters here and there, while others who paid no heed to the stalls kept streaming back and forth through the gaps between these human walls. Once he emerged into this crowd, his deathly pale face no longer stood out enough to draw attention, and no one seemed to notice his strange appearance of wearing a suit with women's geta. Everything was ordinary, with not a single trace of abnormality. There was nothing to suggest that an unspeakably gruesome tragedy had occurred in the alley just several dozen steps away. To a colossal entity like the metropolis, an incident of that magnitude would likely provide no more stimulation than a speck of dust settling upon its skin. Perhaps within Tokyo at this very moment, twenty or even more incidents of this magnitude were occurring, yet not a single soul had noticed.

However, he himself could not be as insensate as the metropolis itself.
When he reached Nichigin Bank's frontage, he stopped before the shoe store's display window across the street. From among the shoes inside, he searched for a pair closely resembling those he had previously worn, entered the store to purchase them, and put them on.
The shoe clerk remained utterly indifferent to his disheveled appearance, behaving as though wearing a suit with women's geta constituted perfectly normal attire. Without deviating from his usual manner—amiably yet with mechanical efficiency—he wrapped the geta in newspaper and handed over the package.
He quietly tossed the bundle into the river below from Edogawabashi Bridge before hurriedly turning back and leaping aboard a streetcar.

II

Despite having taken great care to leave no evidence, the fact that he had already committed two critical oversights gnawed terribly at his composure.
The first was his utter failure to locate the letter he had sent to the victim yesterday.
Since I dropped the letter into a postbox in Marunouchi yesterday evening, that letter should have arrived by this morning.
Considering this, there was a ninety-nine percent certainty that the letter remained inside that house, and as long as it remained there, it was inevitable that inspecting police officers would find it sooner or later.
Moreover, the letter stated that he would stop by that house on his way back from the ministry this evening.

He had barely boarded the train when he realized his blunder.
He understood the woman must have placed that letter in her breast pocket or sleeve.
What an irreparable oversight it had been not to search around her person.
He could vividly picture the edge of a light-blue envelope protruding from the victim's collar.
He even began to feel as though he had truly seen it.
Moreover—most damning of all—he had used ministry stationery for the letter.

The second oversight was his failure to notice that someone had opened the front door and stolen the shoes.
Though the sliding door between the entrance and living room had been closed—preventing any view inside from the entrance—the fact that he hadn’t even noticed his shoes being stolen meant there was no telling through what gap someone might have spied.
The thief who stole the shoes had likely reasoned simply that hiding them would prevent any chance of escape, and during that time might have rushed to the police box to report every detail to an officer.
If that were true, he might have passed an officer rushing to the scene on his way back to the tram line—merely thinking about it sent a chill down his spine.

Even so, that poor woman had met such a wretched fate—his mind abruptly began considering something entirely different. After transferring to the Shinmeichō-bound train at Ueno Hirokōji, inside the suddenly crowded train car, he began recalling his relationship with the victim spanning the past two years, one memory after another.

Relationship!
That said, it had been truly an innocuous thing. A mental state one might call a kind of feminine adoration common among adolescent males had merely seized upon her by chance as its object of worship. When a man found himself in such a mental state, one could say the woman serving as his object of adoration required almost no qualifications. All she needed was passable looks and even the faintest spark of intelligence.

Ōya—let us henceforth call him by his real name, Ōya Sanshirō—was at that time a third-year law student.
The woman was named Asakura Mitsuko and at that time was one of the waitresses at Café Taishōken in Asakusa Kaminarimon.

Ōya had chosen Mitsuko as his object of adoration from among over a dozen waitresses, for reasons unknown.
She didn’t particularly possess any qualities that set her apart from the other waitresses, but perhaps it was the dimples that formed in both cheeks when she smiled and her smooth Kansai accent that had appealed to Ōya.
But in truth, even Ōya himself didn’t understand why he had taken such a particular liking to her, and such things were naturally beyond comprehension.

In the beginning, Ōya would station himself every Saturday without fail at a particular table in Café Taishōken—specifically, whenever possible, the third table to the right of the entrance, provided other customers hadn’t already claimed it—nursing a whiskey he didn’t particularly care for sip by sip while finding contentment in occasional glimpses of Mitsuko.
The first time the two exchanged words came approximately three months later.
It had been nothing more than a brief exchange of pleasantries, but Ōya had been so elated that he still remembered writing an embarrassingly saccharine poem at the end of his diary entry that day—one that now made him break into a cold sweat whenever he recalled it.

After some time had passed，they became able to exchange playful banter，and eventually there was even an occasion when the two went on a day trip to Enoshima during a public holiday．Even so，at that time，he was so unnecessarily cautious as to avoid even their fingertips or knees touching merely from sitting together on the train．

Externally，the relationship between them was this faint，but within their hearts，it was not so．To Sanshirō，every part of Mitsuko，every movement appeared beautiful，noble—even extraordinary．There was even a time when he came all the way to the front of Taishōken only to suddenly feel too awkward to meet her and turn back．

It was a Saturday evening not long after Sanshirō had graduated from university and been appointed as a clerk at the XX Ministry.

It was precisely April, and the hall of Café Taishōken was filled with artificial cherry blossoms in full bloom, while the chandelier cast a lavish light throughout the room. Mitsuko, wearing a white apron with a brass number tag on its collar, stood beside Sanshirō and said in a low voice while being mindful of her surroundings:

"I think I’ll quit here before long."

Sanshirō, slightly tipsy from the rich cocktail, responded:

"That would be a problem. If you’re gone, my life’s gonna be like Columbus without America," he said in a delinquent-like jesting tone, quoting Dostoevsky.

“But you know,” Mitsuko continued in an unexpectedly earnest tone, still keeping her voice low while remaining aware of her surroundings, “café waitresses are practically like slaves. We get trampled on by both the owner and the customers. And yet even among colleagues, everyone’s seething with jealousy. They may say all the right things with their mouths, but deep down, all women are each other’s enemies.”

Sanshirō, who had always prided himself as a feminist, heard this realistic appeal from a woman and felt ashamed of his own contradiction—that he had sought to enjoy the company of oppressed women precisely as they remained oppressed. Deeply moved, he suddenly became serious and said.

"That's an excellent resolve.
It's truly not good to stay long in a place like this.
But you wouldn't struggle financially afterward, would you?"

“...”

“How much would you need each month to manage, I wonder?”

“I don’t think it will cost much at all—if I just rent cheap lodgings, I could get by,” Mitsuko answered, looking down.

“I could manage thirty yen or so... as long as you don’t mind.”

“But I couldn’t possibly accept such a thing from you.”

“Well, if you’re all right with it, I’d very much like to have you do so.”

Thus Mitsuko came to quit the café.
Ōya didn’t regret trading his monthly burden of thirty yen for the humanitarian pride of rescuing a woman from servitude.
From that day his life grew more disciplined, transforming him from a dreamy admirer of women into a steadfast young man.
Their relationship had always been proper enough—not that he’d been Puritan to the core—but afterward became increasingly formal. Since Mitsuko began living in her six-tatami rented house with a three-tatami annex in Yamabuki-chō’s back alleys until now, beyond exchanging letters they’d met in person just three times—counting tonight.
He’d rigorously avoided anything suggesting he was currying favor through financial support.

Only one person in the world knew of their past relationship—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say misunderstood it—and at least Ōya had believed so.
That person was Kako, his fiancée, who had graduated from a rural girls' school and come to Tokyo shortly after Ōya began working at the ministry.
Before cohabiting with Kako, Ōya—believing it his duty—had calmly confessed to her all about his previous relationship with Mitsuko.
Ōya still clearly remembered how Kako’s face had clouded over at that moment.

Letters came from Mitsuko from time to time after that.
When they met in person, they always parted reservedly, but in their letters, they sometimes strung together rather passionate words.
It was as if their relationship were the exact opposite of conventional male-female interactions.
Every time a letter arrived from Mitsuko, it went without saying that Kako's heart was unsettled.
Kako clearly misunderstood their relationship, and it was precisely the sort of relationship that anyone would misunderstand.

What particularly exacerbated matters was that Mitsuko's letter arriving yesterday morning had stated she absolutely needed to meet and talk today. This became the catalyst for Kako to tearfully confront him about how his continued financial support for Mitsuko amounted to trampling over her feelings, leading to their first major quarrel since cohabitation that morning as he was leaving for the ministry.
On Sanshirō’s part, he stubbornly insisted that he had no improper relationship with Mitsuko and that once a man made a promise, he couldn’t possibly break it until some resolution was found for the other party’s circumstances. In the end, he left with their quarrel unresolved.
Kako, for her part, left a parting remark—“I’ll go meet Mitsuko-san myself now and settle this directly”—before parting from Sanshirō.

However, when Ōya Sanshirō came to Mitsuko’s house on his way home from the ministry, Mitsuko had already become a corpse.

III

From the moment he discovered Mitsuko’s corpse, an inescapable suspicion had obstinately taken root in Ōya Sanshirō’s mind. He had deliberately avoided confronting this suspicion out of fear, but the more he tried to evade it, the more distinctly it seemed to take shape.

He was afraid to enter his own house.

—Had Kako returned yet? What was she doing now? Could she be collapsed in tears, overwhelmed by the horror of the crime she'd committed? Could she have already been discovered by the police and taken into custody?

——

As if visiting a house for the first time, he stood before his own home for some time, deep in thought.
The interior of the house was serenely quiet and showed no particular signs of disturbance.
At last, he resolutely opened the entryway.

When Kako came out to greet him at the entrance, there was nothing particularly unusual about her demeanor.
The only difference was that she hardly spoke at all.
However, it seemed natural enough to view this as simply the lingering effects of the emotional wounds inflicted during their quarrel that morning when he had left for the ministry.

“Oh my, what could have happened?” While folding Ōya’s discarded pants, Kako suddenly exclaimed in surprise. “There’s blood on your pants.”

“What?!” Ōya exclaimed with a horrified expression. Sure enough, fresh bloodstains still clung to the pants’ knees. Despite all his precautions, this glaring oversight had been discovered the moment he returned home—it withered his heart terribly. He grew flustered and could not find any excuse to explain the blood.

“How did that get there? Anyway, it’s filthy—make sure you wash it thoroughly… Oh, and did anyone come by today?” he tried to change the subject as naturally as possible.

“No one in particular... Oh, now that I mention it, a police officer did come by this evening.”

“What? A police officer?”

“Yes, quite a nasty police officer. He kept grilling me about every little thing, you know.”

“What sort of things did he ask?”

“………”

“What did he ask?”

“Things like what my relationship is with you.”
“I was at a loss for how to respond.”
“Because we’re not officially registered yet, and since our surnames are different, I couldn’t very well say I’m your sister—so I had no choice but to say we’re relatives.”

“What—checking the family registry?”
“Was that all?”

“He was snickering on his way out, you know.”
“He must already know.”

“What do you know?”

“……”

Sanshirō inadvertently edged closer but, realizing he had overreacted due to a misunderstanding, covered it up with a laugh.

After that, the two of them fell silent and sat down to eat.
Neither of them spoke a word about this morning’s quarrel or Mitsuko.
However, Sanshirō was subtly observing Kako’s demeanor.
To him, everything was utterly unexpected.
What about Kako’s astonishing composure, when she should have committed such a terrible crime?
Perhaps Kako knows nothing at all.
No—that’s absolutely impossible.
This morning’s words from her, the fact that she now deliberately avoided mentioning Mitsuko even once, her apparent effort to feign composure—all these facts were converging into the conclusion that she was the culprit.

—But what’s done cannot be undone.
It would be best if this incident could just be quietly buried away—though murder is an unforgivable sin—but ultimately, it was all done for my sake.
It was precisely because she loved me that Kako had done such a bold thing.
Evading the law was no virtue—but were that woman to face judgment, it would be tantamount to me having killed two women without lifting a hand.
I want to somehow quietly settle things just as they are—

IV

Sanshirō did not sleep a wink that night.
The tragedy he had witnessed at dusk—along with its chain of recollections and speculations—took turns occupying his mind.
His nerves sharpened to needle-points; at every heavy thud, he shuddered imagining police officers storming in.

—Is Kako truly the culprit?
—This doubt tormented him above all.

―Women inherently possess a disposition that makes them prone to commit extraordinary acts under extraordinary circumstances. When it comes to a man they love especially, women can exhibit unimaginable cruelty—particularly—he recalled Balzac’s words—women, when loving a man who once belonged to another, will fight with every ounce of their strength. Moreover, doesn’t her case precisely fit that description?

When two women—and sensitive women at that—vie for one man, they do not choose their methods. They would not hesitate to take any means, no matter how cruel or underhanded. Tragedies such as arson and murder committed out of lust are too numerous to count. The more he thought, the more his dreadful suspicions took on an increasingly concrete form.

Women inherently possess the lethal weapon of jealousy. The more intensely a woman loves, the stronger her jealousy becomes. "If you reverse Augustine's words—'A woman who is not jealous is a woman who does not love'—it becomes 'A woman who loves is a woman who is jealous.'" Now, Kako passionately loved him. The fact that she passionately loved him served as proof of intense jealousy toward Mitsuko—

Kako had not slept long either.
Sanshirō imagined conscience tormenting her within that small head and felt heartrending pity, yet simultaneously resented her boldness in persistently wrapping her crime in secrecy while feigning composure.

At any rate, he deeply regretted leaving such bungled evidence at Mitsuko's house.
He thought it would be catastrophic if that left traces leading to Kako's crime being exposed.
He even considered seizing upon having left evidence to take all blame himself should worst come to worst.
Yet even doing that would still spell ruin for Kako.
She wasn't the sort of woman to stay silent while letting me shoulder guilt.
After all—how he wished everything might stay unknown, buried from darkness into darkness—

While he was lost in delusions, Kako’s lips—she who had seemingly fallen asleep unnoticed—suddenly moved at that moment.

“Please forgive me, Ms. Mitsuko.
“Oh… Ms. Mitsuko—”

Sanshirō was so startled he nearly leapt up,
“What’s wrong, hey?”

Fearing what words might come next, he seized Kako by the shoulders and shook her awake.
Kako jolted upright, eyes flying open.

“Ah, that was terrifying. It was a dream, wasn’t it? Oh, thank goodness. Did I say something?”

“You were moaning in your sleep.”

“Oh, how terrifying that was—but isn’t it strange? I just dreamed exactly what I was thinking.”

“What kind of dream did you have?”

“I can’t tell you now because it might upset you. That was terrifying!”

She was still trembling from fear.
Sanshirō also trembled from fear.
Captured by fear, the two of them involuntarily exchanged glances.
And seeing the other’s expression, they trembled even more.
The terrifying night advanced moment by moment.
The two waited in silence for the night to end, but as dawn approached, they both drifted into a fitful doze.

Five

The next morning, Kako—who had risen first—nearly fainted when she saw the society section of the XX Newspaper that had been thrown into the entranceway.

Under a three-line, four-column headline mixing large-type characters—“Last Night’s Tragedy in Ushigome Yamabuki-chō” and “Victim a Beautiful Woman in Her Prime; Suspect Identified”—the following details were recorded.

“Last night at eleven o’clock, Asakura Mitsuko (22) of ×× Yamabuki-chō, Ushigome Ward, was discovered to have been brutally murdered by an unknown assailant who stabbed her through the chest with a dagger.”
From the jurisdictional XX Station, several police officers were immediately dispatched, and the Metropolitan Police Department promptly established an emergency cordon within their jurisdiction while conducting a strict search for the culprit.
The investigating officers had apparently already secured critical evidence; despite the late hour, they seemed to have initiated operations in a certain direction with ××× Station serving as the investigation headquarters—thus, the culprit was expected to be arrested within the day.

"The elderly neighbor who discovered the victim’s corpse stated—‘At Ms. Mitsuko’s house, even though it was already eleven o’clock, both the front door and living room sliding doors had been left wide open. Thinking this terribly careless, I peered inside and saw what appeared to be Ms. Mitsuko resting under bedding. I called out twice, but receiving no response, I went up to check—and that was the situation.’ ‘I was so shocked I couldn’t speak for a while.’"

"The victim’s identity remained unknown, but compiling accounts from neighbors revealed she had worked as a waitress at Café Taishōken before Asakusa’s Kaminarimon Gate until April of that year."

"When the reporter hurried to Café Taishōken and questioned waitress Yuriko—who had known the victim during her lifetime—Yuriko gasped: 'Oh my—Ms. Mitsuko was killed by someone?'"
“She wasn’t the sort to earn resentment, but it seems she had connections with various customers even while working here.”
“From what I recall, two students would visit regularly—along with a contractor named Mr. Kimi and someone called Mr. Ōya, who I believe began working at a government office this spring.”
“And according to rumors, she was living with that contractor—Mr. Kimi—at her current residence.”

From the victim’s pocket had been discovered one letter and one telegram.
The sender of the letter was listed simply as "O生," dated the day before the victim’s death and containing the phrase "I will stop by tomorrow evening on my way back," written on XX Ministry stationery.
The reporter surmised this was likely the same individual as "a certain Ōya" mentioned by the Taishōken waitress.
The telegram had been sent from Nagoya Station with a dispatch time of 7:02 AM on that day and received at 8:20 AM; its text read: "KIYŪYŌ ARICHŪŌSEN NI TE MATSUMOTO E YUKI ASUSA I DA MA CHITSUKU KIMI."
"The 'Kimi' at the telegram’s conclusion likely refers to contractor Kimi."

"The corpse had been covered with a merino blanket to make it appear as though sleeping at first glance—a minor trick by the culprit to delay discovery of the crime. The scene was in extreme disarray: every drawer from chests and dressing tables had been pulled out with their contents scrambled, yet since no items appeared missing, this too seemed to be the culprit’s ploy to stage it as a robbery."

"That same night in Yamabuki-chō, authorities arrested a burglar specializing in footwear who was under interrogation for making the bizarre claim that he had stolen a pair of Kidd’s red shoes from the victim’s residence."

The newspaper article was generally as described above.
When Kako read the part about the shoes, she involuntarily cast her eyes toward the shoes that Ōya had left discarded in the entranceway last night.
It was immediately apparent that those were still brand-new shoes, freshly bought.

—Shoes—Blood on pants—XX Ministry stationery—Ōya— Kako’s throat closed up, and she couldn’t speak.

“Hey, let me see that newspaper.”

Before Kako realized it, Sanshirō had gotten up and was standing behind her.
Kako instinctively clutched the newspaper.

“If you’re going to show it to me, there’s something in there, isn’t there?”

Noticing that Kako’s entire body was trembling violently and sensing the general circumstances, Sanshirō pressed on while feigning composure.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

As she said this, Kako left the newspaper beside her and finally collapsed on the spot in tears.

Sanshirō finished reading the newspaper article in great tension.
He had already prepared himself for suspicion turning toward him, but reading the article still sent tremors through his core that wouldn’t cease.
Yet discovering the reporters hadn’t cast any suspicion on Kako brought him relief.
Thinking it might not be Kako after all, he stole a glance in her direction.
Kako remained facedown, quietly weeping.
It was Kako.
The meaning behind her recent apology—“I’m sorry”—now crystallized in his mind.

The two feared each other's words.
They could neither comfort nor blame each other, nor could they bring themselves to demand answers.
Each of them understood everything within their own hearts and remained silent.

Six

That morning, private detective Ueno Yōtarō strode down the cobblestone path of Yarai-dōri Avenue, a Maduros pipe clenched between his teeth.
He had made it his motto to keep his mind as blank as possible when unnecessary, and even now appeared to be faithfully adhering to it.

After seeing the morning newspaper article about Mitsuko’s murder, he rushed to the crime scene in Yamabuki-chō, where he spent approximately twenty minutes meticulously observing the site and asking two or three questions to the officers on guard before leaving. He was now headed to the ××× Police Station, which had become the investigation headquarters for this case.
From his inspection of the crime scene, he seemed to have found no new evidence beyond what had been reported in the newspaper and had merely retrieved a single sheet of old newspaper.

“Have you found anything out of the ordinary?”

Facing Inspector Sasaki of ××× Station who had come out holding Ueno's business card, he removed the pipe from his mouth for a moment and inquired.

“Indeed,” said Inspector Sasaki, offering a chair to the other man while taking a seat himself and speaking deliberately.
“We’ve finally identified the sender of that letter and are about to make an arrest.”

“So the sender differs from what was reported in the newspaper?”

“It’s not precisely that—but given the party in question is a government official, we needed to visit the XX Ministry to verify whether he actually exists, ascertain his home address, thoroughly compare handwriting specimens, and finally confirm his identity beyond doubt. You’ll appreciate this demands more time than a reporter’s haphazard scribbling.”

“So that Ōya fellow is under suspicion, I take it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Any other new evidence?”

“Nothing in particular... Oh, right—this morning, a telegram arrived addressed to the victim.”
"The sender is again the man named Kimi, and it was sent from Kōfu Station."
"It was sent at 4:20 this morning and delivered around 6:30, I hear."
"The text was indeed 'ICHI○JI NI ICHI FUN II DAMACHITSUKU EKI MADE MUKAITANOMU KIMI.'"
“That poor man must have been shocked to return without knowing his mistress had been killed.”
“However, if we interrogate this man, we may gain more detailed knowledge about the victim’s background and her relationship with Ōya, so arrangements have been made to detain him immediately as a witness.”
“And at present, there’s no one to claim the corpse.”

Detective Ueno took out a watch from his pocket, looked at it, and said.

“It arrives at Iidamachi at 10:21, correct? And do you know what this Kimi looks like?”

“We already know from the Taishōken waitress’s testimony, but as a precaution, we’ve arranged for her to go to the station.”

“That’s good… Since it’s nearly ten, I think I’ll go to the station myself. Walking from here should still get me there in time. Ah, right—I nearly forgot. The letters and telegrams were found in the victim’s sleeve pocket after all?”

“The reports about it being in her breast pocket and the newspaper are incorrect—it was in the sleeve pocket,” said Sasaki, leaning back slightly as if this moment definitively proved the sloppiness of the press coverage.

“Is it true that fingerprints in blood were left on the letter envelope?”
“I just asked the police officer on guard, but…”
“Moreover, the fingerprints weren’t the victim’s, I take it?”

“That’s correct.”

“The letter rack in the victim’s house was empty—were there no letters at all inside it from the time the corpse was discovered?”

“That’s correct.”

Ueno took out a single sheet of old newspaper from his pocket and handed it to the inspector.

"I picked this up at the crime scene. It might be useful for reference, so I'll hand it over to you."

Inspector Sasaki quickly unfolded the ×× Newspaper—folded small with well-worn creases—and said while scanning the headlines.

“This is yesterday’s newspaper, isn’t it? Has anything unusual been reported here?”

“Take a good look at page six.”

“Ah, this is the Shizuoka edition.”
“Is there something printed here?”

Sasaki’s gaze hurriedly darted across the printed characters.

“There’s nothing printed here, but doesn’t this prove that the culprit came to Tokyo yesterday either directly from Shizuoka Prefecture or by passing through a station within it?”
“This edition isn’t sold in Tokyo, you see.”
“By the way, I don’t have time—I’ll go check the station now.”

While saying this, Detective Ueno put on his straw hat and hurried out to the front.

Seven

When Ueno arrived at the station, he first bought a travel guidebook at the kiosk.

In the waiting room, two familiar detectives were chatting and laughing with a young woman about something, but upon seeing Ueno, they exclaimed, "Ah, Mr. Ueno!" and stood up to bow deeply.

“You’re Ms. Yuriko, I take it?”
The detective turned toward the woman and said.
“Yes,” the woman replied in a low voice.

“The train will arrive shortly, so please hide behind me so you aren’t seen by him, and point out the man named Kimi to me.”
“Furthermore, since that man will undoubtedly head straight to the victim’s house in Yamabuki-chō, you shouldn’t make a spectacle of arresting him here,” Ueno said to the two detectives.

Before long, the train arrived.
The station interior suddenly became bustling.
The two detectives and Ueno stood lined up near the ticket gate.
Yuriko hid behind Ueno, peering out between the shoulders of the two men with only her eyes visible, intently watching the people emerging from the ticket gate.

“That’s him. That blushing, fat man,” she said while poking Ueno’s back with her finger.

The four pairs of eyes were simultaneously focused on the person Yuriko had just described.

He no sooner received the trunk from the redcap than he hurriedly hired a car.
The four heard a voice clearly say "Yamabuki-chō."

“You all will now follow that man by taxi.”
“After you’ve thoroughly assessed the situation there, make the arrest suddenly.”
“Don’t act too soon or too late.”
“Keep observing the situation for about ten minutes. I’ll inform the police chief about that matter, so there’s no need to worry on that front.”
“But since he might resist, take him on cautiously with about four people.”
“Thank you for your hard work, Ms. Yuriko.”
“Now then, let’s return to headquarters.”

From Iidamachi Station, two taxis sped off.
One headed toward Yamabuki-chō, the other toward the ××× Police Station.
In the taxi, Ueno nimbly flipped through the travel guidebook’s pages while continuously transcribing numbers into his notebook.

When the car stopped in front of the police station, Ueno hurriedly jumped out and rushed into Inspector Sasaki’s office.

“Has Ōya been brought in yet?”

“He should be back any moment now,” Sasaki answered while glancing at the wall clock.
Ueno hurriedly continued.

“Since the man named Kimi went to Yamabuki-chō, I had your subordinate detectives go to observe the situation. It’s a complete success. The culprit will be arrested within thirty minutes.”

“Actually, he’s already been arrested—look, here they come.”

A car eased into the grounds of the ××× Police Station.
From inside, four or five plainclothes detectives filed out in a straggling line.
The one who came down last, with a deathly pale face, was Ōya Sanshirō.

Ōya was immediately placed in a detention cell.
"You didn't even try to escape—just kept fumbling about," Inspector Sasaki said cheerfully, surveying the group.

"He said he was about to leave for the ministry," one plainclothes officer announced, mopping his brow as if claiming personal credit.

“Getting cried on by her really put me in a bind,” whispered the second plainclothes officer to the third, discreetly showing his pinky finger. “Poor thing. Depending on how things go, that woman might have to live as a widow her whole life.”

“Does that man have a wife?” Detective Ueno asked abruptly, having keenly overheard their conversation as he turned to the second plainclothes officer.

“I don’t know if she’s his wife, but there was a pretty one,” came the reply. “She cried when we parted—really put me in a bind.”

“Hmm.” Ueno tore a page from his notebook and began scribbling with a pencil. He summoned an attendant and handed him the slip. “Be so kind as to send this telegram urgently.” Turning to Inspector Sasaki, he added, “Would you give this young man the address? It was Tabata, wasn’t it?”

Sasaki complied.

The slip of paper that Detective Ueno had handed to the attendant read: ŌYA INNOCENT RELEASED TODAY AT TEN REST ASSURED.

“Now then,” Detective Ueno said to Inspector Sasaki.
“Well, since my role here is finished, I’ll take my leave.”
“However, there is something I must inform you of, so I would like to speak with you in another room if I may.”

The two entered together.

“To get straight to the point—” Detective Ueno said as soon as he took his seat. “Please have Mr. Ōya sent home at once. With his young wife being so anxious, there’s no telling what complications might arise.”

Sasaki answered with a perplexed look.

“We’ll send him home once suspicion clears, but as things stand now, that man…”

“No—the suspicion will be cleared soon. The real culprit will come here any moment now and confess everything,” Ueno interrupted Sasaki mid-sentence.

“Who exactly do you mean by the culprit other than Ōya?” retorted Sasaki with some irritation.

“As I mentioned earlier, it’s the man who returned through Shizuoka yesterday. Follow? The culprit sent a telegram addressed to the victim from Nagoya at seven o’clock and two minutes yesterday morning, stating that due to an urgent matter, he would detour via the Chūō Line to Matsumoto and return to Tokyo the following day. Had one actually detoured via the Chūō Line and stopped at Matsumoto, returning to Tokyo by yesterday would have been impossible—that stands to reason. However, according to the police doctor’s examination, the victim was subjected to the violent act yesterday while it was still light, correct? At first glance, this establishes a perfect alibi for the culprit. Yet in reality, after sending the telegram, he boarded the 7:20 train departing from Nagoya via the Tōkaidō Line and returned directly to Tokyo. He bought a newspaper in Shizuoka or Numazu or somewhere around there. That train arrives in Tokyo at four fifty-five. If he then took the train immediately, he could have reached Yamabuki-chō with time to spare while it was still light out—wouldn’t you agree? That man must have transferred to the Chūō Line at Tokyo Station, gone to Ushigome Station, left his trunk there, and then taken the city tram to Edogawabashi without a doubt. Since the crime had undoubtedly been planned in advance, it must have been carried out immediately as scheduled. After completing the crime,” Ueno continued, “the culprit thoroughly burned all letters from the letter rack in the long brazier to avoid leaving evidence. He removed only his own Nagoya telegram and Ōya’s letter stating he would visit the victim that day, placing them inside her sleeve. Of course—the telegram served as his alibi for being absent from the scene, while the letter directed suspicion toward Ōya. This will be clear once you check his fingerprints. In fact,” Ueno added, “there were traces of burned letters in the brazier.”

“I examined it thoroughly earlier.”
“Despite all that caution, the culprit’s critical blunders were leaving bloody fingerprints on the letter’s address and carelessly leaving behind the newspaper bought in Shizuoka at the scene.”

“But…”
Inspector Sasaki interjected with evident dissatisfaction at Ueno’s theory.
“If the culprit you speak of is Kimi, hasn’t that man actually gone to Matsumoto?”

“How do you know that?”

“What do you mean ‘how’? He sent a telegram from Kōfu this morning and should have arrived at Iidamachi Station by now!”

“It is true he sent a telegram from Kōfu,” Detective Ueno replied calmly.
“The fact that he arrived at Iidamachi—since I witnessed it myself—could not be more certain.”
“But that alone doesn’t prove the man went to Matsumoto or boarded the Chūō Line from Nagoya, does it?”
“That man slipped out of the victim’s house after committing the crime, then returned to Ushigome Station to retrieve his trunk.”
“He might have stopped somewhere along the way—but that’s irrelevant.”
“Now look,” he continued, pulling a travel guide from his pocket and indicating a page.
“There’s a Nagano-bound train departing Iidamachi at ten o’clock.”
“That man collected his trunk at Ushigome Station, backtracked to Iidamachi, and boarded this train.”
“This train arrives in Kōfu at 2:58 this morning.”
“He disembarked at Kōfu and later sent a telegram to Mitsuko.”
“The transmission time for that Kōfu telegram would be 4:20 AM today, correct?”
“Sending a telegram from Kōfu Station at such an hour—what other explanation could there be?”
“After waiting at the station, he returned to Tokyo on the 5:20 Iidamachi-bound train.”
“That very train is what brought him back earlier.”
“That train departs from Kōfu and doesn’t connect to Matsumoto.”

“In short—through these actions—that man attempted to doubly prove his absence from the crime scene. But boarding Train 424 departing from Kōfu was careless.”
“A glance at the travel guide would strip the facade bare.”

“Hmm,” Inspector Sasaki murmured vacantly.

“As evidence of that,”
Detective Ueno continued.
“That man went so far as to send a telegram in the middle of the night requesting that the victim come meet him, yet upon arriving at the station, he didn’t even glance around or check the waiting room—he immediately hailed a rickshaw and got in.”
“He knew full well that no one had come to meet him.”
“Both the telegram sent from Nagoya and the one from Kōfu were sent to deceive you all.”

“But why did that man kill Mitsuko?”

“That’s something we’ll need to investigate,” Ueno replied. “However, it’s possible the victim knew either his current secret or past misdeeds—he may have reached a point where he couldn’t afford to let her live.”
“I suspect he might confess to unexpected crimes beyond this case.”
“In any event, given the crime’s meticulous planning, I doubt it stems from passion.”

Not long after that, Inspector Sasaki, having been completely persuaded by Detective Ueno’s crystal-clear reasoning, escorted him to the entrance of the XXX Station.
As Detective Ueno exited the gate of XXX Station, a car carrying Kimi passed him by and entered the station grounds, but he showed no interest in such things, not even glancing its way. With his Maduros pipe clenched between his teeth, he continued on his way with his usual detached stride.

× × × ×

Having received word from Detective Ueno, Kako—who had come to the front of XXX Station to await Sanshirō’s release—spotted her future husband emerging from the station grounds as evening approached that day.
The two of them gazed at each other in speechless profundity for a time, until at last the woman broke the silence.

“I thought for sure it was you – I was so worried, so worried…”

“I thought it was you again too, Kako-chan – I’ve been sick with worry.”
“It really wasn’t you after all, Kako-chan?”

The two immediately agreed to claim Mitsuko's corpse and promptly went to buy flowers to offer at her spirit altar.