Pathway to Japanese Literature

Where Is Charlie?

1

It was July 1st.

It was early summer in the eastern United States.
With the Fourth of July just around the corner, the city of Philadelphia was already gasping under an assault of scorching heat.

Bureaucratically, summer officially began uniformly across America starting with this Independence Day.
Men began donning straw hats as if by prior agreement, and women transformed into white summer attire overnight.
It was, so to speak, one of the enjoyable annual customs in American life—the season of changing attire.

In this first-class residential district of Philadelphia, a prominent businessman named Mr. Ross resided in a grand mansion as imposing as a palace.

At this very time, Mrs.Ross had already retreated to a country villa to escape the approaching summer heat, but on that fateful evening when Mr.Ross returned from his company in the city center, the young nursemaid assigned to their two beloved sons stood at the entranceway, waiting for her master's return while weeping.

She was in a state of terrible panic.
When he inquired, it turned out their two sons had vanished since afternoon and couldn’t be found anywhere inside or outside the mansion.
The two boys were Walter, the elder at seven years old, and his younger brother Charlie, three—both adorable children who were the apple of Mr. and Mrs. Ross’s eyes.
The brothers got along well and were always hopping around playing together.

At first, Mr.Ross—considering how the nursemaid was panicking out of a sense of responsibility—took this news lightly and dismissed it nonchalantly.

“Well, they’re just children—probably got carried away playing and wandered off somewhere far.
“Might’ve gotten lost, but nothing serious.
“If they don’t come back soon, we’ll have the police search for them.
“Once we do that, they’ll be found straightaway.”

In fact, it was Mr.Ross who now adopted tones meant to comfort the nursemaid.

Yet none—not even Mr.Ross himself—could have suspected that this refreshing early summer evening marked merely the opening thread of a novelistic tragedy unparalleled in criminal annals, one poised to unravel at breakneck speed.
Yet there exists no factual narrative as rich in bizarre singularity as that of this three-year-old beloved son Charlie Ross who suddenly vanished from the Philadelphia mansion of wealthy Mr.Ross, nor any sequence of dramatic scenes unfolded as its prelude.

I now wish to set aside all literary techniques and attempt to detail every particular of it here.

As dusk fell without their return, even Mr.Ross began showing signs of panic.
He immediately phoned the local police station to request a search for both children while dispatching messengers to inquire at acquaintances' homes and neighboring residences.
After all, these were a seven-year-old and three-year-old.
They had no business visiting anyone independently, and even if they'd wandered off playing, no household would keep them past sunset without notifying Mr.Ross.
Given it was dinner time by any measure, any host would have sent them home escorted by a servant.
Thus Mr.Ross's personal investigation concluded utterly fruitless, exactly as he'd initially expected.
The boys hadn't visited any house.
Yet when this truth finally crystallized, Mr.Ross began his first genuine bout of alarm.

Meanwhile, the local police station that had received Mr. Ross's call promptly issued an emergency alert to officers scattered throughout their jurisdiction to watch for any sign of the Ross brothers. However, whether due to some sixth sense or not, the police chief felt vaguely uneasy with just these measures and immediately notified the central station to request assistance and command.
This might have been merely an excess of caution due to the client being Mr. Ross—a prominent figure in business and municipal government—but this police chief’s measure, being highly opportune, went on to enjoy widespread public acclaim for years to come.
The Central Station, given that the other party was Mr. Ross, also immediately commenced operations.
Like something out of a movie, unarmed officers in high-collared uniforms adorned with silver-plated badges on their chests swung batons, chewed gum, and scattered in all directions.
Plainclothes officers also joined in.
In an instant, telephone bells rang out across all substations in the city, and an imposing investigative net was swiftly deployed over early evening Philadelphia.
When considering American police officers, there exists a tendency to conceptualize them solely as comedic figures in unremarkable roles—constantly getting their backsides kicked by Charlie Chaplin or slipping on banana peels when angrily giving chase. Yet despite this perception, perhaps due to their numbers including many thick-nerved Irishmen by birth, they demonstrate remarkably impressive performance when the moment demands it.
Especially when dealing with unforeseen incidents requiring such communication drills, a fully established system exists to enable orderly action through instant notification.
Moreover, being well-liked by citizens in ordinary times, whenever something occurs, everyone spares no effort in providing valuable information and assistance.
This is quite different from how things are in Japan.
And there’s another thing—this isn’t something to be said too loudly—but even during incidents like the Ross brothers case, given that Mr. Ross was a renowned wealthy man and by no means stingy, it was certain that any police officer who found the child would receive a generous reward from Mr. Ross’s pocket.
Thereupon, with each officer earnestly believing themselves destined for this fortune, hundreds of them scoured about with feverish intensity for the child who was a golden goose—searching as if on a treasure hunt.
Strange as it may sound, this kind of monetary transaction is regarded as a natural expression of gratitude in America, with neither those giving nor receiving feeling any particular qualms.
Thus, with the fervor of personal interest added to public duty, efficiency may unexpectedly increase—in this regard, it differs greatly from Japan.
In Japan, while there may be Diet members and high-ranking officials who spend large sums to buy medals or sell them for profit, there are likely no police officers who pocket even a small amount of personal gratitude in the form of gold or silver.
If such a thing existed, it would be disastrous.

But this is a digression.

Time passed—nine o'clock, ten, eleven—yet even then, neither the police nor Mr.Ross himself had ever conceived of this incident as possessing such fateful significance, despite their mounting concern.
Walter and Charlie had merely lost their way home and become missing children—they would surely be discovered in some back alley sooner or later and safely escorted back.
Mr.Ross interpreted matters this simplistically and, even amid his unease, maintained unshaken optimism at his core.
Humans are creatures who wish to believe all matters—until the bitter end—only in what vaguely favors themselves, no matter the circumstances.
This narrative acutely embodies the prevailing sentiments of that period.

Soon, midnight.
At the Ross residence, which had descended into complete uproar, the telephone bell now rang piercingly.

It was from the police.

“We’ve found Walter. He was crying on a rural road eight miles outside the city. We have a strange story to tell. We’ll send him to your home immediately, but Charlie remains missing at this time.”

Walter was the seven-year-old elder child, and his younger brother Charlie was three.
Though he was three by Western reckoning, this would equate to four or five years old under the traditional Japanese counting system.
Walter would have been eight or nine years old, but in any case, of the brothers who had gone out together, only Walter had been found—and Charlie?
“No trace of Charlie, so far!” shouted an excited voice before the police call disconnected.

Eight miles outside the city—a rural road, a strange story—it was there that Mr.Ross first saw the incident in a completely different light.
And he was struck squarely in the chest by that unmistakably ominous premonition.

Walter had returned.
However, his account was straightforward.
Around three in the afternoon, when he and Charlie were playing in front of the house, two men passing by in a small horse-drawn carriage had invited them, saying they would take them somewhere interesting if they rode along.
Boys of that age become enthralled by any sort of vehicle.
Though their home possessed a fine automobile, they had grown bored with cars.
Instead, they must have felt an irresistible childish allure toward that grimy carriage.
The young brothers laughed innocently as they vied to clamber into the carriage.
The carriage began moving.
It began speeding away as if fleeing.
The sights of the streets must have seemed wondrously strange to children raised in sheltered comfort.
At first, the two had clapped their hands in delight, but when they passed beyond the city limits onto a desolate country road—whether some childish intuition suddenly stirred unease—Walter began crying out at the top of his voice.
Then, seemingly fearing they might attract attention, the two men held a hurried consultation before stopping the carriage and setting only Walter down on the grassy roadside.
And with Charlie—still smiling without trace of fear or worry—remaining aboard, the carriage disappeared down a distant straight road with a sharp crack of the whip.

Thus were the brothers parted.

The nature of the incident had undergone a complete transformation.
It was no longer some carefree affair of hoping to find a wealthy man's missing child and claim a reward.
New orders raced across the entire city, and police officers tensed in unison.
Frantic telephone calls and telegrams rippled through the midnight air as a security perimeter was immediately established across sixty miles around Philadelphia's outskirts.
Detectives were assigned to surveil all individuals with prior kidnapping convictions.
Without delay, police units stormed criminal dens within and beyond the city limits—places they'd long kept under watchful eyes.
Yet despite full mobilization and relentless efforts from the night of July 1st through the following days, none of these official measures yielded results.
Neither the two men from the carriage nor Charlie showed even a shadow of themselves—as though swallowed whole by the earth itself.

Under these circumstances, Mr.Ross had no choice but to rely on the police and pray to God. During that time, Mr.Ross's state of mind was indeed as if he were eating his own living heart—a perfect metaphor for his torment. The golf-honed Mr.Ross had become nearly unrecognizable, his eyes sunken and cheeks hollowed from sleeplessness. He remained rooted by the telephone day and night in the same suit he had worn to the office that morning, never removing his tie as he awaited good news. Yet even then, a sliver of hope still lingered in some corner of Mr.Ross's mind. Or rather, he had believed without question in Charlie's safety and eventual return home—never allowing himself to doubt it. Now that it was clearly the kidnappers' work, their true objective being money went without saying. In that case, as long as he didn't begrudge paying, there was no need for commotion—no reason to act rashly. If money could resolve this, it would be easily manageable. Mr.Ross considered this logic. Until payment was made, since Charlie represented valuable leverage, the kidnappers likely wouldn't harm him anyway. After all, killing such a precious child would defeat their entire purpose. And so Mr.Ross forced himself to cling to this precarious sense of security—repeating that no immediate danger threatened his beloved child—though it offered no real comfort.

Eventually, the kidnappers would surely reach out through some means.
Once that happened, all that would remain was negotiating the ransom amount and the location and method of the exchange.
In other words, it became a transaction.
To his wife, who had rushed back from their summer retreat upon receiving the urgent news, Mr.Ross spoke these words of comfort and waited intently for the kidnappers' first communication.

2

But waiting any longer was futile.
And so, Mr. Ross took the initiative to contact the kidnappers through newspaper advertisements.
The July 3rd issues of all Philadelphia-published newspapers prominently carried this missing person advertisement placed by Mr. Ross.
Needless to say, the advertisement's format remained strictly addressed to the general public, deliberately limiting itself to a simple statement: "A substantial monetary reward will be given to those who provide information leading to Charlie's discovery or current whereabouts" [Note: The character 斎 with 小 replaced by 貝], while taking utmost care not to alert the criminals.

Then came an unforeseen complication.
The logic was airtight—anyone responding to the advertisement with claims like “Charlie’s at my house” or “I know his hiding place” would inevitably be either the kidnapper or their agent.
Yet this amounted to publicly confessing guilt; no criminal with half a brain would take such suicidal action.
To draw out the hidden perpetrators, Mr.Ross needed above all to guarantee their immunity from arrest—a safeguard the police flatly refused to provide.

The police’s argument was not without merit.

“Indeed, Mr. Ross probably only cares about getting his child back.”
“To that end, he would not hesitate to pay a large sum of money.”
“Mr. Ross has money.”
“In fact, he’s even declared he’d relinquish his entire fortune—but permitting such an act would amount to paying kidnappers a bounty. It’s equivalent to endorsing this criminal category. We cannot allow transactions of this nature to unfold under our watch as a matter of legal principle.”
“The very notion that we wouldn’t lift a finger against them if they just hand over the child in exchange for money is utterly unthinkable.”
“If such a thing were permitted, it would be anarchy.”
“To ignore and mock our very existence—there is no greater insult than this.”
“As long as we draw breath, we will absolutely never—”

Since they were Westerners, they had altered the expression from "while our eyes are black" to "while our eyes are blue."
とにかく敦圉いた。

Indeed, that was precisely the case.

Mr. Ross would be satisfied as long as he could retrieve Charlie unharmed.
For that purpose, he was prepared to pay any amount.
Yet from the police's perspective—while concerned for the child—their paramount aim remained apprehending the criminals.
There an irreconcilable divide had emerged between Mr.Ross's objectives and those of law enforcement.
This fundamental schism—inherent to such cases—ultimately proved the true catalyst for irreversible tragedy.
Some might scoff at this analysis: Why not dangle an arrest immunity guarantee to lure them out, then capture both kidnappers and child when they surface?
Any rational mind would propose this straightforward solution.
Simple enough in theory.
Both Mr.Ross and investigators had long considered such decoy tactics, but faced adversaries too shrewd for elementary ploys.
Professional kidnappers knew every trick; no matter how artfully authorities laid their traps, these men remained vigilant as stags scenting water beyond ridges—hyper-alert to danger's faintest tremor, evading snares through primal instinct honed by survival.

However, to the newspaper advertisement that had been placed without much expectation, there was an unexpectedly swift response. It was published on the 3rd, and the response came on the 4th.

The first letter from the kidnappers was delivered by post to the Ross residence.

Since it was rather amusing，the original text was presented here first.

Mr.Ross ―― Be not uneasy.Your son Charlie will be allwrite. Weas got him, and no power onearth can deliver him out of our hands. You will have topayus beforeyougit himfrom us, and paya big sum, too. If anyapproach is maid tohis hidin plaicethat is the signal for his anihilation.

It was a real literary masterpiece.
There was no need for translation, but to outline its contents: "Your son Charlie is with us, so rest assured.
But no power on earth can take this child from our hands.
If you want the child, you must pay the money first.
And that sum must be substantial.
If any attempt is made to approach his hiding place, that will immediately become the signal for Charlie's annihilation."

It was scrawled on the back of a sugar wrapper.
It had neither the sender’s address nor any signature.
But Mr. Ross, rejoicing as if Charlie had already returned home, attempted to subtly convey through a newspaper advertisement his intention to immediately agree to pay the ransom and proceed to more advanced negotiations.
Since he didn’t know the kidnappers’ whereabouts, Mr. Ross had no alternative but to convey his intentions through newspaper advertisements.
Then, at this point, the police intervened and strictly prohibited publishing a response to that letter in newspaper advertisements.

This was precisely where an extremely delicate problem arose.
The kidnappers were desperate to exchange the child for money as soon as possible.
In other words, they were trying to sell Charlie back to Mr.Ross at a substantial price.
Mr.Ross was prepared to buy him back at any price without hesitation.
So to speak, Mr.Ross and the kidnappers had aligned interests—if Mr.Ross would only bear the financial loss, Charlie would be fully returned to his hands—but the police, for their part, had considerations of institutional prestige and alternative priorities.
"If such a thing were permitted," they argued, "it would be tantamount to surrender—virtually encouraging criminal activity."
Having thus vehemently criticized Mr.Ross’s wavering resolve, this police interference now obstructed both parties—preventing the kidnappers carrying Charlie from reaching Mr.Ross, while for Mr.Ross himself, who sought to bypass the police and negotiate directly with the criminals, round-the-clock surveillance by plainclothes detectives had come to bear with quiet persistence.
From the police’s perspective, this was undoubtedly an unavoidable course of action.
However, if one were to put oneself in Mr.Ross’s position, retrieving Charlie would take precedence above all else.
In accordance with this necessity, why did the police not initially feign ignorance—turning a blind eye to allow completion of the child’s custody transfer and monetary transaction between kidnappers and Mr.Ross—and only then advance their investigative steps anew toward apprehending the criminals?
Wouldn’t this approach have actually been more advantageous for freshly tracking the criminals’ trail?
But even brief consideration suggested the money’s identifiers and intended uses should have provided substantial new clues.
After all, as long as they held the child, the advantage remained theirs.
Wouldn’t it have been wisest at this juncture to first comply fully with their demands to free the child from their grasp, then shift to independent police action?
This entire case was akin to a rabid wild dog seizing some fragile treasure and fleeing into a garden.
It mirrored attempts to cleverly deceive and retrieve it—to the treasure’s owner, whether the dog got caught or escaped mattered little.
Rather than that, one had to take the item before the dog damaged it, naturally using flattery like "Good dog" while offering meat as exchange before cautiously approaching.
In this situation, the first imperative was avoiding actions that might anger or startle the dog.
To us it was a treasure; to the dog it meant nothing.
Having already become a burden, it might be torn apart at any whim.

What if, just as they watched anxiously, a third party with little direct stake in the precious item appeared and suddenly began chasing the dog?
This third party had only meant to seize both dog and item together—never intending to disregard the item’s safety—yet in outcome, their actions amounted to neglecting its preservation, earning them the owner’s resentment rather than gratitude.
For startled or enraged, the dog would surely maul that valuable item and escape besides.
The Ross case mirrored this exactly.
They should have first used meat or some lure to make the dog release its prize before attempting capture.
Even if accused of prioritizing regulations and prestige over prudence, the police could offer no rebuttal.

However, the police had established concrete prospects of making arrests.
Therefore, as if declaring "Just leave it to us," they maintained an unyielding stance.
Thus, as Mr. Ross and the police increasingly diverged in their approaches, the police suddenly shifted to aggressive action.

Without warning, they placed a newspaper advertisement under police authority offering $25,000 payable immediately upon notification to anyone providing critical information leading to Charlie Ross's discovery and the kidnappers' capture—a truly bold, direct challenge to the criminals.

This proved disastrous.
This single newspaper advertisement was.

The Philadelphia police are still being blamed for this.
And it is no wonder that they are still being blamed.

Even an amateur could understand.
This was tantamount to startling the criminals into heightened vigilance, making those violent men even more violent—effectively telling them, “If you want to flee, do it now; the child means nothing.”
But from the police’s perspective, this stance must have been correct.
Given their position, they could not capitulate from the start like Mr. Ross.
“Give back the child.”
“I’ll give you all the money you demand.”
“Moreover, the police will absolutely not interfere.”
“The so-called ‘no questions asked’ approach is not permitted by law.”
This corresponds to what legal scholars call compounding a felony—the purchasing of stolen goods or pardoning criminals under conditions of restitution—and constitutes a clear illegal act that violates criminal law principles in modern civilized nations.
That may be so.
But ultimately, logic remains logic.
In reality, didn’t this police advertisement ultimately lead to that unforeseen outcome?
Not only up to today regarding this case, but for as long as Earth endures, the Philadelphia police authorities remain unable to redeem themselves.

Then, how did this advertisement contribute to fatefully altering the course of the case?
It was like this:

Indeed, startled by this, the kidnappers appeared to have retreated deeper into hiding, and for some time thereafter, there was no communication whatsoever—neither to Mr. Ross nor to the police.
Then, on July 24th, the second letter from the kidnappers arrived for Mr. Ross.
In the same handwriting as the previous correspondence,

“While Charlie remains in our hands, we won’t be the least bit surprised even if detectives across America raise a huge commotion.”
“The police have placed a hefty bounty on Charlie’s discovery and our heads.”
“But don’t you think this is truly dangerous for Charlie’s safety?”
“If the police had possessed the same heart toward Charlie as you, his father, they likely would not have dared such folly.”
“The $25,000 bounty is essentially placed upon your son Charlie’s head; we trust you will duly recognize that this clearly presupposes Charlie’s sacrifice.”

The letter read roughly along these lines.
And then, all communication abruptly ceased entirely.
How great the Ross couple’s anguish was goes without saying.

America was a country that loved any sensational incident.
By this time, the entire nation had boiled over into uproar, with sympathy raining down upon the Ross couple.
Like drowning people, they must have wanted to clutch at any straw.
A photograph of adorable Charlie wearing a sailor suit with neatly parted hair was published daily in American newspapers as a potential lead for his discovery, moving parents across the nation to tears.
The image crossed the sea and appeared in British and continental newspapers captioned "Missing Person."
This followed rumors—according to one theory—that the kidnappers had taken Charlie to Europe.
Parents of children the same age refused to see it as someone else’s problem.
From those who had previously paid little attention suddenly doting on their children, to panicking at every momentary disappearance; from mothers weeping while clutching rediscovered toddlers in backyards, to fathers urgently lecturing about stranger danger—three- and four-year-olds across America became pampered royalty overnight.
Tragicomedies fermented everywhere.

Amidst this uproar, in pragmatic America where everything was practical, a single mysterious episode—utterly uncharacteristic of America—arose.
One evening, Mrs. Ross had a dream.

The next day, via a telephone call from the Ross residence, Detective Chief Walling immediately came on assignment from the New York Police Headquarters—the investigative headquarters for the case having been transferred there at this time.

As soon as they sat facing each other in the parlor, Mrs. Ross spoke.

“I hesitated considerably, thinking you would surely laugh at me, but as it weighed so heavily on my mind, I resolved to ask you to come—the truth is, I had a dream.”

“Ah, a dream—”
Detective Chief Walling made a slightly odd face but refrained from laughing.
“So, what kind of dream was it?
I will hear it.”

He could not bring himself to laugh, if only out of consideration for the grieving wife before him. After hesitating briefly, the wife began her account of the dream.

"It was a dream about Charlie."
"I saw it clearly—a place that was like a marsh, like a river, somewhere with water after all."
"A boat is floating among the reeds."
"At the bottom of that boat—"

A shock akin to terror flashed across the Detective Chief’s face.

“What did you say? Water? Boat?”
“Yes. At the bottom of that boat lay an emaciated Charlie, his limbs bound and collapsed there. He looked at me, calling ‘Mama, Mama’ in a thin voice while crying endlessly. ‘Charlie!’ As I called out and tried to run toward him, I startled myself awake with my own voice. But it was such a vivid dream—I even remember the reed leaves swaying in the wind—Oh! What’s the matter?”

It was only natural that Mrs. Ross was astonished.
Detective Chief Walling, without hearing her out, stood up abruptly, gripping his hat.

3

“Ma’am!”

The Detective Chief was extremely agitated, his face pale.
“There are such strange things in this world, aren’t there?”
“There are things so uncannily strange it sends shivers down your spine.”
“That dream only further confirms the conviction we currently hold.”
“In fact, we have already identified the kidnappers’ names.”
“We have substantial credible evidence suggesting that Mosher and Douglas are notorious river pirates—or rather, your account now virtually confirms it.”
“Charlie must certainly be adrift somewhere not too far away—near a river with reeds—exactly as in your dream, placed aboard Mosher and Douglas’s boat.”
“It’s all right now—we have it under control.”
“Please rest assured.”

Mr. Walling, filled with confidence and ready to make immediate arrangements, left the Ross residence with brisk determination.

In fact, two days prior, the Detective Chief had obtained critical intelligence from a reliable informant about two men resembling Mosher and Douglas—accompanied by a young child—stealthily drifting through marshlands adjoining a coastal inlet near Baltimore in a boat.
Indeed, by this time already, a major force of expert detectives had been fully deployed across that region.
Yet the Detective Chief—his expectations amplified by Mrs. Ross’s dream—immediately upon returning to headquarters dispatched wave after wave of additional officers to eliminate any oversights.
An extensive security perimeter was thrown across the wetlands bordering Baltimore City.
The arrest might depend on a day—no, an hour—no, this very instant. Both Police Headquarters and the Ross estate remained on tenterhooks awaiting triumphant news, gripped by feverish anticipation.

The one who commanded this massive cordon was Inspector Hedin, Mr. Walling’s colleague.
Two days later, one of his subordinates indeed picked up Mosher and Douglas’s recent trail. The two men—now thoroughly cornered and rendered helpless—had resorted to a desperate measure the previous night: boldly raiding a moored riverboat, threatening its watchman at gunpoint, and making off with provisions.
And upon hearing that they had specifically taken along a bottle of milk they had made someone warm, the search party finally breathed a sigh of relief, their suspicions confirmed.
From this, it was clear that Charlie was still alive and with them.
Moreover, it also became clear how desperately the two criminals were struggling for food.
The search party grew even more tense and steadily tightened their dragnet.
However, the terrain was simply too treacherous.
Hidden throughout were mud swamps and stagnant pools behind dams, providing Mosher and Douglas—who knew the terrain—with perfect hiding places.
Moreover, their side had an excessive number of people—youth groups coming to assist and curious onlookers—so even the mere rustling of their movements would allow those ahead to swiftly catch wind of the noise and escape.
It could indeed be said to have been a desperate and bizarre game of tag spread across a fairly wide area.

First, they never stayed in the same inlet for two consecutive nights.
Therefore—though this was only discovered later—the manhunters had passed right by their prey two or three times in the darkness without ever noticing.
But finally, one police officer who had moved apart from the others and was parting reeds as tall as a man happened to discover an old boat hidden among the thickets of weeds on the water's surface.
The child was nowhere to be seen—perhaps put to sleep.
Two bearded men stared back at the police officer from the boat with beast-like eyes.
It was evening.
They opened fire on each other simultaneously.

But by the time people nearby heard the sound and rushed to the scene, the reeds had already swallowed up the boat.
It was all over in the blink of an eye.
The group immediately waded into water up to their chests to begin pursuit, but the boat had already vanished into the approaching evening haze and rising mist, leaving neither shadow nor form.

However, this incident appears to have struck terror into Mosher and Douglas.
They had finally sensed the danger and appeared to have fled ashore in panic that very night.
Having brilliantly breached the police cordon that had been solely focused on the water’s edge, they vanished into the blackness without a trace.
They had probably taken Charlie with them.

At dawn, part of the search party came upon an empty, abandoned boat on the bank of a stream four miles from where they had discovered evidence the previous night. Beside that boat floated a toy boat secured with strong thread to prevent drifting. Though called a toy, it was actually a small canoe—clumsily carved from a tree trunk using only a knife into a crude boat shape resembling primitive handicrafts. It became evident one of the criminals had painstakingly crafted this for Charlie after days of turmoil. One could almost see Charlie playing joyfully with the little vessel floating in water. The group couldn’t help forming fresh, tearful smiles upon finding this endearing “clue”.

He was the beloved child of a wealthy family—one that could have any number of expensive, exquisitely crafted toys at home.
He had been kidnapped to live in a roofless boat, exposed to wind and rain for months, playing alone with this object as his only toy.
It’s said that when they saw Charlie’s boat, all the officers who had children found their eyes growing moist.
Only natural, one supposes.
What proved more intriguing was how the kidnappers seemed to have developed affection for Charlie during their time together.
They were human after all—hardly surprising—but one could imagine how greatly the two men must have struggled, saddled with caring for such a high-maintenance child.
These being men unlikely to have families of their own, childcare experience must have been as alien to them as life on Mars. Yet picturing the scene—these ruffians exchanging baffled looks when faced with unstoppable crying—brought a strangely human amusement.
Then one of them—or perhaps both working together—like proper fathers might while sunbathing in the boat, crafted this toy boat for Charlie: “Hey now, Charlie-boy!
“Don’t go breakin’ it, ya hear?” they declared with mock solemnity as they presented it.
It seemed perfectly natural to imagine Charlie—who’d likely fully embraced being “Charlie-boy” by now—responding with something like “Yeah, ain’t gonna break it.”

Meanwhile, to Mr. Ross in Philadelphia, threatening letters from the kidnappers—each one intensifying their menace—continued to arrive without pause.
The ransom had been bid up to fifty thousand dollars.
They would not grant another day’s delay.
If he did not pay the amount immediately, they threatened to burn Charlie’s eyes with sulfuric acid.

Thus, it was at this moment that the anguish of Mr. and Mrs. Ross and the nationwide uproar reached their peak.
Through a mere trifle, Mosher and Douglas—who had been so tenacious until then—were brought to light, and the case was abruptly resolved, at least on the surface.

Over five months had passed since Charlie was kidnapped.

In the dead of night on December 14th, a pair of burglars attempting to break into the Van Brunt residence in Bay Ridge were discovered by the household butler who had risen upon hearing noises.
They hadn’t yet entered but were cutting through a windowpane.
Fortunately, this house had many able-bodied men.
Mr. Van Brunt, his son, along with the driver, cook, and servants—each brandishing pistols—confronted the burglars.
The police officer arrived with uncharacteristic swiftness.
The burglars began fierce resistance.
A gunfight erupted across the vast grassy lawn.
Household members fired from windows while police flanked through fence gaps; the burglars crawled insect-like through shrubs as they returned fire against attackers inside and out.
But suddenly one was struck by a bullet and let out a terrible groan.
Then his companion collapsed into grass.
The first man appeared mortally wounded, his groans fading.
The other injured man strained to announce surrender.
People ceased fire yet stayed wary of ambush as they advanced toward the voice.

They lay some distance apart, fallen separately.
One man lay dead beneath a mulberry tree, his occiput completely blown away by a bullet that had entered through his forehead.
It was an instantaneous death.
There was nothing to be done.

The other man appeared gravely wounded yet still breathing, painfully demanding brandy.
He seemed to have something to say.
They promptly procured brandy and poured it into his mouth.

The man, fully conscious of the theatrical importance inherent in occupying center stage for his final act, began affectatingly uttering strange words despite teetering on death's edge.

“Everyone, allow me to confess,” he said. “I am Joe Douglas—the one who kidnapped Charlie Ross and stirred up all this commotion.”
“We did it together—my partner and I.”
“That partner of mine—Bill Mosher—he’s lying around here somewhere, right?”
“Is he badly hurt?”

Startled by this momentous confession, the attending police officers hurriedly began their interrogation while he was still breathing.

“Just tell us anything,” they demanded.
“Where is Charlie?”
“Hurry up and say it.”

“We thought he was the Vanderbilt boy when we took him—”

“What did you do after stealing him?”
“Where is he now?”

“Charlie-boy?”
“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Don’t lie!”

“I really don’t know.”
“If it’s about Charlie-boy’s whereabouts, that bastard Mosher knows.”

That Mosher was already dead.
The stunned group surrounded Douglas even more tightly, pressing in on him.
Upon hearing that Mosher had died instantly, the mortally wounded Douglas tried to prop himself up on his elbows.
To dispel Douglas’s doubts, they had to drag Mosher’s corpse over to show him.
Then slumping over, Douglas said.

“It’s no use—”

“What do you mean ‘no use’?”

“Charlie-boy’ll never be found—and I’m at death’s door.”
“Ain’t lying.”
“After we snatched him and kept runnin’, Charlie-boy here got stuck to Mosher like glue—and that bastard Mosher, actin’ all soft for once, started treatin’ the kid like his own flesh and blood, pamperin’ him rotten. Then he up and hid the brat even from me, tryin’ to hog him all to himself.”
“Burned me up too, but since this whole scheme was Mosher’s brainchild from jump, I just had to suck it up—rubbed my chest and took it.”
“That’s how come—lately, only Mosher knew where Charlie was stashed.”
“Now that Mosher’s bought it—no hope.”
“Feel bad for the folks, but Charlie ain’t never gettin’ found—.”

Detective Chief Walling, who recognized the faces of the two men who had rushed from New York, identified the two corpses at a glance as Mosher and Douglas.
It was hopeless.
The case was neatly resolved as a case.

But where is Charlie?

The fateful bullet that shattered Mosher's skull carried away both his life and the knowledge of Charlie's whereabouts and fate to the grave.
Perhaps Mosher, having grown too fond of Charlie, died with no intention of returning his so-called "Charlie-boy," passing away intoxicated by his exclusive happiness while harboring the cherished memories of this adoptive "Charlie."

However, Mr. and Mrs. Ross did not give up.
They could not give up.
They spent the remainder of their lives and entire fortune searching for Charlie, persisting until last year, yet ultimately both passed away recently one after another with Charlie’s name on their dying lips.
Probably, even in death, Mr. and Mrs. Ross still would not give up.
And his older brother Walter is still waiting for Charlie to come home.

Where is Charlie?

If Mosher had secretly hidden him deep in the reeds of the marshlands or perhaps in a coastal cave, starvation would have gradually taken hold of Charlie, and by now, all that would remain were small white bones scattered here and there.

However, it was generally believed that Charlie was still alive.
Were he alive today, he would be a fine young gentleman—or rather, perhaps not a gentleman at all.
He would surely have grown into a splendidly handsome young beast of a man—a street ruffian known as "Charlie-boy Bro."
Even by Japanese reckoning, four or five years old was still an age when one had almost no consciousness or lasting impressions.
He would have had no memory of even a fragment of that great commotion that had swirled around him, nor would he ever have dreamed of knowing anything about his birth family.
Of course, his name had been changed.
If Charlie and his brother Walter were to meet now?—what a stark divergence of life paths.
It was cruel to both.
Now that things had come to this, it would be better if they did not meet.

But even so, Charlie, where on earth are you?