Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

Bachelor of Science Homura Sōroku was particularly fond of strolling through Tsukiji at night.

That night too, he wandered alone, drenched in the cold autumn rain, from the riverside of Akashichō toward the moat side of Shintomichō.
When he looked up at the dark rainy sky, he could see the white plaster building of Santa Maria Hospital towering high like a heavenly tower, standing out sharply against the darkness.
This area still retained the exoticism of the Meiji era, and at times he even experienced the illusion that he himself had become a figure from an old ukiyo-e print.

From a watchman's hut he passed by came the shrill strains of a traditional ballad leaking out. Though terribly distorted, it was unmistakably Sōryūsai Hizamaru's *Pilgrimage to General Nogi's Grave*. The clock’s hands appeared to have passed nine and were nearing nine-thirty. When I had been sipping tea at Café Lila earlier, the radio drama *Air Raid Funeral March* had just begun as the lead program in the eight o’clock variety broadcast.

Funeral marches, grave visits—nothing but ominous things lined up. What an insipid program the broadcasting station had concocted tonight. Yet when ominous signs multiply so conspicuously, there must surely exist some greater calamity at their source. Homura stiffened at the realization.

(—Some bloody affair must have transpired.)
(A murder—or perhaps war?)

The radio drama he'd absently listened to earlier at Café Lila while sipping tea had portrayed a future war. Tokyo's citizens cowered beneath air raid sirens; in Pacific waters, our fleet and the enemy's vied to seize some precarious tactical advantage—such was its premise.
Would war truly erupt?

Bachelor of Science Homura Sōroku reached the moat side.
A cold wind swept in from the side.
He firmly fastened his raincoat collar and turned toward the Santa Maria Hospital building.

The hospital’s grand entrance stood solemnly silent like a crematorium’s front gate, and he felt he could hear somewhere the faint breathing of an angel with a face resembling Shirley Temple’s. Beside the road stood a lone streetlamp that looked ripe for stealing, casting a yellow glow across the thoroughly soaked asphalt pavement.

That was when it happened.
A car came roaring up from behind.
Homura, afraid of being splashed with mud, nimbly pressed his body against the side of the hospital entrance.

Then, the car suddenly slowed down and came to an abrupt halt in front of the hospital entrance.
He saw.
Inside the car was a stunningly beautiful woman in Western dress, half-rising in her seat—impossible to tell whether she was a madam or a young lady.
But what a deathly pale face she had.

"Hmm... Something happened."

Homura started.
The woman wore a long dark green overcoat.
After returning the car, she seemed extremely hurried and lunged at the reception bell to press the button.

“Hello, Mrs. Urara. What brings you here at this hour?”

Suddenly, a man’s voice with a foreign accent came from deep within the building.
Looking up at that very moment, a young Westerner emerged from inside the hospital, carrying a large physician’s bag.

“Oh, John! Oh, thank goodness! I came here to see you. Something truly terrible has happened!”

“Something terrible? What do you mean by ‘terrible’?”

“When I returned home now, that person was dead. What am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, that person—that person has died? Shall I go perform an examination right away?”

“An examination, you say? Well! It’s too late for that now. That person’s head is split open like a pomegranate!”

“When you say ‘pomegranate’...”

“It’s been utterly smashed to pieces and is bright red.”
“Like a tomato crushed by a stone…”

“Oh, that’s terrible!
What on earth caused such a horrific injury?”

“Why?” The woman looked up at the foreigner’s face with an expression of disbelief.

“…How should I know something you don’t?” Her voice dropped. The foreigner known as John readjusted his grip on the briefcase that was about to slip from his arms.

“Mrs. Urara. Is it possible that that person was killed by someone?”

“Oh…” The woman gasped in shock. “Of course he must have been killed.”
“What am I supposed to do?”

John stood in silence.

Urara, looking irritated, placed her hand on his arm,

“Hey John. I’ve already made up my mind. There’s no helping it now. Now, take me and escape immediately.”

With that, she shook his arm.

John readjusted his grip on the briefcase that was about to slip again, then placed a hand on Urara’s shoulder.

“Urara, listen. Fleeing can wait until later; it won’t be too late. Instead of that, let’s go to your house. If we can manage the disposal of the body properly, that should suffice. Now, let’s get moving.”

Homura, who had been hiding behind a pillar, gasped sharply as he detected the two emerging from the entrance. Instantly, he flattened himself against the wall. The pair never noticed him and strode briskly out into the rain.

At that exact moment, the reception window opened, and a nurse peered out.

“Oh! There’s really no one here after all. That’s why I told you that stupid bell wouldn’t ring!”

2

Homura skillfully pursued the man and woman of starkly differing heights as they grew drenched in the rain.
They emerged onto the moat side but encountered no automobiles, striding steadily onward into the distance.
When they reached Shinbashi Bridge, the woman halted abruptly with a startled expression.

The woman pointed ahead.

“Oh! There’s a light on in the window.”
“But no one should be there!”

Beyond the bridge, along the moat side where they turned right, towered Dr. Takeda’s Research Institute, renowned for its artificial human research.
The woman was clearly pointing at the window of that house.

The two quickened their pace.
And having once overtaken Homura, they sped past him again along the moat side.

The two had advanced close to the gate, but upon seeing something, suddenly hurried back.
Homura was taken aback.
However, it was the two who appeared truly flustered.
The man shielded the woman behind him and swiftly withdrew to the moat side.
It became clear that the foreigner’s large hand was trembling violently beneath his long trousers while emitting a low groan.
Homura shot them a piercing glance and calmly walked past the two.
He heard two deep sighs from behind.

Homura paid no heed and approached the gate of Dr. Takeda’s Research Institute.
Atop the stone steps, the entrance door stood wide open, and beyond it, a single electric light cast a desolate glow.
However, there was no human figure.

He climbed the stone steps without hesitation.
As soon as he reached the top,
“Hey!” With a thunderous bellow，a police officer leaped out from behind the wall，his saber clanging!
He grabbed Homura by the scruff of the neck，the hat flying off forward.
“Wait a moment!”
“It’s Homura.”
“Oh—it’s Homura…”
The police officer，startled，peered into his face.“—Oh! My apologies，Mr.Homura.You caught onto this mess quickly，didn’t you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. This area’s my usual stomping grounds, you know.”

With that, he laughed.
Homura Sōroku, the Bachelor of Science, was well-known among police colleagues for working as a private detective half as a hobby.
His detective methods—grounded in academic rigor yet uniquely unconventional—were highly valued even by prosecutorial authorities, and he was often called upon to assist in difficult cases.
He was a notorious wit who knew a knack for easing the tension of junior officers growing anxious over the case.

“Hey, you. Is this some drill to catch an escaped owl or something?”

“This is no joke. The master of this house was murdered!”

“Oh, the Dr. Takeda murder case? Considering that, it’s awfully quiet around here. Has the League of Nations pulled out futons from the closet and all fallen fast asleep together?”

“Th-that’s not funny…”

Just as he spoke these words, a car engine roared grandly outside, and what Homura had sarcastically dubbed the League of Nations commissioners came piling in noisily. The faces of Prosecutor Karangane, Judge Oka Yo, Chief Investigator Ōeyama, Inspector Obihiro, and the entire contingent of officials had fully assembled.

“Oh! Mr. Homura! You’re already here? I called, but they said you were missing.”

And Prosecutor Karangane tapped his shoulder.

“Well, I thought it would be impolite to have my assistant show you gentlemen the murder scene before you were made aware of it.”

Homura returned the greeting.

“Now then, let us begin.”

Chief Investigator Ōeyama took the lead and entered the house.
Homura also followed from the very rear.

When they climbed two flights of stairs, the third floor was the doctor’s laboratory. It was a vast, open room of about thirty tsubo. Numerous instrument cabinets were lined along the walls. In one corner stood machinery akin to a small ironworks. On the opposite eastern window edge hung a thick purple curtain, and atop it sat a large bed where Dr. Takeda’s mangled corpse lay faceup.

The officials swarmed around the doctor’s corpse. It was a truly gruesome sight of death. The face had been crushed into a pulpy mess, far beyond any recognizable features. Had they not discovered a clump of white hairs at the base of the blood-matted beard—each strand stiffened crimson—it would have been nearly impossible to identify this as Dr. Takeda. Though merely forty years old, he had sported an unkempt beard born of neglect; yet curiously intermingled with its black hairs was a dense cluster of pure white strands at the chin’s tip—a distinctive trait for which he had been renowned.

Homura had only briefly peered at Dr. Takeda’s corpse and soon left the side of the huddled officials. And he once again swept his gaze around the room.

What caught his eye was the steel artificial human contained within a coffin-like box propped against the wall beside the instrument cabinets. It stood slightly taller than a human, shaped like a medieval knight clad in armor two sizes too large—an imposing figure indeed. Its strong-jawed face faced forward, with a tall nose jutting sharply ahead; below this lay a crescent-shaped mouth cavity where a megaphone was visible deep within, while its two round eyes were made from photoelectric tubes. Both ears were affixed to the sides of its head like old-fashioned radio horns, their forward-facing openings covered with black cloth.

When he approached the artificial human and watched it for a while, he noticed a low grinding sound coming from somewhere.

“Oh?”

With this thought, Homura pressed his ear against the steel-plated chest of the artificial human.
To his astonishment, the steel plate—which he had expected to feel icy cold—was unnervingly lukewarm, and beyond it he could hear a grinding noise like some small mechanism whirring.

“Ah! This artificial human is alive!”

He opened his eyes wide and looked at the artificial human anew.
It was then that he made a truly astonishing discovery.

“Ah! Blood! There’s blood all over the artificial human’s fist!”

3

At Homura’s astonished voice, the group of officials noisily gathered before the artificial human encased in the crate.

“What? Blood on it?”
“Good God, this is horrific!”

“Ah, there’s a bloodstain dripping from the crate’s bottom too.”
“Hey, all of you in front of the crate—clear out, clear out!”

At the mention of the bloodstain, the group—even on tiptoe—swiftly parted to either side.

“Look here.
“There’s one here—hmm—and there too.”
“The bloodstains trail all the way!”

“What’s this? The bloodstains trail all the way to the bed!”
“Then, —”

“So… does this mean this damn artificial human killed Dr. Takeda…?”

“Wh-what?! This artificial human is the murderer…?”

The group stood frozen in horror, warily gazing at this eerie steel monster.
The artificial human did not so much as twitch.
Yet it simultaneously appeared poised to let out a thunderous roar and leap forth from the crate at any moment.

“Surely you aren’t seriously concluding that this steel machine possesses a full-fledged soul?”

Homura interjected from the side.

“I haven’t considered that possibility, but in any case, undeniable evidence remains on this artificial human’s right fist that it may have crushed the doctor’s face.”

said the prosecutor.

“If this guy were a living human,” said Chief Investigator Ōeyama, pointing at the artificial human.

“I’d arrest this thing without hesitation, you know. But the exact opposite…”

“That’s right.”
“Therefore, we just need to prove this artificial human carried out the movements of murdering Dr. Takeda and entering this crate.”
“But whether this artificial human can actually move or not—we haven’t the faintest clue.”

“Oh, come on, Prosecutor Karangane.”
“The fact that this thing can move is undeniable.”
“Right now, inside this thing’s belly, machinery is clanking and grinding away nonstop.”
“If only someone could command this artificial human.”
“Considering the circumstances, I judge you to be the most suitable candidate—how about attempting to issue a bold command?”

Homura stretched his hand forward.

Prosecutor Karangane immediately waved his hand in front of his face.

At that moment, Chief Investigator Ōeyama stepped forward,

“If we keep wasting time on this incomprehensible machine, we’ll never get anywhere. I’d like to switch to investigating through our standard methods—how does that sound?”

“That’s a sound approach too,” agreed the prosecutor.

“In that case—first regarding the household members—Mrs. Urara-ko is not present.”
“The elderly maid called O-Mine, who reported this incident, is currently under police protection.”
“Though deaf, when Mrs. Urara returned from her outing, she came upstairs with tea and apparently glimpsed the tragedy in this very room where Mrs. Urara had entered.”

“When did Mrs. Urara return home?”

“According to the old maid’s account, she states it was slightly past eight o’clock tonight.”

“So the estimated time of Dr. Takeda’s death doesn’t differ much from that, does it? That Mrs. Urara isn’t at home now and hasn’t filed a report with the police is quite suspicious.”

The prosecutor tilted his head in puzzlement.
Homura, upon hearing this, nodded in understanding—*ah, so that was it*.

“There’s another person who frequents this house.”
“That was established through door-to-door inquiries—a man named Mazume Jōtarō, who happens to be the doctor’s nephew.”
“He was living in this house until one month ago, but now he’s moved out and resides in an apartment near Gotanda.”

“Do we have any grounds to suspect that nephew—Mazume—as well?” inquired the prosecutor.

“He served as the late Dr. Takeda’s assistant and worked in this room for a long time.”
“However, if anything, he was a slacker who was always being severely reprimanded by the doctor.”
“This too comes from the elderly maid O-Mine’s account.”
“And according to the story, the reason he came to leave the doctor’s household was that he apparently developed improper romantic feelings toward Mrs. Urara.”

“I see. We should add him to the list of suspects then.”

As he was saying this, a police officer came hurrying up from downstairs. And then, standing properly before the group, he made his announcement.

“Just now, as Mazume Jōtarō was loitering at the gate, we have apprehended him.”

“Oh, that’s perfect timing. I’d like to promptly interrogate that playboy nephew—what do you think…”

Prosecutor Karangane immediately agreed to Chief Investigator Ōeyama’s words.

4

Before long, Dr. Takeda’s nephew Jōtarō, escorted by police officers, appeared from the foot of the stairs.
He was a slim young man whose attire, though affected, was unexpectedly neat.

When Jōtarō saw his uncle’s corpse, tears welled up in his eyes. Rather than looking back and striding resolutely before the officials, he shrieked in a hysterical voice:

“Wh-who killed my kind-hearted uncle? Ah! The very thing I feared has come to pass! That’s why I didn’t feel like leaving Uncle’s place. Now, quickly arrest the culprit, please!”

Prosecutor Karangane and Chief Investigator Ōeyama exchanged a brief glance.

“Hey Jōtarō! You’re quite the actor, but we’re not fools to fall for your tricks.”

Chief Investigator Ōeyama barked.

“What performance?! If you have time to say such things, why aren’t you looking at the bigger picture? Through your negligence, an irreplaceable artificial human researcher serving our nation has now been murdered. This is a colossal loss for the country. Do you think there exists even one researcher in our land who could rival my uncle?”

Even Ōeyama was overwhelmed by this.
They had not failed to consider the necessity of protecting Dr. Takeda’s person for some time.
However, due to various shortages of personnel, despite their concerns, their failure to protect the doctor was indeed an oversight.

Seeing that Ōeyama was clearly on the back foot, Prosecutor Karangane took over and addressed Jōtarō.

“So you seem to be talking about foreign spies or something—do you know anything about that, hmm?”

“That’s precisely the sort of account I’d like to hear from you.”
“Still, even I’ve noticed certain things.”
“Take that John MacLeod—the internist at Santa Maria Hospital across the way—hasn’t he been behaving most peculiarly?”
“I examined the credit registries of his home country, yet found no ‘MacLeod’ listed among medical practitioners.”
“And what of the sharpness in that fellow’s eyes?”
“Though he carries no ruler, he must be a grandmaster of estimation—able to gauge artillery dimensions at a mere glance.”
“That such a man strolls through the imperial capital in broad daylight is utterly appalling.”

(Oh.)
(So that internist John MacLeod...) Homura thought to himself inwardly.
That must be the very man who had been accompanying Mrs. Urara at the entrance of that hospital tonight.

At this, Prosecutor Karangane glared sharply and, poking the thick stomach of Inspector Obihiro—who was snorting like a horse beside him—said:
“—John MacLeod of Santa Maria Hospital. Check his alibi for the crime scene.”

Instead of replying, Inspector Obihiro took out a notebook from his back pocket and wrote in it.

Mazume Jōtarō put a cigarette in his mouth, looking somewhat smug.

It was Chief Investigator Ōeyama who suddenly shouted, “Hey Mazume!”

“I don’t need to hear about others from you.”
“Instead of that, let’s hear your alibi for the crime scene.”
“Around eight o’clock tonight when Dr. Takeda was murdered—where the hell were you?”
“Out with it!”

“Where exactly do you claim I was? I appreciate your concern, but that won’t be of any use to you.”

Jōtarō was brimming with confidence.

“To explain in detail, I was at JOAK from seven thirty to eight fifty tonight.”

“So—the broadcasting station?”
“What were you doing there?”

“What do you mean…” He stopped answering and brought the cigarette to his mouth, taking a savoring drag.

“If you’d ask AK’s literary department, you’d understand.”
“To put it simply, the radio drama I wrote was broadcast tonight from eight o’clock for thirty minutes.”
“The performers were from PCL’s troupe, you know.”
“That’s why I was stationed at AK’s studio the entire time.”
“If you like, I can even show you the original manuscript I received and the envelope containing the production fee.”

“Ah, that ‘Air Raid Funeral March’ piece, right?”

Homura interjected from beside them.

“That’s correct.”
“Did you give it a listen?”

“Yes, I did listen to it.”
“It was quite interesting.”
“Was it Chiba Sachiko who read the narration?”

“Y-yes, that’s correct.”
“Is something wrong?”

“Well—Ms. Sachiko used an unusually grand voice tonight, didn’t she?”

“Well, that’s only natural.”
“It’s a war piece, you see.”
“It’s only natural she’d be nervous.”

The two of them set aside the case and became engrossed in discussing the radio drama.

Over here, Chief Investigator Ōeyama approached Prosecutor Karangane.

"We need to track down Mrs. Urara pronto, you know."
"That business of her coming back from outside once, leaving the dead doctor as he was, then going out again—it doesn't add up one bit."
"They ought to have phoned the police or a doctor straight away, that's what's proper."

“You—is that old caretaker left behind alright?”

“Ah~, she’s alright.”
“She’s just an old woman—what could she possibly do?”

“But you—if we determine the artificial human killed the doctor, wouldn’t investigating such a living human be utterly pointless?”

“But as long as the artificial human has no soul, this is undoubtedly the work of a living human.”

“Hmm, I want to clarify this point—I’m just not good with machines.”
“It would help if we could clearly understand how this artificial human operates.”
“Right—let’s have Homura investigate.”

“That sounds good.”

There, Homura was summoned and ordered to investigate how this artificial human operated.

“Well, even I don’t fully understand yet, but since Mr. Mazume Jōtarō was Dr. Takeda’s long-time assistant, let’s ask him.”

Homura took Mazume and went before the artificial human.
And he asked how to make it move.

“Well…”
“I don’t know about this new model of artificial human, but let’s open it up and take a look.”

With that, he took a screwdriver with practiced hands and began removing the screws from the iron panel fastened around the torso of the artificial human.
Soon, the artificial human’s inner mechanisms lay exposed.
Though termed “intestines,” these consisted of intricate machinery crammed tightly within, with red, blue, yellow, and purple wires stretched and crisscrossed endlessly throughout.
What a complex structure!
He felt as if he could clearly perceive the extent of Dr. Takeda’s brilliant intellect.
What particularly caught Homura and the others’ attention was the scene where, powered by the battery in its lower abdomen, small red and blue bulbs near the heart flickered alternately, while gears of various sizes rotated with precise grinding sounds.
Even without a soul, both the heart and lungs of this mechanical being were functioning flawlessly.

“—This here’s the amplifier, and this is the relay,” Mazume indicated the machinery with the tip of his screwdriver.

“This is the gyroscope that keeps the body upright.”
“This is the electromagnet mechanism that moves the arms.”
“This one is for the legs.”
“This one is split into two parts, left and right, you see.”
“Let’s dissect the neck area as well while we’re at it.”

Mazume, like a medical scholar, effortlessly peeled off the artificial human’s iron mask.

“Look, this is the loudspeaker that serves as its mouth.”
“Well, well—this artificial human can’t see.”
“There’s a phototube attached, but the electric wire is disconnected.”
“This is the microphone that serves as its ears.”

“Wait a moment,” Homura raised his hand.

“So to make this artificial human move, you ultimately just need to send some signal tone to this microphone here, you see.”

“Well presently, the machine’s connections are indeed configured that way.”

“Aha—that being the case, there must exist something like an artificial human control signal manual specifying what signal tones to send and how it would move. Now then, everyone. Please search this area.”

“Alright—the artificial human control signal codebook…—”

Under the officer’s direction, the detectives swarmed through the room, crawling about like treasure hunters.

“Ah! Could this be it?”

A detective found a thin notebook that had fallen into the space between the mechanical cabinet and the back wall and plucked it out.

On the cover of the notebook was written “Codebook for Robot Q-Type No. 8.”
“Hmm—Q-Type No. 8 refers to this artificial human.”
“Look, it’s painted right there on that iron frame.”

The officer peered into the codebook while tugging at it.

“Hmm—‘Stormy weather’—BEND NECK LEFTWARD.”
“Torpedo”—SHAKE NECK FORWARD-BACKWARD.
“Remarkable—dozens of codes listed here.”
“Reconnaissance”—UTTER ‘THE TIME HAS COME’.
“Glide”—BEND KNEE.
“...These activation commands for the artificial human all use brief words.”

“By this count, there appear to be forty to fifty command words.”

“Oh, this is strange.”
“I thought something felt off—a page’s been torn from the codebook.”
“Hmm, this is a major discovery.”
“Hey everyone—search for that torn codebook page!”

Under the chief’s orders, the detectives combed through the area again with meticulous care.
Yet they ultimately failed to locate it.

“It doesn’t seem to be here, sir.”

“I see.”
“Hmm, alright.”
“That settles it.”
“After all, this wasn’t a case of the artificial human having a soul—no, it was a living human who had directed this artificial human.”
“The criminal undoubtedly possesses that codebook.”

Chief Investigator Ōeyama declared resolutely.

In any case, there was no doubt that someone in this room where Dr. Takeda had been had issued a command to the artificial human.
If they could determine who that was, the case would be solved.
Now then, who could have entered this room and issued the command?

Would it be Mrs. Urara?
Would it be Mazume Jōtarō?
Or would it be Dr. John MacLeod, that suspicious foreigner?
Or would it be someone else?

Upon investigating the old maid, it was found that Dr. Takeda always allocated the time from seven to seven-thirty in the evening for dinner, and upon finishing, would take a dose of sleeping medication, crawl into bed where his corpse now lay, sleep soundly for exactly two hours until nine-thirty, then reserve energy for research continuing late into the night—a habit he maintained.

Therefore, tonight as well, during Dr. Takeda’s post-dinner slumber, someone must have crept into this room and chanted the death incantation before the artificial human. The means of the doctor’s murder had finally come into view, albeit faintly.

“Well now, who issued the command?”

The officers huddled together in earnest discussion.

“At this point, there’s no other way but to arrest everyone involved and verify their alibis.”

Ōeyama said.

At that moment, Detective Homura sat down in a corner of the room and was intently reading through the codebook over and over again.

5

On the afternoon of the following day, Detective Homura telephoned Prosecutor Karangane.

“Thank you for yesterday. How goes it—have you determined the doctor’s killer?”

“We haven’t quite reached a conclusion yet, but we’ve detained a major suspect whom Chief Investigator Ōeyama is currently interrogating.”

“Who might that be?”

“It’s Mrs. Urara.”

“What? Mrs. Urara? Did you finally arrest Mrs. Urara? Where was she?”

“Oh, she’d been hospitalized at Santa Maria Hospital. Not that she had any serious illness, mind you.”

“Then that John MacLeod isn’t under suspicion?”

“It was established that MacLeod had been at the hospital continuously from 2:00 PM until 9:30 PM.”
“That foreigner’s alibi for the crime scene is airtight.”

“I see.”
“And I suppose Mazume Jōtarō’s alibi is airtight as well?”

“That’s correct.”
“That man’s presence at the broadcasting station was proven.”
“In the end, what remains are two people: Mrs. Urara and the deaf old maid.”
“The old maid was sent on an errand to Yamate after Mrs. Urara returned from her outing, but she immediately rushed to the police.”
“There is no room for doubt that the old maid was in the house when the doctor was killed.”
“However, the old maid cannot speak.”
“If the criminal had indeed issued commands to the artificial human, then the old maid could not possibly be the perpetrator.”

“I see. So it finally comes down to Mrs. Urara’s turn, then?”
“Which came first—Mrs. Urara’s return home or the doctor’s murder?”

“Well, that isn’t clear.”
“As you know, while we can estimate the time of death from examining the body, pinning it down to a twenty- or thirty-minute window remains unclear.”
“…Anyway, Chief Investigator Ōeyama says he’s exasperated by Mrs. Urara’s obstinacy and is practically seething.”

“Somehow, I just don’t feel Mrs. Urara killed Dr. Takeda.”
“While Mrs. Urara may have been indulging in an illicit infatuation with that foreigner, Dr. Takeda was currently incapacitated—he cared only about conducting his research undisturbed, and on that point, he did nothing to obstruct his wife’s free movements.”
“I can’t imagine Mrs. Urara suddenly deciding to kill Dr. Takeda.”

“Well, well—so you’re voicing opposition too, huh?”

“Oh? So there are others who oppose this theory?”

“That’s how it is.”
“I’m one of them too.”
“I rather have doubts about John’s actions.”
“Isn’t there some way to cleverly utilize modern science so that someone could kill Dr. Takeda—who lives five or six blocks away—while remaining at Santa Maria Hospital?”
“On this point, I earnestly hope for your support.”

Homura was startled upon hearing Prosecutor Karangane’s outlandish idea.
As expected of him—the one honored among successive prosecutors with the moniker “Monster,” revered as a man of superhuman intellect—one could only be astonished by the penetrating clarity of his reasoning.
Even if that was scientifically impossible, the sharpness of his judgment felt like a blade piercing through his heart.

Detective Homura hung up the phone without a word in return.

When he considered it, the case was both deeply regrettable and utterly bizarre.
He looked at his watch.
It was exactly 2:00 PM.

He decided to go back to last night’s crime scene once more.

Around Dr. Takeda’s moat-side residence, a crowd of onlookers had swarmed, though where they’d come from was anyone’s guess.
He had to struggle to push through their jostling backs.

The security within the premises had reached an even greater level of stringency compared to the previous night.
He greeted a familiar officer and climbed steadily up to the third-floor hall.

“Well, well, aren’t you off duty yet?” Homura said to the police officer who had been present since last night.

“I’m afraid not. Since I was the first to arrive here, I’m not allowed to leave the scene. Though we do take turns going downstairs to sleep now and then. Please use your signature method to quickly identify the culprit, won’t you, Mr. Homura?”

“Heh, that’s exactly why I’ve come here—to work my signature curse. But somehow, a room where murder occurred shouldn’t suddenly look so gloomy. What in the world is this…”

As he was saying this—that moment arrived.
Suddenly, a loud voice resounded throughout the room.

“This concludes the afternoon market report. Shinbane...”
“Shinbane...” came next as narrow figures were proclaimed loudly.
It was none other than the radio’s economic market report.

“—You, trying to distract yourself from the loneliness with something like the radio’s economic market report, huh?”

The police officer, with a sullen look,

“Th-this isn’t a joke, Mr. Homura.”
“Can you really drive away ghosts with an economic market report?”
“This radio is blaring on its own.”
“It’s so noisy that I’d rather turn it off, but since the Chief ordered us to maintain everything as-is and not touch a single thing, we’ve left it exactly like that.”

“Huh?! Maintaining the status quo—so you’re saying the radio’s been left on since last night? But that’s strange… When I came here last night, the radio wasn’t on…”

“That’s correct, sir.”
“After all, you people didn’t arrive until nearly ten o’clock, you see.”
“It was after they said, ‘Everyone, have a good night’s rest,’ you see.”
“I was roused from sleep this morning by the six o’clock radio calisthenics, and ever since then, I’ve been tormented by that blaring voice from the radio, you see.”
“If you’re feeling so charitable, then please call the Chief and get them to let me twist off the radio’s switch!”

“I see. That’s a splendid idea!”

“Wait—why on earth would you call twisting the switch something so splendid?”

The police officer’s eyes widened in shock.

Homura Sōroku did not answer that. Grabbing his hat, he rushed out of the room.
The police officer watched his retreating figure,

“Ah, Mr. Homura’s a good man too, but he does seem to have gotten a bit odd around here lately.”
“Poor thing,” he muttered, pressing his index finger to his temple.

and pressed his index finger to his temple.

Then about fifteen minutes passed.

The gate of Dr. Takeda’s residence suddenly grew noisy.
When the police officer peered down from the glass window, he could see Prosecutor Karangane, Chief Investigator Ōeyama, and other dignitaries filing out of the cars.

“Well, well, another League of Nations meeting?”

The group came clomping noisily up the stairs.

“What’s wrong—where’s Homura-kun?
Hasn’t he come back from the broadcasting station yet?”

“Yes, you mentioned the broadcasting station… But I didn’t hear anything about him going there.”

“Ah, I see.”
“Well, fine.”
“Right, right.”

The group wore somehow pleased expressions as they waited for the passage of time.

Homura Sōroku reappeared about thirty minutes after that. In his right hand, he was carefully holding what appeared to be a pamphlet bound with straw paper.

“Ah, everyone, my apologies for keeping you waiting.”
“I finally managed to find just part of it.”
“I got the one that was in the literary club president’s document basket.”

With that, he raised the pamphlet up to eye level.

The group stood frozen in stunned silence.

“—Now then, is everyone ready?”
“I’ll read the cover page now.”
“November 11th, AK First Broadcasting, from 8:00 PM to 8:30 PM: Radio Drama *Air Raid Funeral March*—Original Work and Direction by Mazume Jōtarō.”
“This was a nationwide broadcast.”

With that, he flipped a page of the pamphlet.

“Now, we’re finally about to begin the experiment. Everyone, please gather over here.”
“And on the bed where Dr. Takeda’s body was found, someone please place an overcoat and a hat.”

Prosecutor Karangane’s overcoat and Chief Investigator Ōeyama’s regulation cap were arranged side by side on the white cloth-covered empty bed.
Needless to say, they were positioned exactly where Dr. Takeda’s body had lain.
The group, wondering what would happen next, held their breath and fixed their eyes on Homura’s every move.

“Now then—I will now read the radio drama script.”
“No matter what happens, please do not be alarmed.”

With that declaration, he planted himself in the center of the room and began reading aloud in a booming voice. As they watched, it appeared he was reading it aloud to the artificial human in the crate. However, the steel-clad automaton didn’t so much as twitch.

Homura Sōroku read each word and phrase clearly, interspersed with gestures. He had apparently participated in script-reading sessions in the past and was quite skilled at it.

The group fell silent, utterly engrossed in the passage where Tokyo came under attack by an enemy nation’s bomber squadron.
Then Act One and Act Two concluded, and Act Three began.
It was the scene of a decisive naval battle between the two nations’ fleets on the Pacific Ocean.

“The decisive battle approaches on the Pacific—!” Homura proclaimed in a booming voice.

“The west wind suddenly grows stronger—”

he read the narration.
This was the part that Chiba Sachiko had read with such theatrical flair the previous night.

“......The sea surface gradually grew turbulent.”

A gasp erupted from the group.

“Oh no!”
“The artificial human has started moving!”

“Move aside over here!”

Clang, clang—emitting metallic clangs, the artificial human took a single step out from the crate.
It was as though a soul had been placed inside it.

Homura continued reading with a pale face.

“The artillery fire had increasingly intensified—”

At the words “artillery fire,” the artificial human swayed unsteadily, took three steps forward, and finally emerged into the center of the room.
The group fell silent and pressed their bodies tightly together in a corner.

“As if ink had been sprayed, gun smoke crawled and began spreading across the waves.”

Nothing moved.

"Heavy oil sputters and burns, spreading relentlessly."

At "heavy oil"—the artificial human spun sharply to the left.

“Shells also explode.
Bombs too, poison gas too…”

At "bomb"—the artificial human darted forward and came to an abrupt halt right before Dr. Takeda’s bed.
On the faces of everyone watching this, vivid terror rose unmistakably.

“……Raising a terrifying roar, they fell incessantly upon the enemy.
A stray artillery shell sent towering water columns surging high into the air.
“The smokescreen was indistinct…”

Aaaah!

The group screamed.
At “smokescreen,” the artificial human raised its thick steel right arm and struck the bed with a heave-ho.
Chief Investigator Ōeyama’s regulation cap was instantly crumpled into a mess, its bottom falling out!

Homura continued reading calmly.
When the three phrases—“gale-force winds,” “raging waves,” and “capsizing”—were spoken, the artificial human undertook distinct new movements. Finally, upon hearing “sinking,” it retreated fully back into its crate as before.

Haah...

The group unintentionally released a large, perfectly synchronized sigh.

“...Homura-kun, thank you.”
“Your experiment was a great success.”

Prosecutor Karangane said as if waking from a dream.

“No—the terrifying one is Mazume Jōtarō.”
“He timed the doctor’s deep sleep period and made the artificial human commit the murder this way.”
“He wrote his own radio drama that skillfully wove in coded phrases for controlling the artificial human, then used radio broadcasts to issue commands.”
“What a brilliant scheme!”
“But even this was only something I could uncover because you gave me that hint over the phone today, Prosecutor Karangane.”
“You really are a master among masters.”
“Oh no—this is far beyond what someone like me could achieve.”

And Homura expressed his heartfelt respect with complete sincerity.

The reason Mazume Jōtarō killed his uncle was not only to fulfill his illicit infatuation with Mrs. Urara but also intended to freely utilize the doctor's assets.
It had become clear through interrogation that he had, in fact, failed in stock investments and was burdened with debts exceeding ten thousand yen to certain parties.

Mrs. Urara left Tokyo a year later.
No one knew her exact whereabouts, but it is said that around that same time, the young Dr. MacLeod of Santa Maria Hospital also resigned from his position there and set off for his home country.

The artificial human in question was confined to an undisclosed location after the incident and, according to rumor, has not seen the light of day since; however, no one will reveal where this confinement is located.