Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. Vulgar and Detestable Human Relationships It was the end of June 1947 (Showa 22). I received Utagawa Kazuma’s summons and met him at a small restaurant called Tsubohei in Nihonbashi. The proprietor of Tsubohei, Tsubota Heikichi, had formerly been a cook for the Utagawa family, and his wife, Ms. Teruyo, had worked as a maid. Kazuma’s father, Utagawa Tamon, was truly a self-indulgent lecher—he kept a mistress, frequented geisha houses, and yet still laid hands on the maids. Ms. Teruyo, with her smooth-skinned, lovely features, was naturally no exception; in return, when they allowed her to marry Tsubohei, they provided the funds for their small restaurant. Kazuma’s Tokyo residence had been destroyed in the war, so whenever he came to the capital, he stayed at Tsubohei.

“To be honest, this is rather sudden and outlandish to ask, but I want you to spend the summer at my house.”

Kazuma’s house was situated in such an inconveniently remote mountainous area that one had to disembark from the train, ride a bus six ri along mountain roads, and even after alighting from the bus, walk nearly another ri. Because it was such a place, we—several literary friends—had evacuated to his house during the war. One reason was that his house belonged to a sake-brewing family, and there was also the underlying motive of having access to alcohol. “You won’t understand unless I explain, but at the beginning of this month, that bastard Mochizuki Ouni showed up out of nowhere. Then Tango Yumihiko and Utsumi Akira came one after the other. It’s because my younger sister Tamaki—that bastard—sent out invitation letters saying they’d stay at my house for the summer. Since it’s you, I’ll speak frankly—Tamaki had an abortion this spring. She absolutely refuses to say who the man is—we still don’t know—but she’d been flitting up to Tokyo half the month, staying God knows where... It had become impossible to handle. As you know, Mochizuki Ouni’s violent and insufferably arrogant, but Tango Yumihiko—though he acts all prim like some British-style gentleman—is another self-important schemer through and through. Utsumi Akira alone has some redeeming qualities, but with that parasite making him look grotesque, it cancels out. Having three of them around means constant damn squabbles. Tamaki sent those invitations thinking it’d be amusing—pure entertainment for her. We can’t endure it. They bicker, glare—that parasite even smashes plates on the floor sometimes—and when one appears, another storms off... The irritation makes it utterly impossible to read a book in peace. So before anyone could object, someone suggested gathering our old wartime evacuation crowd to spend summer together—‘With Tokyo’s restaurants closed now, perfect timing!’ They want it too, but truthfully we’re relieved. They think it’s boredom relief, but being stuck with just them chokes us—having others like Kibee or Koroku around helps us breathe. It’ll distract them. I especially need you to come. Kibee and Koroku are coming too—we’re all departing together the day after tomorrow.”

“Ms. Utsugi as well?” “Of course she’s coming along. Ms. Kocho is also coming. She’s even decided to take a summer break from the stage because of it.” Novelist Utsugi Akiko was now with Miyake Kihyoe, a scholar of French literature, though she had originally been Kazuma’s wife. Their separation had been mutually agreed upon—literary colleagues as they were—leaving things amicable afterward. But the problem lay not with Kazuma; it was Mochizuki Ouni. During their wartime evacuation, Akiko—then Kazuma’s wife—had grown close to Kihyoe. When the war ended and they prepared to return to Tokyo, Kazuma consented to the divorce after discussions. He had struggled with Akiko from the start and held almost no lingering attachment.

Akiko was an extremely passionate woman. During the evacuation period, she had been more deeply involved with Ouni than with Kihyoe, but since Ouni was an utterly faithless man who had relations with Tamaki as well as dalliances in every direction—maids and village girls and whatnot—and treated Akiko as nothing more than a post-meal fruit or a light snack, Akiko too gave up and ended up with Kihyoe. However, deep down, she was still deeply affected by Ouni. Mochizuki Ouni was a renowned bestselling author, and his arrogant rudeness, crudeness, and wildness must have held a certain allure for Akiko, being a woman of sensual proclivities. Akiko was a woman like a puppet of instinct, with a demented inability to restrain herself—so when going to the mountain villa, matters with Ouni would hardly remain settled—yet this Kihyoe fellow, rational and brilliant, putting on scholarly airs while maintaining an elegant composure, had become infatuated with this frivolous woman and let himself be dragged about, obeying her every whim; all the while making declarations about how jealousy might tear his heart asunder. To accept Kazuma’s invitation was the act of an utterly absurd fellow.

However, while I thought this invitation was indeed due to the reasons Kazuma had stated, I also believed that the primary reason for Kazuma’s own enthusiasm about this plan lay concealed elsewhere. The true aim was rather Ms. Kocho. It was Ms. Kocho who wanted to invite [them], I believed.

Akashi Kocho was the wife of playwright Hitomi Koroku and an actress. Ms. Kocho was brimming with sensuality that exuded erotic allure from every pore, yet she detested brutish wild types like Ouni and favored intellectual men of frail constitution; Hitomi Koroku, for instance, was tenaciously clingy, indecisive, timid at heart—though fundamentally kind and affable by nature—making him a difficult man to engage with. Ms. Kocho liked Kazuma and harbored feelings strong enough that if Kazuma had taken the initiative, she would have abandoned Koroku and run to him.

At that time, however, Kazuma was timid. Utsugi Akiko left together with Miyake Kihyoe. Though he had never been attached to her in the first place, being left behind plunged him into gloom; the evacuees departed abruptly with the war’s end, and Koroku and Ms. Kocho too were gone. He appeared to see off the group with a stern courage, as if loneliness were the lover he desired above all else, then secluded himself in solitude.

Each time he made his monthly or bimonthly trips to the capital, the shifting social climate greatly influenced his state of mind—until around last spring, when he met Ms. Ayaka, who would become his current wife. Ms. Ayaka had apparently written poetry during her school days, and since Utagawa Kazuma—a cerebral prodigy of the intellectual school—was quite an appealing mid-career poet to literary-minded girls, she had visited him three or four times back then with friends. However, poetry had been but a passing fancy for Ms. Ayaka—in truth, she was someone with no genuine connection to verse whatsoever. Thus when she graduated from girls’ school, she ceased visiting Kazuma.

When they reunited last year, Ms. Ayaka was cohabiting with a painter named Doi Koichi. His paintings were said to be the most unique, and he was extravagantly praised as a prodigy, but I did not think so. They relied on Surrealist compositions to slather and set ablaze nothing but sensual provocation—their essence being that at first glance they appeared both erotic and imbued with a certain gloomy poetic sentiment—yet in truth contained not a shred of loneliness or nihilistic severity; he was merely a cunning merchant who daubed colors to match the era’s tastes, a master at fabricating facsimiles of substance. Therefore, the creative approach of his paintings themselves was commercialistic, and he was a master at promotion; though the postwar period was a difficult era for painters, he had ingratiated himself with magazine publishers and literary figures, raked in money through illustrations, and continued to be skillfully praised as a prodigy with a unique style.

Kazuma was like a different person. Perhaps the shifting times had given him an outlet for all he’d been suppressing—a defiant stance of “Even I had my wife stolen,” leading to a single-minded tenacity that utterly disregarded whether women had husbands, an obstinate persistence that clung and devoured. Admittedly, Ms. Ayaka was beautiful. She had an air of the extraordinary. The name Ayaka was well-chosen—she was fond of amusement and free from cares. However, she seemed to detest anything persistent, and there were hints of her grimacing at Kazuma’s tenacity and his uncharacteristically defiant attitude—one might call her a born courtesan type, for she loathed poverty above all else. Doi Koichi was among painters who earned income through illustrations, but in these times of soaring prices, his meager earnings couldn't even get him a single pair of silk socks. Kazuma, on the other hand, being the scion of an immensely wealthy family that had prospered through sake brewing—a timely advantage—possessed tens of thousands of chōbu of mountain forests; black market riches inevitably rolled in whether he wanted them or not. Each time he came to the capital, he would grab a handful of bills from the vault—a handful whose absence wouldn’t even register as lost—wads amounting to seventy or eighty thousand yen that common folk could scarcely imagine, clutched like tissue paper. For Ms. Ayaka—who loved amusement, fine foods, beautiful kimonos, and luxury—it was this money that she fell head over heels for. She blithely gave Doi Koichi his walking papers and formally married Kazuma. That was around late autumn last year.

Being the shrewd businessman he was, Doi Koichi immediately cornered Kazuma into intense negotiations—“Even finding a new courtesan costs thirty or fifty thousand these days!”—demanding a settlement of two hundred thousand yen. I mediated and bargained it down to one hundred thousand, but we ultimately settled at one hundred fifty thousand. “Look, that woman can’t do without me.” “It’s gotta be my body.” “My body’s so good even European prostitutes would faint from pleasure, you know.” “He’s nothing but a third-rate poet who’d blow away in the wind.” “She’ll come crawling back to me soon enough, crying and apologizing.”

Doi Koichi said that to me. However, even the ever-confident Japanese Don Juan would find this one a lost cause. Ms. Ayaka was someone who didn’t give a fart about a single man, so I think she’s the type of optimist who views all the men in the world—in other words, her own pick-and-choose merchandise. When Doi Koichi demanded 200,000 yen under the pretext of a "replacement fee," her pride was deeply wounded. Despite being such an optimistic beauty who didn’t give a damn about men, she became infuriated over this trivial matter—fuming with rage and though she didn’t exact revenge, she flew into such a terrible temper that they had a vicious falling-out.

When I mentioned that, Doi Koichi guffawed. “Don’t be stupid! Fights between men are just chances to make up in the end. If a man and woman fight, they wouldn’t even argue in the first place if they were strangers!” “A nasty breakup just means there’s perfect ground to get real close.” “Get it?” He was confidence incarnate—the very embodiment of self-conceit.

Of course, Doi Koichi’s prediction had missed the mark—Ms. Ayaka no longer so much as glanced his way—but Kazuma’s marriage was by no means a happy one either. Admittedly, it wasn’t as if he was having an affair or anything of that sort. Ms. Ayaka was of the same ilk as Princess Sotoori, whose radiance was said to shine through her garments—possessing a luminous beauty that enveloped her entire body and a dewy freshness; yet despite appearing so alluringly beautiful, the lady herself was surprisingly indifferent to matters of carnal desire—cold, showing little interest, with scant inclination toward infidelity. Each time she came to the capital, she would indulge in the most extravagant shopping sprees, overjoyed; whenever she acquired a favorite dress or pair of shoes, her delight would reach such heights that on the very first night she would sleep wearing those clothes and shoes—an indulgent display from a person utterly without convention.

Though utterly adorable in every way—lacking even a trace of Cleopatra’s haughty queenliness—she was willful and inconsiderate of others’ feelings. Since she gave no thought to wifely duties, she never once considered attending to her husband, and consequently remained utterly unfazed no matter what her husband did—this left Kazuma feeling unfulfilled. Since she showed no inclination to regard him alone as a special man—leaving him unfulfilled, anxious, and resentful in this futile struggle—and since voicing his grievances only provoked her anger instead, Mr. Kazuma lost all composure; lately overwhelmed, he found himself secretly tormented by his own inadequacies as a man—his clumsiness, slovenliness—while harboring deepening shades of rebellion.

In truth, this stemmed from being overly infatuated with Mrs. Ayaka, but having reached this point, he found himself wanting to engage in something akin to an affair—so I invited the evacuation fools for the summer, thinking this might very well be the scenario Mrs. Kocho had been aiming for. A young master like him delighted in being liked by others yet feigned ignorance, taking pleasure in maintaining such airs. He particularly relished confirming that another man’s wife secretly harbored feelings for him over her husband, then feigning obliviousness while subtly toying with that affection—for him, this was a matter of refined taste rather than outright infidelity, and he could never bring himself to actively pursue such matters. He had no intention of doing so. He wasn’t truly in love enough to act on it.

Being a man of such disposition, Kazuma unwittingly fell for Mrs. Ayaka and ended up being manipulated by her; thus, the very fact of being manipulated—this external form—felt regrettably frustrating on a sensory level, and I understood such psychology of his all too well. Therefore, to compensate for this insufficiency, he invited Madame Kocho to secretly indulge in her affection—or rather, to toy with and abuse Madame Kocho's pure love—and precisely because he harbored such feelings, he was actually in love with Ms. Ayaka; should he grow careless, irreparable consequences would follow. I thought along those lines.

However, though he may be called a young master, he is forty years old—a distinguished literary scholar and poet. Even if demons possess him, he is a gentleman who should bear his own cross; there is no need for me to fret over it.

However, as a purely personal matter of my own, I had reasons why I could not accept this invitation. Indeed, Mochizuki Ouni—that lawless man—was among them. When someone like Tango Yumihiko—a pretentious contrarian putting on airs—and Utsumi Akira—a cheerful freeloader—had barged in to tangle with each other through glares and sulks, it became only natural one would want to summon a whole regiment of ghosts from outside. But gathering these men and women enmeshed like some ancient rotten spiderweb—their gloomy macabre connections and entanglements—just thinking about it felt unpleasant, tasteless, downright revolting. If I were to join them, there had been an even greater reason why it would not do.

My wife Kyoko had been the mistress of Utagawa Tamon, Kazuma's father. Among his numerous mistresses and casual lovers, she was one who received special favor; thus during the war—since he could hardly bring her into his main residence (Madame Kojiko being still alive at the time)—he had her evacuated to a house in his own village. I fell in love with Kyoko and took her by force when the war ended, returning to Tokyo. Tamon's rage proved ferocious—no whisper of rumor could quell his lingering resentment. To compound matters, though he had been a minister-level politician who nurtured great hopes that my own era would soon dawn, he found himself summarily purged. Seething with irritation, I essentially became the target absorbing all that accumulated vexation. However, when Madame Kojiko died last summer, he soon fixed his attention on Shitae—a village girl from a respectable family—forcibly making her his maid-cum-concubine, which reportedly improved his temper; now in his idle post-purge days, they say he dotes on this nineteen-year-old girl with his nose perpetually upturned.

“Unlike Mokubee and Koroku, there’s no way I could possibly visit your house, right? Even if your esteemed father’s temper has somewhat subsided, I’ve no desire to subject myself to even a sliver of unpleasantness. Putting myself aside—Kyoko would shudder. That’s an impossible proposition.”

“But now—just bear with me a little longer and listen.” “I intend to lay everything bare and tell you the whole truth—you’re the only one I mean to confide in completely.” “There are my highly atmospheric fairy tales of the spirit, as well as somewhat sensational true crime stories.”

He took out a sealed letter from his pocket. “Take a look.” “There’s actually someone who would pull such a stunt.”

It was written as follows on extremely ordinary letter paper. Who killed Madame Kaji? All will end with the first anniversary. Hatred and curses and sadness and anger. The handwriting wasn't skillful. However, it appeared deliberately disguised. Cheap ink had been used, leaving numerous stains. The postmark indicated it had been sent from a nearby town; if coming from Tokyo, one would disembark there. His house required a further seven ri journey by bus along mountain paths. Yet this rural town remained his village's nearest urban center, where villagers generally shopped to meet their needs.

“This is rather modern writing, though.” “More than modern—downright literary, I must say.” “This letter was addressed to me—it doesn’t name any culprit—but considering it was sent to me... they might very well be implying I’m the suspect.” “As you know, my mother was my second mother—she came as a bride after my birth mother passed away, making her only three years my senior. She died last August ninth at forty-two.” “But what reason would I have to kill this mother of mine?” “She’d suffered from asthma from the beginning.” “The cardiac variety.” “Fearing this condition, we provided funds to a lame doctor named Ebizuka—a destitute distant relative—to study internal medicine, then five years ago gave him a house in our village to open his practice.” “In these remote mountain villages without proper medical care, a doctor can’t just practice internal medicine—they must handle surgery, ear-nose-throat, ophthalmology, even dentistry singlehandedly. My father opposed summoning him too soon, arguing it was better for the village to let him properly master all fields first—but I insisted, ‘No, this doctor is being called for my sake,’ and forcibly brought him back after just one year post-graduation in a research lab.” “Being scholarly by nature, the doctor resented this arrangement deeply—though he maintained surface obedience after arriving, we never saw eye to eye.” “Mother would scold him for being ungrateful and unkind, but since losing him would leave us helpless, she seemed to swallow her discontent.” “Asthma makes sufferers writhe so terribly they claw at tatami mats on their stomachs.” “In the end, Mother died in agony tearing at the mats—no amount of injections helped.” “This is typical of cardiac asthma—nothing unusual.” “Yet since her agonized state represented probable extremity, even if external means like poisoning had been introduced... there’d be no distinguishing it.” “Setting aside external factors like bleeding or lividity—from the agony alone, you understand.” “However, there were no notable hemorrhages or discolorations—with her peaceful postmortem expression, naturally no one suspected foul play—so we buried her.” “Such rumors only reached our ears this year, I believe.” “Since everyone from maids to regular visitors had gathered at her deathbed witnessing those convulsions.” “Mountain villagers with too much time on their hands likely embellished the tale—but unable to let it rest, when I confronted Dr. Ebizuka directly... he just glared with those bulging eyes and refused to answer.”

“He’s precisely that sort of man—the type who won’t answer what’s already obvious.” “A lame man with a warped disposition born from resentment over his disability—an ill-tempered fellow who dislikes chatter and keeps poor company.” Before long, during a family meal, Tamaki suddenly turned to me and shouted, “They’re saying around the village that Brother poisoned our mother!” “Of course it’s a joke.” “That one’s the sort who relishes cruel pranks.” “She does precisely what people find most detestable.” “And that creature—though she’s Mother Kaji’s only true child—hasn’t shed a single tear over her death, let alone grieved.” “With no one left to scold her, she’s now thoroughly fired up to carouse as she pleases—that’s how things stand.” “But even she—being a murderer herself—wouldn’t make such idiotic jokes; in truth, quite credible rumors already circulated at the time naming another culprit.” “You all know Nurse Moroi—it concerns her.” “She’s an unnervingly seductive woman.” “Father did indeed have relations with her.” “After you became entangled with Ms. Kyō like that, it’s also true he maintained considerable intimacy with her separately.” “So they claim Mother was killed to usurp her position—isn’t this exactly the sort of trite tragic affair village rumors thrive on?” “Country gossip never rises above such banality.” “With these rumors about, that sister of mine felt emboldened to crack such vile jokes.” “Naturally, no one was particularly shocked.” “There’s nothing chilling about it.”

Everyone burst out laughing. “But I myself still wake up feeling terrible.”

The nurse called Moroi Kotomi was probably around thirty years old by now. Generally speaking, women—young women—being hero-worshippers, when war breaks out even ordinary girls tend to dream of becoming nurses and going to the front; nurses would all seem eager to volunteer for battlefields, but this woman called Moroi was different—a cold woman with scarcely any fanciful dreams. She wouldn't even entertain men's jokes. She stood approximately 165 centimeters tall—a statuesque, well-proportioned physique rare among Japanese women—and her face was not unattractive. Mochizuki Ouni, the libertine, declared that such women were closet lechers - outwardly cold and composed but inwardly lascivious, surprisingly naive yet oddly passionate enough to make for a decent night's company - and vigorously pursued her with such claims, yet his efforts met with no response.

When the war broke out and nurses were being driven to the frontlines as highly valuable commodities, this nurse—who had been stationed at a Tokyo hospital she was attached to—grumbled about not wanting to be conscripted. Using the plausible pretext of needing a nurse in a doctorless village, they obtained permission to bring her here. Instead of placing her at Ebizuka Hospital, they gave her a room in their own home and had her commute to the hospital only during the day. While there were personal considerations, they also had an official pretext—there were two other groups of patients in this house.

One was an old man named Nangumo Kazumatsu who had taken to his bed with a stroke after being evacuated there. Kazumatsu’s wife was called Madame Yura and was Utagawa Tamon’s biological sister. This woman too was a semi-invalid, prone to hysteria from congenital frailty, and maintained an especially poor relationship with Madame Kaji. Tamon lacked particular familial passion, but being one to unquestioningly accept societal norms, he handled matters thus: if his sister’s family evacuated—very well, he would support them; if they fell ill—very well, he would arrange treatment. That sufficed. With the large house’s ample funds and supplies inconveniencing him not at all, he never gave it another thought. He had even forgotten these dependents subsisted through his charity. But the women could not abide this state of affairs. Madame Kaji being his second wife—nearly the age of Tamon’s own children—and having long been antagonistic toward them, cohabitation proved unmanageable.

Madame Yura had one son and four daughters. The son had been a technician stationed abroad who was said to have died in a submarine during the war; of the daughters, two had died and one had married into the Manchurian Railway. The youngest daughter alone remained unmarried and had evacuated with them, but Ms. Tamaki—Madame Kaji’s daughter—and this Ms. Chigusa were on notoriously bad terms. Ms. Tamaki was a beauty, but Ms. Chigusa was extraordinarily unattractive, with bulging eyes covered in freckles and as fat as a pig. Despite her bulk, she was neurotic, mean-spirited, and twisted—her intense envy made her resent even Ms. Tamaki’s most carefree actions without cause—and since Ms. Tamaki wasn’t one to bottle things up, she’d clash and smack her way through confrontations. This in turn fueled animosity between their mothers. Madame Kaji composed waka poetry submitted to tanka magazines and carried herself like a proper lady, yet her pathologically fastidious nerves meant that once she took a dislike to someone, her aversion seemed to intensify a hundredfold.

The other patient was Ms. Kayoko. This was the person who posed a significant problem. This person's mother was dead. The grandfather and grandmother were the Utagawa family’s lifelong live-in male servant and head maid—Old Man Kisaku and Old Woman Oden—both good-natured, always smiling, exceedingly pleasant servants. Needless to say, Ms. Kayoko was the granddaughter of these two elderly servants, but in truth, she was Tamon’s illegitimate child—a daughter conceived and born by a maid mother. Therefore, although she stayed in one of the servants’ rooms, she did not assist with the maids’ work and was provided with modest yet neat, urban-style clothing.

This girl was truly beautiful. A modest purity—a beauty clear and sharp as crystal. However, from age seventeen she had tuberculosis; she fell ill during her fourth year at girls' school while living in the dormitory and was hospitalized temporarily. After being discharged, she spent her days in a room in the servants' quarters, alternately lying down and getting up, generally reading books. Two years older than Ms. Tamaki—if Ms. Tamaki was twenty-two, then Ms. Kayoko would be twenty-four, and Ms. Chigusa, being two years older than that, would be twenty-six. It seems Madame Kaji had been greatly tormented by the existence of this illegitimate child, but the fact that it occurred before her own marriage apparently served as an acceptable rationale. I don't know the details well, but apparently after Madame Kaji arrived, the maid—Kayoko's mother—hanged herself or something of that nature occurred, causing Madame Kaji's resentment toward Kayoko to diminish. It's said she took care to provide special nourishing foods—considering how crucial diet was for this illness—and made efforts to ensure her clothing remained suitable for public appearances; she also instructed Nurse Moroi to pay particular attention to Kayoko.

Therefore, whenever Ms. Kayoko had a slight fever, she would not send the nurse to the hospital but have her stay by her side. Even if Old Man Nangumo Kazumatsu and Madame Yura showed serious symptoms, they were told to go to the hospital regardless. "You must be busy," she said. Nurse Moroi—being a cold woman lacking in common affection—detested the whining, sniveling hysterics of the Nangumo clan and seldom tended to them properly. That curse had coalesced and focused itself upon Madame Kaji.

At the moment of Madame Kaji’s critical condition—when even the strength to claw at the tatami mats in her death throes had nearly faded—she heard that everyone was present. And while those words could not be clearly discerned, it seemed the Nangumo family members had been telling them to get out of here. However, since nothing could be distinctly heard, even Ms. Tamaki—who had been sitting closest to Madame Kaji’s pillow—reportedly said she didn’t have a clue what had actually been said.

“This blackmail letter is utterly absurd.” “Since I have no recollection of such matters, I’m not concerned about its contents.” “Probably just some twisted evacuee from the village—someone with too much time playing pranks.” “The reason I’m relying on you—though this shows my terrible selfishness—is that in truth, I absolutely need Ms. Okkyo more than you.”

As if the alcohol’s intoxication had worn off, his complexion grew pale. “Let’s skip the unnecessary explanations and get straight to it—I’ve passionately loved Kayoko since long ago. However, being brother and sister after all, I transformed those carnal urges into something purely spiritual—nurturing a gentle heart akin to revering a saint. The trouble is, Kayoko loved me more than I loved her. What’s worse—you, despite reading so much every day—it’s an unconventional notion, but she loves me as her brother-turned-lover. Even if you tell her brothers and sisters shouldn’t fall in love, why must that apply? Even if society is like that, why must we be the same? We’re being reckless. We’ve stopped caring about society. Since she had resolved herself with her maidenly single-minded passion, I was overwhelmed. I thought I could die. It is the very essence of nobility. You can’t believe it, can you? There is no greater nobility than this. No matter what you say, Kayoko has abandoned society after all. It’s not that she doesn’t know sin. Kayoko is intelligence incarnate. She knows everything. She knows as a god would. She sees through everything. She sees through even her own destiny.” I wavered.

“Right? If God were to tenderly hold someone and whisper wickedness into their ear—what would become of a person? Yet I stopped myself at the precipice. I must not touch her body. Even were I to die. I cannot defile divinity. No—yet I feel incapable of restraint.” Kayoko gripped my hand. We kissed—a cold, sorrowful kiss, though one might say we became like water: a single entity. It was solemnity incarnate. Anguish made manifest. Kayoko spoke: “Let us marry.” “God will assuredly forgive us.” “And then—let us die together.” Yet I cannot die. I’m not so simple-minded. “I am a villain.”

Kazuma's words erupted into a convulsive scream. But since I'm inherently a frivolous boy who remains utterly unmoved, I gradually grew docile like a wild beast in a zoo,

However, I was actually a scoundrel.

“I know that.” “Once you reach your age, everyone’s a scoundrel.” “You’re too infatuated with Mrs. Akiko as well.” “You probably want to try seducing Ms. Kocho sometimes too, huh?” “Ms. Kayoko doesn’t have any man other than you in her sights.” “However, that’s neither noble nor anything of the sort—it’s not even incest, surprisingly. It’s all just an atmosphere you’re hallucinating yourself, rooted in nothing more than a virgin’s charm and sorcery.” “When you get to the root of it, it’s actually surprisingly shallow stuff.” “Are you angry?” “Isn’t that right?” “You’re actually so overwhelmed by Mrs. Akiko’s non-virgin status that you’re in total surrender—which makes you want to assert even a shred of macho pride.” “A brother and sister in love—perfectly splendid.” “You should show at least a bit of macho pride.” “If you vent it, that’s good enough.” “But truth be told—I thought you’d really gone and done it—I was nervous there for a moment during your story.”

“When you say it like that, I do feel somewhat saved.” “I don’t believe your words are right, but let’s abandon logic.” “Logic need only be believed by me alone.” “If I can receive such solicitude from you, that alone fulfills my deepest wish.” “So my request is this—Kayoko has not a single friend.” “None except Ms. Okyo.” “Every day Kayoko remembers Ms. Okyo and yearns for her.” “Though knowing it worsened her illness, she would walk four kilometers through mountain paths to visit Ms. Okyo.” “Even when scolded, she would go again.” “Even if fever confined her to bed, she would go out once able to rise.” “Breaking free to go out—that’s how she was.” “In those days, Ms. Okyo seemed to me a witch who would kill Kayoko—I hated her.” “So couldn’t you have Ms. Okyo come and soothe Kayoko’s heart?” “When it comes to someone who can fulfill that role, there’s absolutely none but Ms. Okyo—though it shames me to admit my spinelessness—I want you to make her give up on me and divert her affections elsewhere.” “Of course, I too shall strive to steer things thus.” “But even my utmost efforts will likely prove insufficient—hence I ask Ms. Okyo to lend her aid.”

It was a troublesome duty. Of course, this wasn't something I could decide on my own.

When I returned and told Kyoko, she said, "Absolutely not!" They say lovesickness can't be cured even by Kusatsu's hot springs, so no one's careful dosing would work—it should be left to those involved and matters allowed to take their course. If Ms. Kayoko were to commit suicide, it would only make my waking state unpleasant. Moreover, from Kyoko's standpoint, it was only natural she didn't want to show her face at that mountain villa again. Since Kyoko's resolve was like stone, Kazuma too gave up and returned to the mountains three days later, taking both Mokubee and Koroku's couples with him.

II. A Bunch of Unexpected Characters

It was the morning of July 10th when a letter arrived from Kazuma.

“I’ll have the Tourist Bureau deliver tickets on July 15th—take that day’s last train.” “I implore you.” “One of the three tickets is for Dr. Kosei. Persuade him by any means necessary and bring him along.” “I prostrate myself in desperate appeal.”

A dreadful crime is about to be committed. Much blood will be shed. You and Dr. Kosei are my only hope. And, Ms. Okyo. Ms. Okyo! I beg of you. I'm waiting. I see a dark sea of blood.

On the afternoon of the 15th, a messenger from the Tourist Bureau actually brought three tickets, and since the last train bound for N Town was scheduled to depart at 23:35, it would arrive in N Town around seven o'clock the next morning, allowing connection to the first bus, it was said.

Kazuma was a consultant for the Tourist Bureau. He was apparently involved in planning cultural publicity. Kazuma would sometimes become stubbornly single-minded and intimidating, making him rather difficult to deal with. I myself, however, had excellent social connections—whenever anything happened, people would flatter me—a truly problematic tendency. Kyoko resisted at first, but the letter's wording proved too dire. More fundamentally, women were ultimately Violet Poets when it came to sublime incest—in such matters, they would inevitably melt into sentimental tears. So when she declared, "Alright then, I'll go through with it," we went to visit Dr. Kosei as the letter instructed.

To call him Dr. Kosei was something of a misnomer—he held no doctorate whatsoever. In fact, at twenty-nine years old, he was a full eleven years younger than either Kazuma or myself.

He was seventeen years old and still a middle school student when he came to me, declaring he wanted to become a literary man and asking to be my disciple. When I said, "It's useless to apprentice under a half-baked youngster like me—go study under a proper master," the brat retorted with that odd phrase: "Young folks should stick with their own kind." But before long, he became obsessed with detective work, though at university he studied something fancy called aesthetics—which was ultimately the result of him being a poor student who had realized his fate of being unable to enter any other department.

However, his talent as a detective was astonishing. He was truly a genius. We were shown more examples than we cared to see, and there were truly times when the precision of his observations—the way he minutely pinpointed and discerned the nuances of human psychology—was terrifying. When he took hold of a case, the human psychology surrounding the crime was delineated in clear and unmistakable form. Everything was clearly dissected, calculated, and an answer emerged—but by what equation? Protean and ever-shifting, the formulas he employed remained beyond our comprehension.

For us literary scholars, humans were indeterminate beings; the labyrinth of human psychology should forever remain infinitely complex—it was why literature could exist. But for him, the human heart was always neatly dissected. When I teased him, saying, "You understand people that well—so why are your novels so atrocious?"

“Ha ha ha! “It’s precisely because my novels are terrible that I can understand crimes, you see.” This was neither jest nor false modesty. This statement too pierced truth like an arrow—his observations of humanity seemed engineered to halt at the specific plane of criminal psychology, deliberately avoiding any wandering beyond that line into infinite labyrinths. Such mechanics defined genius. That’s why he couldn’t write literature. With literature requiring boundless human observation, he remained a detective genius yet utterly inept at literary matters.

We absolutely acknowledged his detective prowess, which was why we deliberately honored this lazy slacker with the title of 'Doctor'; however, while the wretch knew nothing of stuffy academic matters, when it came to trivialities—from highbrow works like storytelling manuals and rakugo anthologies down to lowbrow fare such as erotic books, movie magazines, and sumo rankings—there was nothing he hadn't devoured through all-night reading sessions. When I went to see him, showed him the letter, and asked for his assistance,

"I see, a summer retreat sounds nice. “The food should be edible, and they’ll have drinkable sake?” "But tonight’s no good." “Why?” "This is tough—you’re getting defensive on me." “Lend me your ear for a moment.” “A-I-BI-KI.” “Did you understand?”

“You too, Doctor? Your companion must be some streetwalker anyway.”

“Now now, that’s uncouth.” “Professor.” “I’ll take tomorrow’s night train.” “I’ll go on ahead.” “I’d like to bring her along too.” “Bring her then—no need to hold back.”

“No, no. I can’t possibly take the Sacred Virgin into a den of tigers and wolves.”

“So the Doctor has a taste for schoolgirls, eh?” Good grief. “I’m haunted by some fool with idiotic preferences.”

I departed as specified in the letter.

The train journey was, for this season, a so-called 'lordly excursion' where one couldn’t sit down, couldn’t sleep, and couldn’t even reach the restroom—a moderate ordeal by such standards.

When we got off at N Town，an unexpected figure had been riding with us．I was startled to be addressed，but it was Kamiyama Toyo and his wife，Ms．Kisono．The Kamiyamas had made brief appearances in the mountains during the war；he was a lawyer who had served as Utagawa Tamon’s secretary until eight or nine years ago．Kisono was originally a geisha in Shinbashi who had been redeemed and become Tamon’s mistress，but after having an affair with Toyo，she quit her position as secretary around that time，though it’s said she still visits occasionally．Far from being the cerebral professional one expects of a lawyer，he was a hulking giant whose thick wrists and joints suggested a yakuza enforcer’s brute strength．At the Utagawa household，everyone detested him，treating him with open contempt meant to drive him away—no matter where he turned，even the maids would meet him with sour expressions，and no matter whom he addressed，no one would respond．

“This includes you too, Ms. Okyō. Ah yes, I heard about your marriage to Professor Yashiro. You don’t look the part either, Professor. So it’s true—literati might look meek, but that field’s still packed with real bruisers, eh? Color me impressed. I’ll be counting on your expert guidance from now on.”

I didn’t respond,

“You’re also a Utagawa now, aren’t you, Professor Yashiro? Allow me to accompany you.”

“Are you also a Utagawa?” “Hah, what do you mean? An invitation came our way, you see. What an unusual occurrence indeed.”

When I boarded the bus, I was utterly dismayed and disgusted. I kept running into nothing but annoying, unexpected people. Doi Koichi was on board. Hey. He nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but since he jerked his head backward instead of bowing forward, he was clearly a guy who looked down on people.

“Hey, where you headed?” “Where do you think? When you come to some backwater that’s barely a step up from Adachigahara, there’s nowhere else to go but Utagawa Kazuma’s place. You’re going there too, aren’t you?” But what business could this guy possibly have there? “Do you have some reason to go?” “Don’t fuck with me! What would I want with some hack poet? I already took Miuke’s money fair and square—drank it all up ages ago—but I haven’t sunk as low as Nedaru yet. That idiot kept begging me to honor him with my presence all summer—said there’d be booze and food galore. Figured he was just some clueless dipshit running his mouth, but hell—free liquor’s free liquor, right?”

He looked at Kyoko, snorted, and— “So you’re Ms. Okyō.” “You’re quite the beauty.” “Sexy.” “Thick with virtue yet deep with wandering desires.” “What a looker you are.” “What a waste.” “I’ve been a couple steps too late.” “If I’d evacuated to this village during the war, I’d have taken Ms. Okyō to bed.” “But marching right into the Utagawa house together like this—you’ve got some nerve, Professor Yashiro.” “Your novels are so damn juvenile I can’t read ’em though.”

What on earth was Kazuma thinking, and what was he scheming? From his letter I had sensed nothing but nonsense, yet now I too grew terribly uneasy. Something would happen. At the very least, it seemed certain now that something was being plotted.

When we got off the bus, a young manservant was waiting to carry the luggage. From here, it was still nearly four kilometers of climbing up and down mountain paths—a journey that would feel utterly unbearable when one was tired.

When we finally neared the Utagawa residence, approaching the shrine guardian, two women emerged from the tree shade and walked toward us. It was Ms. Ayaka and Utsugi Akiko. They appeared to have come to greet us.

However, when Mrs. Ayaka approached us, she stiffened like a rod. With a face that seemed utterly bewildered—as if doubting her own eyes—but upon seeing this, Doi Koichi was the first to call out. “Hey there, Mrs. Tycoon." “Thanks for coming out to greet us. Must’ve been such a hassle.” “Well then, as a little reward, maybe I’ll show you some affection after all this time.”

He walked briskly toward Mrs. Ayaka. He was fully prepared to at least embrace and kiss her.

“What are you doing here? You—?” “You—?” Mrs.Ayaka edged back behind Ms.Utsugi as if to hide herself, but Koichi paid this no mind—carrying on with such bravado that he might as well have tried embracing both women at once—

“Hey there. And who are you?” “Huh?” “Ms. Utsugi Akiko.” “Oh, the renowned lady novelist—didn’t recognize you. Still young, aren’t you? This is beautiful.” “I’ll give my proper greetings in due time.” “Because your inner seductress has been waiting impatiently, hasn’t she?”

Koichi grabbed Mrs. Ayaka’s arm. Mrs. Ayaka violently shook him off and fled five or six steps away, “You villain! You good-for-nothing! This isn’t a place for someone like you to come. Go home. Hey, someone...” She looked around frantically at us, but as Koichi lunged to grab her again, she had no time to continue speaking—her face pale, she fled. Without so much as a glance at her retreating figure, Koichi took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow,

“When a girl runs into her sweetheart, she just loses her head. “Why can’t women just come out and say they’ve been waiting for the man they’ve been pining after? “Hey there, Ms. Utsugi, Japanese women lack training in every shade of passion, don’t you think?”

When we arrived at the Utagawa house, the guests had reportedly gone out to Takitsubo for bathing, and only Kazuma and the silent Uchiumi were waiting for our arrival.

I didn't have the strength to speak. After taking a bath and having a lunch of beer and sandwiches, my eyes grew heavy and wouldn't stay open. I had a bed prepared in my room and fell fast asleep. To my body gasping under the city's sweltering heat, the mountain's chill was a comfort, and when I awoke, dusk had already fallen. There was one thing missing from my expectations. The evening cicadas hadn't begun their song yet. By the end of the month, they would begin their song. As I was washing my face, the maid came to fetch me. At that moment, Kayoko also came to greet me,

“You’re finally awake. Everyone’s already been drinking.” “I must have slept soundly indeed.”

I let out a big yawn and went downstairs.

Three: Uninvited Guests

I loathed Mochizuki Ouni. Admittedly, in literary circles, those who claimed to like Mochizuki Ouni were few and far between. Flaunting his literary talent, he regarded no one as human. He had no grasp of decorum—the sort who wouldn't hesitate to commit assault or rape in public, let alone kiss women before others—which was why he remained unmarried even now, going around boasting that all women under heaven might as well be his. However, he was well-regarded among journalists. This stemmed from the bastard’s openhandedness with money and journalism’s tendency to value writing prowess over ideological substance—they were dazzled by his literary flair. Moreover, journalism judges things not by their historical essence but through their present manifestations, so given that he was a first-rate popular writer, his arrogance came to be accepted as natural—indeed, it was even evaluated as though a virtue, with claims that such confidence proved his artistic conviction. His womanizing tendencies were rather touted as evidence of genius, praised as demonstrating a temperament truly set apart from ordinary people.

I, however, thought this was quite the spectacle. This was because Doi Koichi had joined the gathering—ah, pitting the pariah beasts of the literary and art worlds to clash horns. Yes, this was quite the scheme. For Kazuma, this was a remarkably executed ploy. As for myself—how careless I'd been—I had only ever let those bastards infuriate me, never once realizing they could be made into drinking companions. However, expectations were betrayed. They were indeed seasoned veterans—though rough around the edges, they possessed a finely honed sense of sham chivalry, and thus refrained from locking horns entirely.

“Hey, Pika-ichi! Aren’t you drinking?” Ouni said, but Koichi was smirking. He didn’t drink much alcohol. Truly, a bastard who could brazenly embrace or proposition women in public without getting as drunk as him probably had no need for alcohol. Perhaps it was that when one got drunk, drowsiness would set in and their arm would grow sluggish. As for Ouni, whether drunk or sober, he would persistently hit on women and gulp down alcohol as if dousing himself with it.

Suddenly, Koichi stood up and went over to Kocho-san, abruptly grabbing her hand. “Let’s dance, Kocho-san. For a long time I’ve secretly yearned after catching glimpses of you on stage—but seeing your exquisite face and form up close like this... Charmante, Délicat, Orgueilleuse—you see, this particular vice of mine rather approves.”

Kocho-san quietly withdrew her hand, coolly, “No.” Ouni roared with laughter. “Pika-ichi, well done! Ha ha ha! In choosing to court that Louisian third-rate courtesan first and foremost, your not inconsiderable vulgarity shines through. You may have French training, but you’re still ignorant of Western scholarship. Prostitutes shouldn’t be courted in public. Because prostitutes try to appear like ladies—it’s utterly pathetic and absurd. Courting in public is best done as an imitation of a prostitute. In other words, just like this.”

He stood up, pulled Tamaki-san’s hand to start dancing, immediately embraced her, dropped down heavily onto the sofa, and kissed her. Tamaki-san was unfazed. After kissing her thoroughly, he raised his face, "How’s that? “Mr. Pika-ichi.” “Tomorrow night I’ll do this for you.” “You mustn’t tremble then.” "I can't stand men who tremble." “Hey, Mr. Tango, let’s dance the tango.”

Tango shook his head. However, when he began to turn his head, Tamaki-san paid no attention and was already walking toward Utsumi, so Tango's neck—shaking his head with feigned composure—resembled that of a toy doll.

“Well now, Utsumi-san. You too need to bathe in footlights once in a while. Withdraw to a corner, don’t sulk, and boldly overwhelm them completely.”

Utsumi wore a good-natured smile, “The only time I bathe in footlights is when I’m starring in Notre Dame.” “I’ll count on you to co-star then.”

“Oh, really? How splendid. Let’s do it here this summer. Mr. Hitomi, please write us a suitable script.” “Very well. I’ll handle the stage design. We’ll put on a show for the villagers and fleece those peasants of their new yen.” “With Pika-ichi’s stage design, the peasant audience will run away, I tell you. Let’s just scrap the whole play. With this many actresses gathered, what else could there be but an erotic dance? Just like this—quick and easy!”

Ouni suddenly scooped Tamaki up and forcibly stripped off her two-piece dress. In just her chemise, having rolled out of Ouni’s arms, Tamaki didn’t flinch. Her expression showed no trace of mockery. She silently looked at Ouni and calmly removed her chemise. She was down to just her drawers. “Are you done? Another layer?”

Kazuma impatiently grabbed his sister’s arm. “You need to withdraw now.” “Anyway—might as well. Saves me the trouble and perfect timing.”

When Ouni scooped Tamaki up,

“Hey, knock it off. That’s going too far.” “Brother, don’t get angry. Even a demon wouldn’t actually strip a cute girl naked in public. But this saves effort and happens to be convenient—I’ll just borrow her for a bit. The performance is over now. What follows belongs to love’s private theater—no audience allowed.” He hoisted her up—“Heave-ho!”—muttered “Sorry ’bout this,” and made off toward his own bedroom.

Five minutes, ten minutes—the two did not return. While there may be shady bars and phony cabarets somewhere in the city, even there one would scarcely encounter such a spectacle. Even Mr. Pika-ichi looked dumbfounded,

“Well now, what a bold character surpassing all I’d heard. The Utagawa household is, however, an excellent brothel. Instead of wandering around godforsaken France, I should’ve cultivated a mountaineering hobby from my youth. Who might my companion be this evening? How about the Keishū writer and the Bluestocking poet?” Ms. Akiko forced a smile,

“Yes, perhaps another time. I have a prior engagement this evening.”

Taking her husband Miyake Kihyoe’s arm, “Well then, we’ll take our leave.”

“Ha, I see. Well then, come along now.” Pika-ichi nimbly stood up, briskly took the lead, opened the door connecting the hall to the corridor, and with the manner of a hotel bellboy or palace attendant, bowed his head deeply to see them off.

Taking that as their cue, everyone withdrew to their respective bedrooms.

When we withdrew to our bedrooms, Kazuma came right after. Irritated,

“Really, you’ve made a disgraceful spectacle of yourself.” “What must I do to calm this fury?” “I could strangle you.”

I also had no words of comfort.

“I haven’t had time to talk with you properly.”

This, however—what on earth was happening? I couldn't make sense of it.

“You did receive the tourist bureau tickets, didn’t you?” “That’s right.” “Did my letter arrive?” “Of course I saw it. If that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t have come. Dr. Kosei couldn’t come together, but since he’s departing tonight, he should arrive tomorrow.”

“Dr. Kosei?” “What is it?”

“What’s this about Dr. Kosei? Did someone tell you that?”

“I don’t understand this.” “Because your letter said to bring Dr. Kosei along.” “In my letter?” He stared at me in astonishment.

“I wouldn’t write such a thing.” “I should have written that I wanted only you two to come.” “No—I do understand.” “I see through the trickery.” “It’s not just the letter addressed to you.” “Listen to me.” “This is truly beyond comprehension.” “Which one of them did it?” “I’m already furious.” "But truly, whose doing is this?" “I—you, the Kamiyama Toyo couple, and even Doi Koichi—there’s no way I would have sent invitations to those people.” “Moreover, they’ve received the invitations.” “What’s more, just like you, a messenger from the tourist bureau delivered their tickets properly.” “I did send a letter arranging for the tourist bureau to deliver tickets.” “However, that was only for you two as a couple.” “I never asked Dr. Kosei either.”

This time, it was my turn to be stunned. I had not doubted his letter at all. It was indeed his familiar handwriting.

However, I had fortunately kept the letter in my pocket to show Dr. Kosei when I visited him and brought it here unchanged. I took it out and showed it. He was glaring at it, "The bastard who opened my letter once rewrote and sent it." "Because they've used my text exactly as it was." "Understand?"

Because I will have the Tourist Bureau deliver the tickets on July 15th, come on the last train that day. I must insist. "Additionally, since one of three tickets is for Dr. Kosei," persuade Ms. Okyo by any means necessary and ask her to accompany you. I beseech you. "A terrible crime is about to be committed. The blood of many people... You and Dr. Kosei are my only hope." And, Ms. Okyo. Ms. Okyo! I ask of you. "I’m waiting. I see a dark sea of blood."

“In other words.” “The bracketed『　』sections show where someone inserted text, while the parenthetical(　)parts were omitted.” “What ‘terrible crime’? There’s nothing of the sort here!” “That final line—‘I see a dark sea of blood’—is genuinely my writing.” “Back then I was haunted by dark fantasies about sinful blood between brother and sister.” “But truthfully, it was hyperbolic.” “I wrote that wretched passage—abandoning all literary dignity—specifically to appeal to your innocence, Ms. Okyo! Ms. Okyo! I needed you all to come.” “Ms. Okyo, please forgive me.” “But what exactly is that letter-forging bastard scheming?” “Could there actually be a real crime brewing?” “Honestly.” “Even I—you understand—feel like killing someone right now!” “Every last one of them—ah, damn them all!” “I want to snuff out their lives.” “Anyone living in this house now—you realize—couldn’t last a day without murdering two or three people!”

However, the handwriting was indeed his. However, upon closer inspection, traces of carefully imitated brushwork could be discerned.

“What about this paper?” “Our household stationery.” “Where is it kept?” “In the desk at the corner of the hall from earlier—this along with ink and pen are always kept there. Of course, envelopes are also kept there.” “Who mailed the letter?” “During your evacuation period, the post office was short-staffed, and given the times being what they were, we had to walk a ri to mail letters ourselves, but now they come to collect them from us—it’s an old custom. Though they come to deliver the mail, they take it back with them as part of their round. Only when there’s no mail to deliver to our house do they still make a special trip at the usual delivery time to collect it. For outgoing mail from our house, there’s a paulownia wood box placed in the entryway, and those mailing letters toss them in themselves as they please. Therefore, there was a chance for anyone to swap the letters.”

“Ah well.” “Fortunately, Dr. Kosei is coming tomorrow—isn’t this just perfect timing?” “After all, the letter’s culprit is the one who named him themselves.” Why did they have to go and call Dr. Kosei? If this culprit was underestimating Dr. Kosei, it was a monumental blunder. He was an absolute genius in that field. In other words, they had a half-baked mind. An organization that’s just right for finding criminals but can’t go beyond that—and doesn’t try to go beyond that—was probably an extraordinary talent in its own right.

“Well then, see you tomorrow.”

“Go ahead then.” “Even if we chase crimes, we’d just wander through a maze, manufacturing criminals left and right.” “Truly, for novelists, there can be no person who isn’t a criminal—so pondering it is utterly pointless.”

Kazuma returned to his room.

No more sounds came from any of the rooms now.

“I feel uneasy. I’m getting scared. I wonder if something terrible is really going to happen.”

“What sort of scary thing?” “What sort of scary thing? I don’t know. But don’t you think something might really happen?” “You think so? A brothel crime, huh? Damn Pikaichi! A brothel? But this is completely outrageous!”

“I spoke with Ms. Kayoko today.” “It was still just a brief exchange of greetings, you know.” “She probably exceeds expectations.” “She truly seems to be brooding over her brother.” “Sin is something humans created,” she said. “A notion humans arbitrarily fabricated,” she said. “‘In humans as they exist in nature, there can be no such thing as sin anywhere,’ she told me.” “Where there is shame, there must also be sin.”

“Your sophistries are like the grime from Ms. Kayoko’s worries.”

“Got it, got it. The young ladies’ worries are profound indeed. Alright, let’s hit the sack. But will I even be able to sleep?”

I had napped too much during the day. But I was growing drowsy.

At that moment, Ms. Tamaki passed by in the hallway, singing something like a French chanson I didn’t recognize. When she reached the stairs, her voice gradually grew louder, and she clattered down noisily.

“Well, well—Madame Tamaki’s grand return?”

When I looked at the clock, it was 11:15. I turned off the light.

Postscript: For this detective novel, I will offer a prize. To the most excellent answer deducing the culprit, I shall present the manuscript fee for this novel’s solution installment. The particulars will be announced in due course within the magazine’s pages, but roughly speaking, I plan serialization across nine or ten issues—let us wage a grand battle of wits together. Should your guess prove incorrect, I shan’t be paying out any manuscript fees. In most instances, matters will likely conclude without necessitating such disbursement. Sakaguchi Ango

IV. The First Murder

The next morning, July 17th at 6:30 AM, we went out for a walk. In Miwayama—so named—there stands a hokora deep in the mountains far from human habitation, called Miwa Shrine, said to be a guardian deity with origins dating back to the Nara period. What remained now was only a dense forest of towering trees; the hokora itself appeared toy-like in its smallness. In these Miwa Mountains, surrounded by dense beech forests, there lay a pond spanning about three cho in circumference. The water’s profound azure hue took on an unearthly spectral quality, with legends of some primordial presence dwelling within—tales tied to the Miwa deity that claimed these waters never dried.

The scenery around here held a ferocity of colors, a depth of solitude, and a heart-piercing stillness that formed this village's greatest charm to me. Having circled through the area and returned in time for the seven-thirty breakfast, as I passed through the back gate and attempted to round toward the main gate along the sake storehouse, there stood the monkey-like Dr. Ebizuka in the rear garden, wiping his body by the clear stream while performing calisthenics.

“Ah, did you spend the night here?” I called out, but he only shot me a glare and offered no reply. He truly was an eccentric, twisted man. The limp from childhood polio left his legs uneven in thickness—a disparity that became glaringly obvious when he disrobed. Though he radiated hostility toward our entire group, refusing proper responses whenever addressed, he nevertheless appeared nightly at our drinking gatherings since the literati’s arrival, sitting silent in a shadowed corner with a perpetually furious expression—yet one suspected he took peculiar pleasure in this self-imposed ritual.

When I went to the hall and found everyone gathered—the meal preparations having been declared ready—I entered the dining room. Dr. Ebizuka arrived late. Then Utsugi Akiko appeared in a lethargic manner,

“Somehow，my head hurts.” “I do not want any food，but when it is the set time for everyone to gather，I just cannot stay abed somehow.”

“Did you stay up all night last night?” asked Ms. Kocho. “No. I overslept, so I’m still sleepy. I wonder if it’s the mountains making one sleepy? Since my daily life is usually irregular, when I occasionally live a regular life, it feels oddly reassuring—almost wholesome—but...” “A lady of high vice loves good deeds—that’s the paradox, isn’t it?”

Pikaichi declared loudly.

"I'll just have some water." "Are you unwell?" said Pikaichi. "Yeah. If I, a talentless glutton, have no appetite, I might actually be ill, you know." "Could it be morning sickness?" said Pikaichi. "You should have Dr. Ebizuka examine you." Kazuma showed concern for his former wife. Her current husband Mokubee was sullenly displeased, but they would likely part ways before long. "Oh dear. I’d hate to actually be made out as ill."

“That’s what they call wisdom fever, Ms. Utsugi,” said Utsumi, the poet others called a literary parasite. “Haven’t you reached your intellectual peak these days? Your career growth does seem remarkably vigorous.” This jab stemmed from Akiko having become postwar Japan’s most notorious woman writer, churning out works with what some considered indecent productivity. “Life’s delightful,” Tango Yumihiko remarked. “Even farewells bring pleasure. When one enjoys your level of success, Ms. Utsugi, divine punishment would stop at loss of appetite.” He paused before delivering the sting. “Even gods have their limits. Might you be evolving into genius territory?”

“Ah ha ha!” “A lady of such lofty vice losing her appetite—how concerning.” “Must be compensating for something else being far too… vigorous.”

Pikaichi's words were always filthy.

As the meal was coming to an end, Ms. Tamaki arrived.

“Oh, is everyone already having coffee?” “I overslept.” “I’m so sleepy.”

"Of course it is." "You're sleepy because—" Again, Pikaichi was first to interject.

“I don’t want to eat anything. Mr. Ouni—is he still asleep?” Ouni alone had not yet appeared. Pikaichi leered, “There we go. So men aren’t allowed extra sleep after all? Even with Ouni’s sturdy build, could his exhaustion surpass yours? It’s Ms. Utsugi’s novel. In painting, such vulgarities don’t become subjects—that’s why painting’s noble. Literature’s filthy.”

“I’ll go wake him up.”

Tamaki coolly tossed out her words and left singing a chanson as she raced up the stairs—only to return moments later without a sound. She was deathly pale. Her eyes lost focus. She seemed momentarily unable to speak.

“Mr. Ouni is dead.”

Kazuma jolted his head up,

“What?” “Mr. Ouni has been murdered.” She unsteadily lowered herself into one of the empty chairs and sat petrified, like a fossil stripped of vitality.

Kazuma slowly stood up, his gaze restlessly sweeping over the people, “Sunpei. Just you,” he called out to me,

“Everyone, please wait. I will go check. Just Sunpei with me. And Dr. Ebizuka.” The gathering was utterly silent. Dr. Ebizuka and I stood up. And so only the three of us walked out from the utterly silent room where not even a rustle could be heard. Ouni had indeed been murdered. The body lay completely naked. The heart had been stabbed once. The dagger remained stabbed into his body, as if pinned in place. Strangely, there was almost no blood to be seen. That this bastard, who never killed anyone, should end up being killed himself seemed like a lie—it didn’t feel like we were in the midst of a real incident. Whoever killed this bastard. I felt a strong sense of perverse satisfaction, yet because he lay there so utterly ordinary in death, I grew uneasy—what if he was still alive? It felt like some kind of deception.

Dr. Ebizuka took his pulse, flipped up his eyelids, "He’s been dead for some time." Serves him right. Those words naturally spilled from my lips. Kazuma had been silently staring, but finally seeming to regain his senses, "Well, let's leave this room for now." "Let’s leave it as it is." "It can’t be helped." "Can’t we keep it secret from the police? Can’t we even cover it up?"

We exited into the corridor. At that moment, I noticed and looked at my wristwatch—it was 8:22. We called the village police station. Then we returned to the dining room, and though the silent gathering was urging them to speak, neither Kazuma nor Dr. Ebizuka said a word, so I—

“Ouni is dead. He has been murdered.” “Is it clearly murder? Can you tell?” said Pikaichi. “It’s clearly murder. Ouni might be as much of a monster as you are, but even he probably couldn’t pull off plunging a dagger into his own heart.” At that moment, I did not miss how Ms. Akiko’s expression shifted dramatically. Could she have been surprised? What? Noticing my gaze fixed upon her, she suddenly stared back at me sharply—but there was another person observing this besides me. It was Ms. Tamaki. Suddenly pointing at Ms. Akiko, she screamed hysterically.

“I know who did it.” “The lady novelist—Ms. Utsugi Akiko.” “How very impressive of you.” “After all, you’re perfectly capable of murder.”

Ms. Tamaki stood up and, as if revealing a magic trick’s secret, pinched some small object she had been clutching between her fingertips to show the others. “This lighter is Ms. Utsugi’s beloved Dunhill, isn’t it?” “Because there’s no one else who uses a Dunhill ‘Handsome Boy’ besides Ms. Utsugi.” “It was on Mr. Ouni’s bedside desk.” “In the desk’s ashtray, there’s also a cigarette butt with lipstick on it.” “Until I left that room last night, there were no such things.”

“End of Volume” Ms. Tamaki rolled the lighter across the dining table and sank into her chair as if yawning. Ms. Akiko wore the face of a convicted criminal who had just received a sentence. And, as if drained of strength, she lowered her face, but soon raised it—quivering—

“That I killed him—it’s a lie!” “I... I don’t know anything about any dagger!”

“Let’s stop this. “A culprit…” “It’s true that someone killed him, but really, anyone here would’ve been equally inclined to do it if they wanted him dead.” "The title of culprit doesn’t suit our respected exemplar." “Rather than squabbling among ourselves looking for the culprit, discussing a petition for acquittal would be our true feelings.” When I said that, Ebizuka— “Night Parade of One Hundred Demons.” “Of course it is.”

Muttering that, he stood up. I was standing next to him, so his muttering reached my ears. As he tried to stand up and leave,

“Dr. Ebizuka. Until the investigation is completed, we shouldn’t move, should we?”

“I’m no idle gentleman,” “Patients are swarming in.” “Carried on someone’s back since dawn, trudging three ri through mountain paths.” “Murder?” “Just the finale of your little game.” “Even if peasants’ lives are mere bugs with whiskers—still more precious than insects.” “Bug slaughter.” “Farewell.” “Everyone.” “Mr.Pretentious! Mr.Dandy! Mr.Renowned-Doctor!” Pikaichi roared at his retreating back.

“You’re going to all the trouble to kill your patients. That look in your eyes—I’ve seen it in a lunatic asylum, I tell you.” “Letting a madman take people’s pulses—those mountain hicks sure are laid-back about things.”

The resident policeman rushed to the scene. Officer Minamikawa Yuichiro was an avid reader of detective novels, but since this was his first encounter with a real case, he threw himself into the task with such nervous intensity that he rather pompously slapped a seal onto the crime scene door. Addressing everyone, he solemnly instructed them not to disturb the crime scene and contacted the main station by telephone. “A major incident has occurred—hmm, are you hearing this? The victim is Mr. Mochizuki Ouni—Tokyo’s fashionable popular literary figure—no, popular literary figure—trend-chasing writer—don’t you understand?—the antithesis of a penny-a-line hack—ah, bothersome—doesn’t the main station have any literary police officers?”

5: The Cat’s Bell

It would take over five hours for the party from the prefectural headquarters to arrive. However, Officer Minamikawa Yuichiro proved so officious that he confined everyone to the dining hall and wouldn’t even let them out for a walk.

“Ah, no! The footprints will fade!” “You mustn’t loiter in the hallway either.” “In criminal cases—you see—a single hair, a grain of sand fallen from a shoe—these become the key.” “It’s a subtle thing, you see.” “Through your cooperation and several hours of patience, the great machinery of forensic science will bear fruit.”

He would only allow them to walk along a single designated path to the toilet. Around eleven-thirty, Dr. Kosei arrived. I had been eagerly waiting to present his arrival to everyone, but here he stood—a man just under five feet tall with a perfectly round cherubic face, appearing as nothing more than a pleasant-looking youth of twenty-three or twenty-four. Though he seemed quick enough in a scuffle, there wasn't the slightest trace of a great detective about him. Kazuma and I were explaining everything, which he received with such apologetic deference—panting "Hah, hah"—as though he himself were being interrogated.

“This is the forged letter, but with your keen eye, uncovering the truth should be child’s play.” “Not at all.” “Someone like me? I’m utterly hopeless.” “Oh—so this is Mr. Utagawa’s actual handwriting?” “Hah! They’re identical, aren’t they?” “Damn fine work.” “Can’t tell it from the real thing—remarkable craftsmanship.”

Therefore, Dr. Kosei was not at all well-regarded. Instead, he was amiable, cherubically round-faced and cute, polite to ladies, and entirely lacking in intimidating qualities, making him a great favorite among the women,

“Dr. Kosei, do you have someone special?” “Huh? Oh, it’s rather embarrassing.” “You should’ve brought her along. Why don’t you send her a telegram?”

“Because she’s shy around strangers.” “Because she’s a lovely seventeen-year-old girl.” “Oh my, so you still haven’t deigned to kiss her, have you?” “That... once.” “That’s all it was.”

She turned beet red, but didn't get angry. "Hah..." "In that case, you may go on a honeymoon now. Let's send for her right away, shall we?" "Well, you see, there's a bit of a problem here. Because she doesn't know how to eat Western-style meals. Since she'd never held a knife and fork before, she's currently practicing." Because they were being confined by Officer Yuichiro, they were using Dr. Kosei as their amusement to vent their frustration.

At two-thirty, a party comprising the preliminary judge, prosecutor, and police officers arrived in an official vehicle. At Kazuma’s request, Dr. Kosei was permitted police-level access to the crime scene.

The police doctor’s examination concluded, and a considerable number of fingerprints were collected from the crime scene. Superintendent Hirao Yutaka possessed the perceptive vision of a mind’s eye that could take in any intelligent crime at a glance; when he glared two, three, four times over it, he would see through it. A master detective too illustrious for the countryside, he was known nationwide in that field as "Superintendent Kanguri." After scrutinizing the crime scene two, three, four times over, he ordered a thorough investigation into every detail.

"There must be some special reason for the lack of bleeding." "Like he was already dead, or something." "I cannot state definitively without performing an autopsy, but in this case—what's commonly called cardiac tamponade—when a weapon is thrust perpendicularly into the heart, it can rarely result in internal bleeding alone." "However, without conducting an autopsy, I cannot state anything definitively."

For the autopsy, they loaded the corpse onto a truck and sent it to the prefectural hospital.

“Hmm.” “What could this be?”

One of the detectives picked up a small brass bell from under the bed. This detective was Superintendent Arahira Hiroshi, the prefecture’s foremost investigator. With his acute sixth sense that could discern any criminal method and sniff out culprits, he was a master detective whom his colleagues held in awe as "Hatchōbana". “What’s that?” “It’s a bell.” At first glance, it was an exceedingly cheap item—the kind you’d hang around a cat’s neck. “Is there nothing else under the bed? Hey, Yomisugi! Since you’re a shrimp, crawl under there and check.”

Hatchōbana put on airs as the boss. The detective called Yomisugi—whose real name was Nagahata Chifuyu—possessed knowledge unbefitting his station, though how he’d acquired it was anyone’s guess. He had dabbled in German and such, with some medical know-how, but as a detective, he could hardly be called competent. He’d earned the nickname “Yomisugi” by overcomparing straightforward crimes into bizarrely convoluted puzzles, plunging headlong into excessively elaborate theories. Superintendent Kanguri had brought him to partner with Hatchōbana precisely because this Tokyo intellectual’s crime seemed complex enough that Yomisugi’s approach might finally prove useful. Hatchōbana could sniff out clues eight leagues ahead with that nose of his, but being a hotheaded leap-to-conclusions type, while his instincts served rural crimes well, they left him ill-equipped for the calculated schemes of city-bred intellectuals.

Yomisugi got on all fours to crawl under the bed, but—

“Well now, this is odd. There’s a suit jacket under the bed.” When they pulled out the jacket, one area was thickly caked with dust, leaving marks exactly as if a rag had been used to wipe something. “Well now, I wonder where they wiped. Maybe this side table... or the desk?” "Would that much grime really accumulate in a place like this? It’s obvious, isn’t it. Where the jacket had been.”

“Under the bed?”

“Check it out.”

"Hmm, I see. There are indeed traces of wiping around here." "But why in blazes would they wipe under the bed?" "There's not a single trace of spilled blood or water—not even a drop."

The jacket belonged to the victim.

The thorough investigation of the scene concluded in the evening. The murder weapon bore no fingerprints, while several fingerprints were lifted from the flask and cup on the bedside table. When all fingerprints were collected and compared, aside from the victim’s, Ms. Tamaki’s and Ms. Akiko’s matched perfectly. Ms. Akiko’s fingerprints clearly showed she had held the flask and poured into the cup. The flask contained a very small amount of dark brown liquid.

“Was the window open from the start?” “The window at the foot of the bed had been left wide open. However, the culprit didn’t enter from there. No traces of a ladder being placed or anyone climbing up either,” Officer Tomoichirō declared, demonstrating through this display of competence that his guard duty hadn’t been in vain.

“Are there no mosquitoes around here?”

“Not at all! This area is a notorious spot for bush mosquitoes. There’s a ceramic container for burning mosquito-repellent incense on that staggered shelf over there, you see?” “I know that much. That’s why I asked—because there’s no incense ash left inside.” On the desk were about fifty pages of written manuscript and roughly five hundred sheets of manuscript paper, neatly arranged with no signs of having been touched. There were no signs that the room had been ransacked.

Having decided to await the autopsy results before commencing formal interrogations, the forensic team withdrew that day, leaving several members to stay overnight at the police station. At that moment, Superintendent Kanguri, who had come out to see off the group, turned to one person and—

“Hey, send Atapin over here tomorrow.” “These damn high-society intellectual ladies getting mixed up with Manji Tomoe—I can’t handle ’em.” “Gotta be Atapin.”

Having overheard this snippet, I too was startled,

“What is this ‘Atapin’ you speak of?” “Ah ha ha. Did you hear that? She’s the celebrated female detective from our main station. A real gem we dug up who’s overqualified for this backwater police force—goes by Fumiko Iizuka. Bit of a cheeky beauty with alluring charm—makes a man want to tease her, see? But here’s the rub—cross that line just once, and she’ll puff up like a peacock, blowing every last man away with a snort and trampling over their backsides. Even a ten-time convicted killer in this prefecture—the swaggering type who’d make lesser men shrivel—gets brushed off with a flick of Atapin’s nose. That said—when her genius intuition strikes? Everything snaps into place in that head of hers. What she sees? Snap. What she hears? Snap. Sit her down silent? Still snaps. Course eight times outta ten she’s off the mark—but when she hits? Pure streamlined inspiration, no logic required. That noggin’s always snapping away—busiest mind you ever saw. Don’t know what sort of Pin-suke your fancy inspirations might be, but Atapin’s Pin-suke? High-speed streamlined charge—downright magnificent.”

Superintendent Kanguri's group also joined them at the dinner table. Both Hatchōbana and Yomisugi raised their cups. Superintendent Kanguri had a sweet tooth.

“If you could open up to us like this, it would indeed be an honor for us. When people hear ‘police,’ they prejudicially greet us with immediate hostility—that’s the hard part for us. The police aren’t some criminal-manufacturing corporation, you know. Now then—though it’s rather uncouth to bring this up during your meal—in such circumstances, it’s better for everyone to frankly address the incident as a topic of discussion rather than avoid it. When each person speaks without reserve, our minds become settled, and it proves mutually beneficial. How does that sound? In a light conversational mood, could you all feel free to speak up to whatever extent you’re comfortable? This detached building is an incongruous Western-style mansion in the mountains, but this one’s reinforced concrete, you see.”

“That’s correct.” “It’s what they call the Wright-style one.” “Has it been about fifteen years since it was built?” “The main house has stood for roughly a hundred and fifty years.” “So the entrance lock must be extremely sophisticated then?” “There are no houses that lock their doors in these mountain depths.” “The fear of burglars simply doesn’t exist here.” “Though we do have nocturnal intruders.” “What we call night-crawlers, you understand.” “Mr. Superintendent.” “Let’s cease this futile talk.” “The culprit didn’t come from outside.” “This much is self-evident.” “To have us coddled like this—to our nerves, it resonates as mockery.”

I said with some irritation. “Please go ahead and say exactly what you think—bluntly and without reserve. Literary work demands such directness—we’re accustomed to that approach—so when you couch things in such circuitous terms, it makes me contrary and saps all willingness to respond.”

“No—Mr. Yashiro—you certainly know something about this case. However, we begin with a complete blank slate and must learn everything anew. Therefore, what stands perfectly clear to you remains unknown to us. That is precisely where we must request your enlightenment. Now I ask you, Mr. Yashiro—what reason leads you to declare the culprit did not come from outside?”

“It’s because this wasn’t a burglar’s doing.” “Would anyone come from outside just to kill that guy?” “What is the reason you claim that no one besides a resident of this house could have killed Mr. Mochizuki?”

"I don't know about that," I said. "But if we're talking about this house's residents, most of them wanted to snuff out Mochizuki's life. There was no need for anyone to come from outside." "I see," replied the superintendent. "However, the content of your theory alone doesn't suffice as grounds to dismiss an external culprit. Let's suppose someone entered through the corridor doorway, climbed the stairs—since Mr. Mochizuki's room was at the top—went inside first, then killed him when he woke up."

“Since the murder weapon dagger was displayed on the parlor shelf, the culprit must be someone familiar with internal matters. They must have taken it from there with murderous intent from the beginning.” “I see. However, that isn’t something we can definitively state as necessarily being conclusive. Was the dagger displayed there that day as well?”

No one responded. "It should have been displayed," Kazuma answered.

“Last night too, you all were seated at the dining table like this. And then…” “And then?” “Usually after meals everyone scatters,” Tamaki interjected, “but last night—since Yashiro and the new guests had arrived—we drank, talked and danced late into the night in the adjacent hall.” “Brother, stop. Mr. Inspector, what do you want to know? When was he killed? Who did it? That’s all there is. I’ll tell you. Mr. Ouni and I retired to his bedroom slightly ahead of the others. I don’t remember the exact time. When I left Mr. Ouni’s room, he was already asleep. At that time neither this lighter nor any lipstick-stained cigarette butt was on the desk. I don’t smoke. I turned off the light and left the room. From this point onward, it’s time for this lighter’s owner—Ms. Utsugi Akiko—to speak. Ms. Utsugi, please proceed.”

Ms. Akiko seemed to have already steeled herself.

“I went to Mr. Ouni’s room around one o’clock,” she stated crisply. “Mr. Ouni was asleep. He was snoring, so there’s no mistake. When shaking him produced no sign of waking, I sat in a chair and smoked a cigarette.” “Did you drink from the flask at that time?” “Yes, I did. There was hardly any left.”

“What is that drink?” “Geranium thunbergii. Mr. Ouni may appear robust, but he suffered from stomach trouble. He made it his daily custom to swig Geranium thunbergii instead of tea.” “Pardon my asking, but do you carry a lighter even when briefly visiting others’ rooms?” “Not invariably. But Mr. Ouni didn’t smoke. Last night I initially went out without my lighter. Then I discovered the door was locked. I turned back once, yet upon reflection found this peculiar. I chanced to realize I’d been entrusted with Mr. Ouni’s key. When I checked, there it was. So I took the lighter and cigarettes along when I resolved to try again.”

“Don’t lie!” “I didn’t lock any key!”

"And Ms. Tamaki shouted." "But the door was locked, you see."

“Hah.” “That’s strange.” “And what did you do with that key?” “Again, I brought it back. "I locked the room. "I deliberately left the lighter behind. "So that Mr. Ouni would wake up and notice my visit. "And so that he would also notice that someone had locked the door. “I did come, but someone else who could lock it besides me also came.” "Only Mr. Ouni would know who that someone was." "My Dunhill had been left behind to tell of that protest.”

“That’s a lie!” “A complete lie!” “When I discovered Mr. Ouni’s corpse this morning, the door was not locked.” “In fact, I—who do not have a key—entered that room and discovered the corpse, did I not?”

“Well now.” “This has gotten rather tangled.” “To begin with—are the keys for each room in this house shared?” “No—each one is different.” “However, it’s a key that works both from inside and outside with just one.”

“Then, Mr. Ouni’s key is in Ms. Akiko’s possession. Who else would be able to lock or unlock that room? Who else has the same key?”

“Let me see.” “We had three copies of each key made.” “One set was distributed to all of you, another was supposed to have been tossed into the desk drawer in the adjacent hall.” “The third set should surely be in the safe.” “That drawer. Hey, Hatchōhana—go check it out.” “Hey, Hatchōhana, go check that for me.” Kazuma and Hatchōhana left to verify, but the entire set of keys in the drawer was missing. The hall desk’s drawer contained stationery bearing the Utagawa family name—envelopes, manuscript paper, and such—arranged for guests to freely take as needed.

“Does anyone recall seeing the bunch of keys from the drawer?” “I saw them,” Utsumi Akira the Bug said nonchalantly. “When was it?” “Let me see. I didn’t bring any manuscript paper with me, and since I heard there was some here, I rummaged through everything—but all I found were stationery and envelopes. No manuscript paper to be found, you see. Since it was shortly after I arrived, it’s already a story from over a month ago. I have no idea what month or day it was!”

"There is a door between Mr. Ouni's room and the adjacent room—what about its key?" "The door between rooms remained locked, and that key was not distributed to any guests. However, it was naturally included among the stolen key set." "Who occupied that adjacent room?" Inspector Kanguri unfolded a diagram where everyone's room positions had been marked,

“Ah, Mr. Tango Yumihiko.” “I have long been reading your works in magazines.” “Did you happen to hear any unusual noises in the adjacent room last night?”

“Since I’m subjected to strange noises every night, I can’t be bothered to mind each one.” “With Ouni dead, I should finally be able to sleep soundly starting tonight.” “Is there any distinction between the sounds of carnal desire and those of murder?”

After the meal ended, amidst the clamorous flow of people moving to the adjacent hall, Hatchōhana suddenly called out to Ms. Ayaka.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Pardon me, but those slippers—” “Hah! What’s this about these pantoufles?” “Ah, pantou... I see. These aren’t slippers—they’re shoes, aren’t they? Do you always wear those shoes, ma’am?”

“You must think it’s in terribly bad taste.” “They get ridiculed by everyone, you know.” “But I do love these gaudy, toy-like things.” “There are about seven more pairs of similarly gaudy indoor slippers outside, you know.” “Depending on the day’s mood, I’ll wear those or these.” “Do all of them have bells?” “The ones with bells are just this pair.” “Did you wear those yesterday as well?” “Yesterday.” “Yesterday, you know.” “Yes.” “I wore them yesterday as well.” “But I wore the ones outside as well.” “Why do you ask?”

“One of **the bells** has come off. Do **you** remember when **it** went missing?”

“Yes. “I noticed one of the bells was missing this morning when I put them on.” “Jumping, running, tripping—I’m always scurrying around, you see.” “But I’m particularly fond of these pantoufles.” “They’re cute.” “Right? Don’t you think so?” “You think so too, don’t you?”

“Hah, no—absolutely not. We’ve truly never seen anything like them in our town.”

After the police withdrew, we drank again. Mokubee, who wasn’t much of a drinker, had gotten drunk and sat silent, but Utsugi Akiko too was occasionally downing gulps of beer she couldn’t handle.

“Even before we came here, it was as if we were no longer husband and wife.”

Mokubee began in a low voice. Unaccustomed to heavy drinking, he had turned pale, his eyes taking on a crazed look. However, timid as he was, he could not bring himself to look at Ms. Akiko and instead turned his gaze in the opposite direction, “However, in any case, you carrying on with another man under the same roof—isn’t this a question of decency?” “After you parted with Utagawa and got together with me—though I felt no shame about that at the time—now I’ve become ashamed of it.” “When it comes to that, we ourselves become dogs.” “I feel the disgrace of a dog.” “But you still consider yourself fully human—it’s laughable.”

Ms. Akiko remained silent. Then Pikaichi interjected, “Let’s drop this Hamlet routine already.” “If it began here and ends here, the karma’s perfectly clear—neatly consistent.” “What a touching story,” he sneered. “Shut up,” Mokubee growled. “You ruffian.” “Only speak to your own friends.” “There are none of your friends here!” “Who’re you calling a ruffian?” “Calling your ex-wife a dog—your gentleman act’s revolting.” “I’ve always hated having male pals anyway.” “That’s Ms. Utsugi for you.” “There’s no Hamlet who goes around calling women dogs.” “If you’ll call women dogs, you’d better have a lion’s courage.” “It’s because half-baked fools like you—mismatched ideals and lifestyle—peddle foreign literature that Japan stays provincial forever.” “Right, Ms. Utsugi?” “Let’s be friends.” “First off, living with this creep means you’ll never write a real man.” “Shan’t we make today our commemorative day?”

“What number commemorative day is this for you?”

“For that, you should consult the Catholic calendar.” “There is no day that isn’t a commemorative day, I tell you.” “We too must follow Catholicism’s example and make all three hundred sixty-five days commemorative days.”

Pikaichi unceremoniously stood up and took Ms. Akiko's hand, but she stepped back,

“You’re quite the mean one yourself. Mocking a murder suspect?” “Oh, aren’t you the old-fashioned sort? To offer our kiss in mourning for Ouni—now that’s what I call a sacred and pure endeavor. Since the cycle of life and death is existence’s ultimate truth, we must embrace this flux starting from the very day your lover was slaughtered. That’s how it must be!”

“I have a headache tonight.” Ms. Akiko turned around and tried to leave. As Pikaichi moved to pursue her, several golf balls came flying—one struck his head, then another hit his shoulder. Since Mrs. Ayaka had been juggling the golf balls for some time, when Pikaichi turned around, she pretended not to notice, leaning back in her chair and gazing elsewhere. “You bastard!” Pikaichi lunged at Ms. Ayaka and was about to strangle her and push her down along with the chair when I stood up—simultaneously, Hitomi Koroku grabbed an empty beer bottle and rose to his feet. I shoved Pikaichi aside. Hitomi Koroku’s menacing demeanor was terrifying—he was a man once renowned as a leftist fighter and a master of brawls. What gave me even greater reassurance was Dr. Kosei’s presence—he who since his student days had been a back-alley boss capable of single-handedly making it rain blood against ten hoodlums without ever being outdone. Dr. Kosei paid no attention to our fight and was smirkingly enjoying his drink, but since I believed he would come to my aid if needed, I felt greatly emboldened.

“Tch.” “Playing the knight, are we?” “If you want a European-style duel challenge, I’ll take you on one by one.” “If you don’t bunch up, you ain’t gonna accomplish shit.” “You fools!”

Pikaichi opened two beer bottles on the table, grabbed one in each hand, and went out toward the garden while chugging them trumpet-style.

“We should all have one round first.” “How about we surround them and deliver some iron-fisted justice?”

Kamiyama Toyo said. That couple would usually go off to the servants’ gathering place and chatter away there, but when joining our group, they hardly ever spoke.

“You look like you’ve got some muscle there. Isn’t gangsterism your line of work?” The Semushi Poet laid bare his unfiltered intuition. Yet he perpetually wore a grin devoid of malice, so nobody ever took offense. “I’m flattered,” came the reply. “Do I truly give that impression? Between us, I’m rather timid—this brawn is all for show.”

“I suppose if one lacks the ability to throw a punch for a lady like I do—they’re unqualified for love.” “The times seem to demand we keep our iron fists at the ready for beauties’ sake.” “What say you, Mokubee? Are there no Semushi swordsmen in France either?” “Mr. Utsumi is composing a poetry collection for me.” “Titled ‘For the Mentally Anguished Ugly Woman,’ I’m told.” “How fitting.” “You must praise me extravagantly.” “Then there’d be no need for iron fists, you see.” “I’ve never endured teasing, after all.” “In return, I’ll shower praises upon you—our jovial Semushi.”

Ms. Chigusa said.

I simply couldn't bring myself to like this ugly young lady. Her heart was twisted. She appeared bluntly honest, yet everything she said turned out backward; though she called herself an ugly woman, she secretly nursed hidden arrogance—her very act of self-deprecation being a servile contortion of spite. "You're just giving yourself needless heartache." "My role is simply to sing for ugly women." "My, how uncharacteristically shy you're acting." "Yet you say such bold things when we're alone."

“An ugly woman shouldn’t go courting an ugly man. An ugly woman burns her heart in secret for a handsome man, while an ugly man dies in agony for a beautiful woman—that’s where the true value lies. Compared to me, Cyrano doesn’t even count as an ugly man. His poetry also seems more skillful than mine. I really have no redeeming qualities.” Utsumi clutched his head with both hands. His fingers were slender, long, and gnarled. When he clutched his head with both hands, his face was small enough to fit entirely within them. The Semushi Poet stood up.

“Well then, I’ll take my leave and perhaps compose a poem tonight.” “For the ugly woman.”

“Wait.” “Let’s go for a little stroll, shall we?” “No?” “You don’t mind, do you?” “I’m certainly not hoping for that.” “We can’t go through this garden.” “Mr. Pikaichi must be somewhere chugging beer.” “Let’s go out to the beech grove from this way.” With that, Ms. Chigusa took out a flashlight from the cupboard’s edge, imperiously urged the Semushi Poet onward, and disappeared outside through the dining room exit.

“Disgusting,” Ms. Tamaki spat out under her breath.

“Isn’t she rather charming?”

said Kamiyama Toyo. Were it not him, no one else would interject at such a time when unpleasant implications were visibly present.

“You call that charming?” “What exactly do you mean by ‘charming’?” “Ms. Chigusa wants to manipulate men like some beauty would.” “If it’s the Semushi Poet, she probably thinks she can manipulate him.” “With that act, she fancies herself a queen. How utterly repulsive.” “Even a crow wearing peacock feathers would still be better than that.”

When it comes to spiteful observation, women as a race are geniuses. Filthy things seem to catch the eye far more distinctly than beautiful ones. Ms. Tamaki had been drinking heavily since earlier. Moreover, today she had been drinking in sullen silence, gulping it down irritably, so her eyes grew quite wild.

“Today I’m going to drink my fill.”

“That’s enough now, Ms. Tamaki. You’ll just end up vomiting or suffering later.”

said Ayaka-san. Ms. Kocho added her voice, “It’s true, Ms. Tamaki. “That much drinking is harmful. “That’s enough now.”

“Yes, but... Just let me drink a little more. You see... When I drink quietly like this... I start seeing visions. Visions of Mr. Ouni being murdered. So clearly. I can even see the expression on the woman’s face as she brings down the dagger—it’s all vividly clear. Truly a demon’s face. The face of jealousy itself—a demon’s face.” “Let’s stop this talk. We should retire for the night.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Ms. Tamaki took Ms. Ayaka’s hand and soon began sobbing quietly. This sister-in-law and Ms. Tamaki seemed to get along well, but when Ms. Akiko had been the sister-in-law, they had clashed on every matter and had been like dogs and monkeys ever since. Embracing the now-crying Ms. Tamaki, Ms. Ayaka led her away. When she returned after about ten minutes, the maid came chasing after her, “Madam, the young lady is vomiting and suffering terribly. Should we call Dr. Ebizuka?” Ebizuka glared and raised his face,

“Don’t be ridiculous. “For a doctor to make a house call to tend to a drunkard—not even Her Majesty the Queen would get that.” “Get lost.” He looked absolutely livid. “Ask Ms. Kotoro.” “Yes, ma’am.” Kotoro was the name of the nurse.

After about thirty minutes, the maid came again and reported that the young lady had fallen soundly asleep.

At that moment, 10:05. Just then Pika-ichi returned, and with that as their cue, everyone stood up declaring, "Alright, let's turn in." "What's this? No need to run off just 'cause I showed up." "Get out! Get out!" "I'll quietly drink alone." "Perfectly fucking convenient." We ignored him and retreated to our rooms, but then came the violent shattering of what sounded like ceramic or a sake bottle. When we opened doors to check downstairs, Ms. Ayaka came fleeing up with sheer panic on her face.

“What’s wrong?” “Yes—that man—when I was tidying up afterward—suddenly—” She stopped short, swayed unsteadily, collected herself, then scurried down the corridor to her room. At that moment, the tinkling of slipper bells registered in her ears. I remembered Detective Hatchobana’s words and felt an indefinable unease creep over me.

I knocked on Dr. Kosei’s door. “Well? Got any leads?”

“Don’t overestimate me.” “I’m no Sherlock Holmes.” “I’m utterly lost in fog here.” “First off—the erotic stimulation in this house overwhelms any criminal element.” “I’m too busy wrestling with this stimulation—it’s like recalling that Tokyo woman makes me fight to stay conscious.” “By the way—wasn’t one of Mrs. Ayaka’s pantoufle bells found at Ouni’s murder scene?”

“As you’ve surmised, under the bed.”

"Good grief. What a disaster. Is Ms. Ayaka the prime suspect?" “Don’t be absurd. Even a cat wouldn’t go mousing with a bell around its neck. By the way, regarding this floor plan—the arrangement of everyone’s rooms—whose decision was this? Why is only Ms. Utsumi downstairs?” “Well now. That’s beyond me. Why don’t we ask Kazuma?”

We went to Kazuma’s room. Because Mrs. Ayaka was changing clothes, we had to wait outside briefly. “Come in,” “Ayaka’s been staying with me since last night.” “Doi Koichi appeared and began causing a disturbance, you see.” “But this isn’t normal at all,” “It’s perfectly clear someone is scheming,” “If today’s incident is part of the scheme, what on earth will happen on Mother’s death anniversary?” “The notion that someone has a key—you there, bind the door with cord.” “No—it must be wire.”

“There’s no need to be so neurotic. With Dr. Kosei here now, the culprit’s days can’t be long.” “Dr. Kosei wishes to know whose decision determined the guests’ room assignments. Why is Utsumi alone downstairs?”

“In Utsumi’s case, it was her own decision.” “She said going up and down the stairs would be tiring.” “Moreover, the toilet is right nearby.” “As for the other guests, there was no particular reason—I assigned their rooms arbitrarily. However, Ayaka objected to letting Doi Koichi stay on the same floor, so even though there were still vacant rooms upstairs, I placed him in the Japanese-style room downstairs.”

“When we have no guests, we don’t use this Western-style house.” “The rear residence of the main house—the three rooms corresponding to the second floor where Ms. Tamaki keeps her bedroom—are our quarters.” “Does Mr. Kamiyama Toyo have conflicting interests with your household?” Kazuma hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Kamiyama was formerly my father’s secretary. Even after resigning from that position, he kept visiting us regularly. I can only imagine Father had some vulnerability being exploited—that he was likely being blackmailed—but whenever I asked him about it, he refused to share any details.” "My mother, who died last year, detested Kamiyama as if he were a caterpillar." “Her hatred was so intense that I even wondered if there was some secret about Mother involved. But it was all conjecture—after all, Father led a highly scheming political life, so blackmail material would naturally abound. As a child, I couldn’t press him for answers—so I never did.”

“Does he come here often?” “He probably comes four or five times a year. His current wife—who was once my father’s mistress—she used to be a geisha in Shinbashi, you know. He always brings her along unapologetically, stays at our home as if it were his own for several days. Come to think of it, last year he came again two or three days before Mother passed away and happened to be present at her deathbed—but I’ve heard that on the day before she died, he sent everyone away and argued with her at her sickbed. So I’ve sometimes imagined that the blackmail material might not just involve Father alone—that perhaps there’s something passed through Mother to Father—but again, that’s merely my own conjecture.”

I was astonished by how lavishly gorgeous Mrs. Ayaka’s pajamas were—one of those exquisitely crafted garments that blended Chinese-inspired designs with Western tailoring techniques, its color combinations demonstrating meticulous artistry. “Madam, shouldn’t such finery be reserved for formal occasions?” When I offered this playful jab, Kazuma responded with a strained smile: “She must own fourteen or fifteen sleepwear sets this extravagant. Who knows how many dozens she’ll accumulate by next year? Right now she’s muttering curses at Doi Koichi while changing—can’t bear wearing the same nightclothes twice consecutively. Doesn’t keep her kimonos here either.” “Changes outfits three times daily without fail.” “Alters her hairstyle.” “Swaps necklaces.” “Her sheer persistence leaves me awestruck.”

Mrs. Ayaka merely smiled faintly and did not reply. No matter how others spoke of her—through whatever expressions—she seemed convinced she was profoundly loved. How utterly charming must her affection have been? It was as though she were a woman born entirely for the night. Though Mrs. Ayaka feared the murderer, such matters should not have concerned her in reality. She existed simply as something cute and beautiful, as if born with an instinct that could conceive of nothing beyond those qualities.

When I returned to my room, Kyoko was wearing a somewhat sullen expression. “Just now, the master’s maid came and said that the two of you should come tomorrow after breakfast.” “He’d like to come himself, but his condition won’t allow it.”

This wasn't pleasant news. Utagawa Tamon had caught a cold, drunk too much beer and upset his stomach, leaving him bedridden since the very morning of our arrival. Having retired from politics, he spent his days inviting village Go players for matches to relieve his boredom; though it was said he occasionally attended dinners at the Western-style house, since we'd yet to see him ourselves, we'd even secretly hoped his illness might persist throughout our stay.

“Ms. Shimoeda, the maid, is such a lovely girl.” “She’s eighteen, I hear.” “I wonder if things are going well with Kotoro-san...”

“Stop it—I’ve had more than enough of this talk about human connections.” I too had drunk slightly too much and grown weary. Then I fell asleep at once.

VI The Second Crime

The next morning, the group of police officers arrived before six o'clock and were already at work. According to reports, an autopsy had been conducted immediately from last night into the late hours, and as a result, a new fact seemed to have emerged, prompting the forensic team to race down the predawn streets at full speed. Those coming to collect Ouni’s remains—his disciple and either the president or an employee from the affiliated publishing company—were supposed to arrive around noon on the usual night train. Ouni’s corpse had been prepared following the autopsy and was also scheduled to arrive around noon; it would promptly be cremated, with arrangements made to hold the wake with his remains that evening.

When we finished breakfast, the group of waiting police officers appeared in the dining room. Inspector Kanguri bowed courteously and,

“I regret troubling your ears this early hour, but as the autopsy has revealed unexpected facts, I’ll state them frankly while seeking your counsel.” “Mr. Ouni had been made to ingest a significant quantity of hypnotics prior to being stabbed with the dagger.” “However, our investigation found no sleeping pills among Mr. Ouni’s personal effects, and we’ve nearly confirmed through inquiries that they were likely administered by another party.”

“Ah!” Ms. Akiko let out a small cry. “Could it be that the sleeping pills were in the Geranium thunbergii…” “That’s correct. Do you have any idea?”

“Yesterday morning, I felt strangely sleepy and my head was heavy.” “Because I found it odd.” “And also…” “And also?” “What could it be?” Ms. Akiko glanced around at the group and, “Because it seems Ms. Tamaki also mentioned feeling sleepy or having a heavy head.” “It just suddenly occurred to me now that Ms. Tamaki must have drunk it too—though it’s merely a passing thought.”

Tamaki was the only one who had yet to appear in the dining room. Nauseous from heavy drinking, even the sight of breakfast must have been repulsive to her. “Who customarily prepared the Geranium thunbergii?” “As Mr. Ouni was a guest invited by Tamaki herself,” Akiko explained, “she would either brew it personally or order a maid to do so. However, since Mr. Tsubodaira began serving as the guests’ dedicated cook late last month—handling all matters—his wife occasionally prepared it instead.” “It was brewed twice daily—morning and evening.” “Mr. Ouni consumed neither tea nor water; aside from alcohol, Geranium thunbergii constituted his sole liquid intake.”

As Ms. Ayaka offered this explanation, Ms. Chigusa interjected, “Last night—no, wait, the evening before yesterday—it was Ms. Tamaki herself who prepared the geranium thunbergii.” “I was helping with the cooking too.” “Because there weren’t enough stoves, Mrs. Tsubodaira went to ask Ms. Tamaki if she could take the geranium thunbergii off the heat.” “She becomes terribly displeased if anyone interferes with tasks she handles personally—one must go seek her permission every single time.” “Then Ms. Tamaki came with Mrs. Tsubodaira, removed it from the stove, let it cool, and poured it into the flask.” “Mrs. Ayaka was there too at that time, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, I was preparing meat pies.” “It’s my one and only pride.” “Next comes grilled eel, I suppose.” “Oh my, we humble folk are merely listening to your tales while battling our drool.” With that, Inspector Kanguri affected an uncharacteristically vulgar laugh. “Aside from these five—the two young ladies, the madam, and Mr. and Mrs. Tsubodaira—did anyone else visit the kitchen during the medicine preparation?”

“I don’t remember every single detail.” “But gentlemen come and go through that kitchen constantly.” “Mr. Utsumi—would you fetch me some snow?” “Every day.” “They cool their feet with snow.” “Such peculiar people.” “As for cold water—Mr. Tango—the kitchen has cold spring water flowing.” “Mr. Hitomi and Mr. Ouni come for beer, and even Brother Kazuma appears now and then for this or that.” “Ms. Utsugi was there that day too.” “Yes—I was there the entire time.” “That was the day they prepared fresh soba noodles.” “I observed the process, then assisted with various tasks.” “I was also present when Ms. Tamaki came to remove the Geranium thunbergii from the stove.”

“So, the Geranium thunbergii had been in the kitchen all along, correct?” “Ms. Tamaki cooled it at the waterfall basin, transferred it into a flask, and took it to Mr. Ouni’s room.” "No one else besides Ms. Tamaki could have had any opportunity to touch it." Ms. Chigusa declared assertively and looked around as if seeking agreement. "Then, Ms. Tamaki was the one who transferred the Geranium thunbergii from the bag into the pot and placed it on the stove, and after brewing it, took it off the stove, transferred it into the flask, and carried it away."

“Yes, exactly,” said Ms. Chigusa composedly.

“Did Ouni die from sleeping pills?” I asked. “No, he was put to sleep with hypnotics and then stabbed with a dagger. If one were to drink all the hypnotics that were put into the Geranium thunbergii at once, it would likely be a lethal dose, but since Ms. Utsugi also drank some and it seems the young lady did as well, the amount Mr. Mochizuki drank was about two-thirds of the total—not enough to kill him.”

“If they could have killed him with sleeping pills alone, why go through the extra trouble?” “Don’t you think there’s some significance in that?” “Moreover, while you assert he was put to sleep with sleeping pills and then stabbed, it can’t be definitively stated that the drugging and stabbing weren’t committed by different individuals.” “Or have you found evidence proving it was the work of the same person?”

“That is a most reasonable question.” “Whether it was the work of the same person or not, and why they did not kill him with sleeping pills—these points remain unclear even to us.” “The only facts we know for certain are these two: Mr. Mochizuki was made to drink Geranium thunbergii laced with sleeping pills by someone, and he was stabbed to death while asleep. If these two acts were committed by the same person, then either the culprit did not know the lethal dose of sleeping pills or—if they did know—they likely used them not to kill but to induce sleep, given that the amount administered was slightly too small for a fatal purpose.”

“Couldn’t it have been just a minor prank?” “That person wouldn’t hesitate to pull such a prank.” “To curb his philandering by knocking him out cold—just tampering with his flask a bit. Must’ve seemed amusing,” said Dr. Kosei with a sly grin. The inspector pondered briefly, but

“That’s possible,” said Inspector Kanguri. “It might have been a harmless prank of that sort. However, the sleeping pills weren’t put into the flask—they were added to the pot during brewing. This became clear when we examined the brewed dregs found in the trash this morning.” “The kitchen was quite busy making soba noodles that day,” began Utsugi Akiko. Ms. Chigusa cut her off—

“That’s right, it was quite a commotion,” said Ms. Chigusa. “But the electric stove for the Geranium thunbergii was in the corner near the door, while we were making all that noise over by the window—much farther away—so no one had any reason to approach that corner. Over there, Mrs. Ayaka was only making meat pies, but since she hated the smell of Geranium thunbergii, she kept muttering and spilling it.” “Yes,” Mrs. Ayaka cut in, “I detest old-fashioned things like kouyaku and herbal brews—that dreadful smell, so musty.”

“Wasn’t it that day when Mr. Pika-ichi caught a giant snake outside the window?” “A giant snake?” “It was just a six-foot-long Japanese rat snake. ‘It swallowed a chicken! Bring me a kitchen knife—I’ll gut it and make dinner side dishes!’ Can you believe Ms. Utsugi actually went to watch that? I hate snakes—can’t even stand looking at them!” “I’m terrified of snakes too, but there’s this morbid fascination... I just can’t look away.”

“Mr. Tsubodaira and the others rushed out too.” “The old man even jumped straight out the window,”

“Ms.Tamaki calmly grabs snakes and dangles them，doesn’t she?” When Semushi the poet said this，Ms.Chigusa made a sulky face. “Exactly—you like that sort of thing. You can’t even manage to lug a single trunk，Mr.Semushi. We hate even looking at snakes. Mrs.Ayaka. The two of us didn’t even turn to look at someone like Mr.Pika-ichi. Like some Susanoo-no-Mikoto—how vulgar.”

“Susanoo-no-Mikoto?” “I see.” “You might be Amaterasu Omikami, but what does that make me?”

“The Okame’s Hyottoko.”

Ms. Chigusa got genuinely angry, so even Cyrano II surrendered,

“Mr. Pika-ichi, you’re always so eager to butt in and chatter away, yet now of all times you won’t speak up? When you’re playing Susanoo-no-Mikoto, I suppose you can’t be bothered to converse with us mere mortals?” “I’m an upstanding gentleman who adheres strictly to the code of only addressing beauties, you see.”

Just then, someone opened the door.

As the door opened, a young woman appeared, swaying unsteadily. Yae, the maid. She grabbed the doorframe and looked toward the group, then collapsed in a heap. At first, they wondered why she had sat down—it later became clear her legs had given way. "The Young Mistress—" Her voice failed. "Huh? What?" "...Murdered..."

Inspector Kanguri turned toward us and said,

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain here without moving for the time being.”

Inspector Kanguri left Officer Tomoichiro, the local policeman, on guard and departed for the scene. Only Dr. Kosei and Kazuma were permitted to accompany them. After about forty-five minutes had passed and Dr. Kosei returned alone,

“Ms.Tamaki is dead?” “What?” “Yes, she’s been killed.” “Poisoning?” “Well... Whether she was made to take sleeping pills again or not remains unclear, but she’s been strangled with an electric cord.” “Ah,” two or three women sighed in unison. Ms.Kocho. Ms.Ayaka. Ms.Akiko too. Probably. “It’s not suicide, Dr.Kosei.” “A suicide of resolve,” pressed Ms.Chigusa. “That’s right.” “There do exist suicides that initially resemble strangulation.” “But in Ms.Tamaki’s case, there appears no room for doubt regarding murder.” “She seems to have been killed effortlessly while drunk and fast asleep.”

“Do you have any leads on the culprit?” I promptly asked, but— “There’s not a single lead. However, as usual, it’s not the work of a thief.”

The gathering sank into profound silence.

“This feels... off somehow,” Ms.Chigusa muttered suspiciously. “Then what on earth—”

Ms. Chigusa muttered suspiciously and sank into deep thought.

Postscript: It’s impossible for you to deduce the culprit now—even if you try. Still, murder after murder will occur. However, I must assert that while you, the reader, have been informed of everything, within the facts presented to you lies clear, irrefutable evidence from which the culprit can be deduced. Dr. Kosei, too, will never presume to deduce the culprit from anything beyond the facts already known to you, the reader.

It seemed both Mr. Hatchōhana and Inspector Kanguri, given their professions that made them prone to suspicion, were declaring they would solve the case for this contest—though they made the utterly impudent claim that after reading our answers, they would probably just change who the culprit was. Truly, when it came to them, they were always so prone to baseless suspicion that there had never been any chance of the culprit being caught. However, I am fair and impartial—firstly, in this contest, even the editor of this magazine was required to submit their solution as one of the readers. That is to say, I would strictly seal the manuscript containing the solution and hand it over to the editor before the deadline for contest submissions. After the submission deadline had passed, we opened the seal and sent the manuscript to print. There is no room for baseless speculation, I assure you.

Regarding forensic matters, I had intended to consult my friend Dr. Nagahata Kazumasa, but he happens to be one of my most inept longtime adversaries when it comes to guessing culprits in detective novels—indeed, we’ve fostered a profound mutual resentment—and there could be no doubt he harbored schemes to glean hints from my inquiries and unravel the secrets himself. This posed quite a dilemma. Then, through the arrangements of Kooriyama Chiho, I received a kind offer from Dr. Asada Hajime of Tokyo Medical University—"I’ll teach you anytime, so come by"—and there I had the privilege of receiving various instructions. I hereby express my deepest gratitude. This elaborate scheme of invoking the name of a great authority in forensic medicine is in fact a calculated plan to throw smoke in readers’ eyes. When it comes to detective novels, one must employ all sorts of schemes, I tell you. With you all as my audience, there’s no need for me to go that far—though I suppose I must.

Now then, finally: the challenge. To those challenging me through their submitted answers:

Mr. Edogawa Ranpo. Mr. Kigi Takataro. Inspector Kanguri.

Mr. Hatchōhana. Mr. Yomisugi. Mr. Atapin. End of list (August 7th)

Sakaguchi Ango

Seven: The Detective Novel-Obsessed Veteran Politician

An iron's cord was wound twice around Ms. Tamaki’s neck—this was something that had been placed on the shelf in her bedroom.

The crime was estimated to have occurred between roughly midnight and two o'clock, but since she had been attacked while heavily intoxicated and fast asleep, there were no signs of resistance whatsoever. There were no indications of assault, with the futon neatly pulled up to her chest without any disarray and the mosquito net remaining hung. However, according to the maid's testimony, she should have fallen asleep with the vermilion-lacquered andon-style lamp at her bedside still lit—yet its light had been extinguished. There were no signs that the room had been disturbed.

There was just one thing that had changed. Since Ms. Tamaki had become so heavily intoxicated that she vomited and suffered, a wash basin lined with newspaper along with a medicine kettle and cup on a tray had been placed by her pillow; however, morphine powder had been thrown into the water in both the kettle and the cup.

On the tray lay a small spill of white powder. Hatchōhana picked up the cup and, holding it up to the light, saw a faint white sediment. The one who discovered this was Hatchōhana; summoning Tomiyoka Yae—a plump, somewhat cute twenty-six-year-old country girl who had been on duty as a maid during last night’s incident—he called her over,

“Is this cup saltwater?” “Ah. No, it was plain water.” According to the maid’s account, when Ms. Tamaki felt nauseous, she first rushed over with a basin, then prepared saltwater in a kettle and brought it to her. After gargling once, Ms. Tamaki said she disliked the saltwater and asked to have it replaced with plain water. So she took back the kettle and cup to refill them with fresh water, and at that time also brought a bucket and cloth to wipe clean the soiled areas.

It was at this time that the maid, having come to summon Dr. Ebizuka to the hall, was shouted at and withdrew; with no alternative, they had Nurse Moroi come instead. Ms. Tamaki’s nausea had somewhat subsided, but “The basin’s full of vomit—replace it.”

Since Nurse Moroi had said this, the maid lined a new basin with newspaper and brought it over, then took away the basin overflowing with vomit and washed it out. After that, since she hardly vomited anymore, only a small amount of gastric fluid remained in this basin. “Did the young lady gargle with plain water?” "Well…?"

The maid stood bewildered, pacing restlessly on the verge of tears. “Was this white powder here when you brought the tray?” The maid looked increasingly tearful. She must have been a girl with poor blood circulation. Flustered and blushing crimson, she claimed not to know whether it had been there or not. She seemed incapable of beginning to think, let alone refreshing her memory—her demeanor utterly unreliable. However, she suddenly raised her face,

“When I left, the water in the cup was about eighty percent full,” the maid said.

In fact, the water in the cup remained about eighty percent full. It was not until the following day that this cup's water and kettle were sent to headquarters and morphine's detection was reported. According to Nurse Moroi's account, since it had merely been nausea from drink, she had only rubbed her back—administering no medication whatsoever and providing no special treatment. And through autopsy findings, there proved no morphine within her stomach nor among the vomited matter.

When Ouni was killed, people like me could only think it served him right; even as I stared at his corpse, all I felt was grim satisfaction. "Is he really dead?" I wondered. "Could this be some trick?" Such worries even crossed my mind—and I doubt I was alone in that. Ouni's disappearance and death must have been what most people secretly desired. Because my writing style differs completely from Ouni's, those who criticize me praise him. Critics who give Ouni harsh marks rate me highly. In this way, writers in such positions may harbor factional rivalries, but true jealousy is rare indeed. When styles fundamentally clash like this, there can be no real sense of defeat.

In contrast, both Tango Yumihiko and Ouni were brute-force literary talents who shared identical approaches in their treatment of human subjects and conceptual frameworks—in such cases, an inescapable sense of rivalry inevitably arose. Tango, who tended to be overwhelmed by Ouni’s wildly unrestrained talent, must have harbored searing jealousy. A writer’s jealousy is surprisingly indifferent to others’ fame or popularity; it’s an agonizing thing because it clings to something far more fundamental—inescapable talent.

Ms. Tamaki had known such things.

Both Tango and Ouni had been fond of Ms. Tamaki, but since she was a wicked person, there was something distinctly unpleasant about how she would torment Tango—who was already inferior in talent—by forcing her own issues onto him as well. Tango was an outwardly composed poser, a pretentious show-off, so Ms. Tamaki—with that maliciously haughty streak of hers—took pleasure in needling away at his hidden anguish.

I had felt like raising a toast to Ouni's disappearance and remained utterly indifferent to matters of crime or culpability—such things hadn't even crossed my mind. But with Ms. Tamaki's murder, I found myself inescapably compelled to consider criminality for the first time, forced to dwell on Kazuma's letter, the uninvited guests, and one thing after another. In these mountain areas where nights grow exceptionally cold, it was only natural to close the storm shutters even in midsummer—the shutters along the corridor of Ms. Tamaki's bedroom had indeed been closed and latched. Yet following that rustic custom, the doorway's fastening always remained lax.

Ms. Tamaki’s bedroom could be easily infiltrated unnoticed from both the Western-style building where we resided and the main house. Moreover, there were two waterfalls in this garden. One was about ten feet high, while the other formed a sixty-foot cascade divided into three tiers; come midnight, the roar of the waterfalls grew so loud that even a pistol shot would go unnoticed—especially here by the main house, situated directly beneath the falls, where the sound hung thick in the air. In our Western-style building as well, while the south-facing rooms weren’t so bad, my north-facing room and others were often somewhat troubled by the noise.

We writers are a psychoanalytic breed—once we fixate, we start seeing everyone as potential criminals, Germans or these people alike. So no matter how much we jump from one crime to the next in our thoughts, it won’t get us anywhere.

I had intended to conveniently avoid old man Utagawa Tamon's invitation to visit after breakfast given this commotion when Ms. Shimotsue came again and said, "If it suits your convenience, please do come over."

“Ms. Shimotsue.” “What a dreadful turn of events.” “Yes.” Ms. Shimotsue raised her beautifully composed face with innocent features and looked at me. Those eyes were intelligent—clear and serene—eyes that seemed perpetually fixed on contemplating only what was truly beautiful. Could this adorable, guileless girl truly be old man Tamon’s mistress? I couldn’t believe it. This body was still a maiden’s body.

“Mr. Utagawa must be utterly beside himself, don’t you think?” “No. He has already composed himself and remains in his customary manner.” When we went to visit, old man Tamon appeared no different from his usual self. No trace of anger toward us could be seen anymore. When I thought about it, my excessive worrying had led me to realize that this man must indeed fit the mold of those great figures—the archetype of Japanese heroes and champions. He showed no signs of fatigue whatsoever and was rather bright and lively,

“Well now, well now—how kind of you all to come.” “I’d been meaning to call on you myself, but what with this recent cold and stomach trouble—when one lives idle like this, the slightest thing makes one ill, the illness wears one down, a man without occupation grows fragile indeed.” “There was a time I held anger toward you all, but no longer.” “Rather, I find myself feeling quite nostalgic.” “It all stems from my own selfishness.”

Old Man Tamon was in as good spirits as a benevolent father. However, I found myself profoundly moved by his utterly composed demeanor—his attitude as though nothing whatsoever had occurred—despite his only daughter among his two children having been murdered. There was not the slightest hint of affectation about him. I had known this old man to be someone detached from household affairs, but it’s often precisely such people who grow agitated over unexpected personal matters—indeed, I’d heard he had been furious in cases like mine and Kayoko’s. Anger and grief may be separate emotions, but faced with this composure, even I felt a sense of defiance I couldn’t suppress beginning to rise within me—

“Today has been most trying. Given the unexpected circumstances, I can only imagine how distressed you must be.” “No, no.” The old man cut her off. Apart from having cut her off, his expression showed nothing else. He simply appeared somewhat stern. “This too may be my fault. Since I’m like this, it’s no wonder my children turn out to be such odd specimens. It can’t be helped. However, there’s one thing that doesn’t sit right with me—”

Old Man Tamon fell silent but immediately brightened his expression, "No—this might just be my own needless fretting." "When one's body lies idle, one ends up pondering all sorts of trivial matters."

“Would you be so kind as to tell me about that? Unexpectedly, such vague hunches often pierce the heart of the matter.”

“Well, now. “Let’s drop this subject. “Though I’ve gone to the trouble of inviting you yet cannot offer proper hospitality, I would like you to accept this as a memento. “This is a small piece by Bada Shanren I acquired in Beijing during my travels abroad—an ethereal stillness, though one might call it loneliness. There’s a profound depth of soul here that pierces to the core. “Then, for Kayoko—this tie pin I also acquired in Paris during my travels abroad—I thought even a country samurai who appears out of nowhere might unexpectedly display some decoration in an unnoticed place, you see? This is a diamond—eighteen carats. “Even if I were to walk around with this stuck to my throat, no one would think it’s a diamond. “They think it’s a glass bead. “Well now, by letting them think that way, I secretly satisfied my indignation and safely brought it down to Japan. “As for my late wife—she dismissed it as a joke and paid no mind, so I ended up tossing it somewhere and forgetting about it—but recently, it had resurfaced.”

Old Man Tamon carried himself with an air of carefree otherworldly detachment as he bestowed these gifts, though an eighteen-carat diamond—that must have been an object of immense value. The situation felt slightly unsettling in its implications, though even Bada Shanren’s small work was undeniably a rare treasure under heaven. The warmth with which he now cherished a woman he had once loved as if she were his own daughter stirred within us a natural sense of relief and tender emotion. At that moment, I noticed something. The bookshelf in this room held various volumes. While primarily historical works, roughly half of the novels present were translated detective fiction. There were works by Ruikō. There were works by Van Dine. Among the novels, translated titles like The Count of Monte Cristo, Les Misérables, and Gone with the Wind dominated the collection.

“You seem to enjoy detective novels.” When I asked, Tamon nodded. “Since my youth I’ve been fond of reading Ruikō and others, but during my travels abroad I developed a taste for detective novels to pass the time.” “Okakura Tenshin was an avid reader of detective novels. His family—concerned about his ailing health—wouldn’t let him indulge in evening drinks as he pleased, so he’d recount half a tale from Doyle or others to make them listen.” “When he reached the most thrilling part, he’d fall silent. Then when they asked ‘What happened next?’ he’d say ‘No no—that’s all for today,’ leaving them in suspense. ‘Well then,’ he’d add, ‘if you want to hear the rest, bring me another drink.’” “Doyle’s stories make just the right length for an evening drinking strategy, don’t they?” “Modern detective novels are intricate, nuanced affairs—certainly entertaining to read, but ill-suited for evening drinking strategies.”

“I’m also quite fond of detective novels. What kind do you prefer?” “I like the British authoress Agatha Christie. Writers like Van Dine and Queen—they’re needlessly pedantic and show-offish in a distasteful way, putting on airs—so I can’t comfortably keep reading them. In the past, I frequented Maruzen solely for these detective novels.” The old man pulled out piled foreign books from the corner of the bookshelf to show her. They were all detective novels. There were works by Crofts, The Red-Headed League, Zigomar, Freeman—everything.

“In that case, you must have some thoughts about this incident as well.” The old man remained silent for a while, “Is the culprit who killed Mr. Mochizuki the same as Tamaki’s murderer? If it’s the same person…”

He fell silent again, but,

“But you see, Mr. Yashiro.” “Mr. Yashiro.” “What do you think?” “Humans—every last one of them—are capable of murder.” “Every human being harbors the potential for every crime.” “Every last one of them—they’re all capable of it.”

Tamon's eyes suddenly gleamed intensely. Without attempting to hide that light, he stared fixedly at us. His mouth quivered as if about to speak again, but he seemed to reconsider and stopped speaking altogether.

VIII. Only One Alibi

When they left Tamon’s room to return to the Western-style building and passed through the corridor of the room where Ms. Tamaki had been murdered，a slim thirty-year-old woman in Western attire called out from that room， “Excuse me，one moment．What are your names？” “Why？Who are you？”

"I am with the police." “I’m asking for your names because I want to remember all of your faces.” “Ah, I see.” I inadvertently burst out laughing.

“So you’re Ms. Atapin!” “How rude!” Ms. Atapin bristled, her willow-like eyebrows standing erect, "What is this with all of you? I know." "None of these men or women who come here are decent people." “Writers and actresses—flirting and preening themselves—how revolting.” “Year after year troubling the police with your schemes until it comes to this mess.” "Oh no, absolutely!" “Exactly as you say.” "So then? What do you say?" “Already got Pinsuke dancing through that head of yours?” “So which Germany’s our culprit from?”

“Silence!”

“Oh, my apologies!” When she tried to walk past, someone firmly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, “Won’t you introduce yourselves? How impolite.” “Oh, come now.” “With your Atapin skills, you should be able to guess our names.” “Forcing introductions violates the constitution—ahahaha!” Having angered Ms. Atapin, I made my escape.

It was three in the afternoon when I was finally able to sit down with Dr. Kosei and the Kazumas in Kazuma’s room for a proper discussion. In the morning, the president and publishing manager of Ouni’s complete works publisher, along with a young employee and one of Ouni’s disciples, had arrived to collect his remains, but his autopsied corpse had yet to be returned from the main police station. Once returned, they were supposed to cremate it immediately. This village had hermits but no crematorium, so they would pile firewood in open ground and burn it. The process would take an entire night.

When a practical-minded person joined our gathering of those unversed in real-world affairs, things suddenly ignited as if set ablaze, and preparations commenced as though entering another realm: readying the room to receive Ouni’s remains, negotiating with monks, coordinating with the crematorium—and from who knows where, even a proper black curtain was brought in. In the blink of an eye, something resembling a funeral hall was completed in the front parlor. However, I had something I wanted to discuss privately with Dr. Kosei. Finally having that opportunity,

“Actually, there’s something I want to tell only you all—last night I returned to my room but couldn’t fall asleep, so I went out for a walk.” “The time isn’t clear, but I think it was around eleven o’clock.” “Kyoko was already asleep, so I don’t think she knew.”

“Yes, but I dimly remember you returning.” “I left through the dining hall entrance intending to go to the beech forest, but when I reached the back gate, I changed my mind and circled around to the garden. I circled around the pond and headed to the Yumedono on the mountainside. From there, intending to head toward Azumaya, when I emerged above the waterfall basin, I could see the fishing pavilion below with light seeping out. At that moment, I glimpsed the figure of a woman disappearing into the darkness. I didn’t actually witness her leaving, but I believe she must have emerged from the fishing pavilion, circled around your esteemed father’s bedroom, and been on her way back toward the kitchen entrance. I could tell it was a woman, but I couldn’t make out who it was at all.” “However, after some time had passed, this time a man emerged from the fishing pavilion. First, he washed his hands in the pond water. This was Dr. Ebizuka. He was wearing a half-sleeved shirt and pants. He wiped his hands with a handkerchief, started to climb toward the mountain in the garden, but turned around and left in the direction where the woman had vanished. That’s all I saw, but I stayed there for about ten minutes before returning.”

The Yumedono was a scaled-down replica of Prince Shōtoku's Yumedono that Tamon Rōjin had commissioned, while the Tsuri-dono was a tea room modeled after some hall in Yamato—inside were two rooms: one with tatami flooring and another furnished with a Chinese-style table and chairs.

“Right. “So then, Dr. Ebizuka stayed at the Tsuri-dono again last night, did he?” “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been staying there nearly every night lately.” “Since I haven’t paid attention, I wouldn’t know if someone from the village stayed somewhere in the house.” “There’s no such stiff formality in this household as requiring the master’s permission for every little thing—the master’s side and the servants’ side lead entirely separate lives.” “Since Dr. Ebizuka is practically part of the family here, when he comes to visit in the evening, he almost always ends up staying the night.” “The mountain path to the clinic is a full ri, and given that he’s lame, it’s only natural.” “Before the war, our household had a car, but since the war began—not only cars—there isn’t even a single rickshaw left in the entire village.” “Dr. Ebizuka is an eccentric, so he prefers not to sleep in the main house and, at some point, began lodging exclusively at the Tsuri-dono.” “Occasionally, emergency patients come, and they call from the clinic.” “Last night must have been another such occasion.”

“Well then, shall we ask Yae?” Ms. Ayaka called the maid Yae via the house phone, but Yae had gone out to the village on an errand, and Nurse Moroi came instead. “Ms. Moroi, didn’t you go to the clinic?” “Yes—today I was tied up with police business until nearly noon, and old Mr. Minamikumo has had a stomachache since this morning requiring injections.” “Lady Yura?” “No—old Mr. Minamikumo.” “Were there any emergency patients at the clinic last night?”

“There were none.”

Nurse Moroi stared coldly and piercingly at Kazuma as she replied. “Then you didn’t meet Dr. Ebizuka last night regarding clinic business or anything of the sort?” “I believe there could have been no such occasion.” “Did Dr. Ebizuka stay at the fishing pavilion again last night?” “He did come here this morning, did he not?” “I do not know about last night’s affairs.” Ms. Moroi coldly turned her face away and uttered dismissively. “Is that all you require?”

"Yes, thank you for coming." "Please don’t take offense at my peculiar questions." "If there happens to be some matter between Dr. Ebizuka and the lady, you would likely find out by inquiring with Ms. Chigusa." "On nights when the doctor lodges at the fishing pavilion, she generally pays a visit there once during the night." "You may not be aware of this, but among those of us downstairs, there isn’t a single person unaware." "Ms. Chigusa does not skulk about furtively—rather, she comports herself in a manner befitting her honorable status."

She cast a piercing glance at us, bowed neatly at about forty-five degrees, then turned and left.

“That prim-and-proper warped woman—her very body temperature must be icy.” “Ah, but who knows—perhaps beneath that mochi-smooth skin lies something warm and squelching.” Dr. Kosei employed language ill-suited to his virginal persona, shocking the assembled ladies. “Well now, Doctor—have you identified any plausible suspects?”

“No, none whatsoever.” “Have the police obtained any evidence?” Kazuma posed this question, but the Doctor, clasping his hands behind his head and vigorously scrubbing at his hair, gave an awkward laugh and—

“No, none whatsoever.” “The police are certainly investigating with great persistence, but I imagine they’re only chasing shadows more and more.” “To begin with—whether it’s a grudge or a crime of passion—we haven’t the faintest clue about the motive.”

“However—unlike some drifter’s opportunistic killing—this must be premeditated murder through and through.” “Moreover, you must admit there’s an exquisitely delicate discrepancy in the facts that’s surfaced.” “Oh? And what might that be?” “For the esteemed Doctor to ask me such a thing—how cruel.” “Well then, let me present this amateur detective’s theory without mockery.” “Ms. Tamaki departed Ouni’s bedroom at 11:15 PM.” “I was still awake then and heard her singing a chanson while running down the stairs.” “That prompted me to check the clock and switch off my light.” “It’s said she left without locking Ouni’s door.” “Yet two hours later when Ms. Akiko Utsugi visited his room, it was locked.” “She fetched the key and entered to find Ouni still alive.” “Snoring in his sleep.” “He didn’t rouse even when shaken, correct?” “Ms. Akiko deliberately left her lighter behind, locked the door again, and departed.” “But when Ms. Tamaki discovered his corpse next morning, the door stood unlocked.” “What in blazes does this signify?” “Eh?” “Doctor.”

“Yes, I was also still awake and listening when Ms. Tamaki left while singing a chanson.” “So—what do you think that means?”

“How should I know? The only thing clear is that the criminal had the key. While Ouni was still alive, they locked it once. After killing him, they left without locking the door. Don’t you think the criminal was already inside when Ms. Utsugi unlocked and entered the room?”

“Yes, they were likely there.” Dr. Kosei replied matter-of-factly. Kazuma, Ms. Ayaka, and Kyoko all paled simultaneously. I too found myself tensing involuntarily,

“Huh? Really?” “My reasoning isn’t based on solid evidence, but...” “Where was the criminal?” “Well—if Ms. Utsugi’s account holds true—I suppose they likely had no choice but to be there.” “Under Mr. Ouni’s bed.” “There was nowhere else to hide.” “Inspector Kanguri, Hatchobana, Detective Yomisugi—this is our working hypothesis.” “What we’ve established as ‘prospects’ still amounts to little more than that, I suppose.”

The ladies let out tense sighs.

“Why were they there?”

Ms. Ayaka shouted.

“Well now—” “If I were to explain the ‘why,’ the culprit might mock us.” “We mustn’t make any assumptions just yet.” “It may come as a surprise—he might not have been in the room at all.” “Is there any basis for assuming his absence?” said Kazuma. “There certainly is.” “Truly—the culprit is quite the technician.” “He appears to have prepared various techniques well in advance.” “Though perhaps it’s improper to dwell on such possibilities.” “In other words—he may have been surprisingly unprepared.” “In all beginnings—one must neither guess nor meddle; we can only trust what remains irrefutable.” “At present—what remains irrefutable is simply this: Mr. Ouni and Ms. Tamaki were killed.”

Then Kazuma abruptly raised his head with a tense expression, "I was also awake working until around three in the morning on the night before last when Ouni was killed." "After Ayaka came fleeing into my room and lay down on my bed to sleep, I suddenly got up and began working." "I have been writing an essay on French Symbolist poetry since last year, but it has not been making much progress." "Then—probably around one o'clock—I heard the sound of a key being inserted into the adjacent room." "Even if you call it the dead of night, with this waterfall's noise, you would not hear anything unless it was a considerable sound." "Since I did not hear anyone's footsteps, I could not tell whether it was the sound of someone leaving or entering."

Dr. Kosei nodded and,

“I see. The culprit wouldn’t make rough key sounds.” “Could it be Ms. Utsugi?” “So your wife had been sleeping there all along, then?”

Kazuma was startled by the unexpected question,

“Yes.” “Both nights—the night before last and last night.” “And I take it you were working until three in the morning, Mr. Utagawa?”

“Yes. However, that was the night before last. Last night, I went to bed much earlier.” “Until around three in the morning, your wife had been resting the entire time, I presume?” “She slept soundly through it all.” “Well, well—so here we finally have one person with an established alibi. As for the others, there’s no evidence proving any of them isn’t the culprit. With Ms. Tamaki, it’s as if she’d been sleeping in a special seat tailor-made for murder itself—the location, the conditions—practically begging to be killed. Mr. Utagawa—when was the anniversary of your mother’s passing?”

At these final words, Kazuma’s complexion changed, and he fell utterly perplexed, remaining speechless for a while—

“The ninth of next month.” “After all… is there something… on that day?” “No, but I don’t know.” “I have absolutely no idea whether there’s any connection between that threatening letter and these murders, you know.” “Whether Mr. Ouni’s murder and Ms. Tamaki’s murder were committed by the same culprit—I don’t even know that, you know.” “However, regarding the threatening letter, it may be necessary to exercise caution.” At that moment, news arrived that Ouni’s corpse had been delivered.

IX. The Return from Cremation

Once the sutra recitation and incense offering at the funeral site arranged in the front parlor concluded, they loaded the coffin onto the prepared large cart and immediately departed for cremation. All male guests resolved to accompany the procession to the crematorium, with Kazuma, Kihyoe, Hitomi Koroku, Tango Yumihiko, the Doctor, Pikaichi, and even Kamiyama Toyo trailing behind the coffin in a straggling line. When the Semushi Poet emerged from the entrance clutching a cane resembling a forest hag’s staff, Ms. Ayaka stepped forward from the ranks of assembled female mourners seeing them off outside,

“Mr. Utsumi, you really shouldn’t push yourself, you know.” “They say it’s about halfway there.” “Please excuse me now.”

“Yes, really. When we women are left behind like this, it feels somehow lonesome, doesn’t it?” said Ms. Akiko.

“My, how popular you are, Kajimodo-san.” “Kajimodo-san.” Chigusa-san hurled a derisive laugh in a loud voice, “Go on then. You’re not so dense as to presume you could become a plaything for those beauties, are you?” Truly, she was such a tactless person. Is it that unattractive women naturally become twisted and vulgar? But truly, with words so vulgar they defied description—yet again, the Semushi Poet was an eccentric. He, rather standing out conspicuously, had an oddly endearing aspect where he seemed to say, “That’s exactly why I like her,” about the uneducated, vulgar, and crude Chigusa-san, and he chuckled merrily,

“Well, I’m off then. I’ve got to deliver the last rites—otherwise that Ouni bastard won’t be properly reduced to bones.” Lagging behind everyone else, alone, he began walking with steady steps. Alongside him, Ms. Ayaka came to see them off outside the gate. The crematorium was located beyond the beech forest, deep in the mountains, in the dense jungle of the back hills where no one passed through. Surrounding a flat grassland roughly a hundred meters square, bowl-shaped mountains loomed overhead, while mountain doves cooed in the forest. The funeral pyre had already been stacked, and beside it stood the night watchman’s hut.

There, they conducted another sutra recitation and set the fire. When I considered how that brazen ruffian’s hulking frame would finally vanish into smoke, even I couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of emotion. Having resolved to return for the bones in the morning, by the time we withdrew, dusk had settled faintly and a thin mist had begun to rise. Before we knew it, mist crept up from the valley, the mountains darkened into purple twilight, and evening cicadas began their song—this was the summer mountain sunset sequence etched in my memory, though in reality, the cicadas had yet to emerge, the season still unripe.

Indeed, Utsumi was utterly exhausted, his complexion paler and more pained than usual, so Pikaichi—

“Hey, Mr. Semushi—I’ll push it for you. Get on the cart.” “It’s the coffin’s return cart, but there’s no need for ceremony anymore.” “Life’s fickle—youth and age uncertain, living drunk and dying in dreams. Truly, it’s a marvel of creation that someone like you has survived to such a ripe old age.” “Come on now, get aboard! Get aboard!” “Monsters and apparitions are long-lived creatures. I’ll take that ride without hesitation.” “I’ll take that ride without hesitation.” Utsumi clambered onto the large cart, and the farmer began pulling it forward. Pikaichi pushed from behind, and the cart vigorously climbed up the valley road.

Next, a group consisting of the monks, Kazuma, and Kamiyama Toyo took the lead, while another group comprising Tango Yumihiko, Koroku, Kihyoe, Dr. Kosei, and I strolled along.

Suddenly, Yumihiko looked around at us with his usual sarcastic expression,

“I don’t know about Ms. Tamaki’s situation, but isn’t it one of these four who killed Ouni—excepting Kosei-kun?” The composed Kihyoe kept walking with an air of feigned ignorance, not so much as grunting, while the bluntly honest Hitomi Koroku began breathing somewhat raggedly,

"Why must it be one of these four? Huh?" "If we're talking about these four people here, then undoubtedly it's you." "Why would you bring that up?" "You're exactly the type who always mulls things over in your gut yet only voices calculated remarks." "Aren't you actually the one who killed both Ouni and Ms. Tamaki?" "That's precisely why I said it must be one of the four." "Why don't you just state your own business clearly?" "You're a writer too, aren't you?" "Since we're all literary people, shouldn't we take responsibility for our words?" "We're not detectives here."

Yumihiko was somewhat embarrassed but increasingly lit up with a sarcastic smile, “For example, if some burglar killed Ouni, that’d be utterly uninteresting.” “Or another example—” “If Kazuma killed Ouni or his sister over trivial matters like sibling issues or perceived rudeness—even if that were true, wouldn’t it be hopelessly mundane?” “Don’t you agree?” “Suppose I killed Ouni and Ms. Tamaki.” “That too seems entirely plausible.” “But precisely because it’s plausible, even if true, wouldn’t that still be utterly banal?” “We’re not detectives—we’re literary people.” “I see no need to pursue truth or identify culprits—what say you?” “I want to invent a culprit.” “Ouni’s murder, Tamaki’s murder—what splendid material!” “Wouldn’t crafting potential perpetrators from this be delightful sport for literary dilettantes?” “Expelling trite criminals amounts to our sacred duty—don’t you think?”

Koroku angrily did not reply. "What's this—a literary discussion?" "Let's drop this showy talk." "Fundamentally speaking, whether it's Ouni or yourself, while possibilities exist, your styles are thoroughly materialistic—why not approach this murder case with similar materiality?" "The truth is the truth, the culprit is the culprit—why must something entirely plausible be dismissed as trite?" "But even potential culprits—is there anything non-trivial about them beyond superficial novelty? Eh?" "When it comes to human nature... does such a thing as a non-trivial crime even exist...?"

As Kihyoe tried to press his logical argument in a quiet voice, Koroku, puffing up with anger, cut him off— “Tango has something up his sleeve.” “All this talk about potential culprits or the truth being trite—isn’t it actually nothing more than your own self-defense?” “I despise the likes of you.” “Ouni was, in any case, an arrogant and rude fellow, but he had a straightforwardness that made him endearing.” “Compared to that bold, outgoing Ouni, it’s clear you fall several steps behind as a writer. Having ulterior motives or being all brooding and negative—those aren’t qualifications for a writer.” “Ouni may speak bluntly, but when it comes to thinking, he must do so properly elsewhere. Being deep in thought isn’t something to flaunt—once you’re a writer, everyone’s got their own contemplations.” “Isn’t that right?” “Ouni’s works are concise and assertive compared to yours, but their roots of thought run far deeper.” “That’s why they’re grand in scale.” “Because you cling to petty thinking, your thoughts stay shallow, your themes narrow—your literature’s small-scale and miserly.” “So if you start theorizing about the murderer, it’s obviously just to defend yourself.” “Just say it plainly!” “Did you kill Ouni?” “Did you kill Ms. Tamaki?” “You didn’t kill them, but are you afraid of being seen as the culprit?” “After all, Kosei’s here too.” “Aren’t you conscious of that too?”

Tango maintained a sarcastic smile.

When he climbed up the valley and came out onto the village road,

“Well then, I’ll take my leave.” “I’ll wander about a bit before returning.”

Tango Yumihiko parted ways and walked off in the direction opposite the village. In that direction lay a hamlet with a hot spring where there was one hot spring inn—though to call it an inn would be an overstatement, as it was essentially just the hamlet’s communal bathhouse, unknown to travelers from afar. I suddenly realized: that hot spring inn sold sundries and medicines. There were goods purchased before the war that had found no buyers and had remained unsold to this day; even during the war, they had carried Calmotin. Back then, I’d been the type to fall asleep after just a drink of alcohol, so I hadn’t needed sleeping pills—but lately, insomnia had been plaguing me. Having come to the village, I’d planned to check whether the hot spring inn still had any of that old Calmotin in stock and buy some if available. It was Tango’s departure that reminded me of this intention. So I too parted ways and followed after him, but after walking three blocks, Tango came back.

“What do you want to do? Weren’t you going to the hot spring inn?” “Ah. Even if I went to the hot spring inn, there’d be no point. Well then, I’ll be off.” It was about four or five chō from there to the inn. I heard there were only fifteen houses in this hamlet. The owner of the hot spring inn was a pale, intellectual-looking man around forty with a rather shrewd air about him. When he heard my request, “That’s right. Tokyo folks are shrewd—they sometimes come targeting our place to buy up goods, you know. Since I don’t know the current market prices, it’s better not to sell. In the past, I sold things cheaply without knowing better and took a huge loss. There’s hardly any left now.”

"But could you look for it? If you have any, I'll naturally pay black market prices." "We don't know nothin' 'bout black market prices. Since everythin's a hundred times what it was, guess it's a hundred times, eh?" "Medicine's always been nine times the price. Food might've gone up a hundredfold, but medicines ain't reached that yet. Anyway, let's haggle later—could you just look for the stuff first?"

In the corner of the shelf, old medicines had been gathered into one cardboard box. I checked each one, but there was no Calmotin left. Since they had gone to so much trouble, I couldn’t leave without buying something, so I purchased some gastrointestinal medicine, vermifuge, and a few other items before returning. There wasn’t a single noteworthy thing. “What kind of medicine is Calmotin?”

“It’s a sleeping drug.” “In that case—you know, about three months back, there was Mr. Minamikumo, a guest of Mr. Utagawa’s, and Old Lady Oyura, Mr. Utagawa’s sister. That person came and bought up all sorts of things.” “Back then, there was sleepin’ medicine too, y’know.”

On the way back, night fell. Since the beech forest was treacherous underfoot without a light, relying on what little brightness remained, I passed through the mountain path behind the Utagawa house and merged onto the trail leading to Miwayama. Intending to circle around to the back gate from there, I descended the slope when—at the back gate’s entrance—I suddenly came upon Kazuma. He came from the direction of the path in front of the Zen temple. “Oh, it’s you. It’s quite late, isn’t it?” Kazuma was startled and spoke.

“I went to the hot spring inn to buy Calmotin, you see. During the war, I saw some leftover stock there, but unfortunately Old Lady Oyura had already beaten me to it.” “I see. That’s how it is. Even the remaining stock at that hot spring inn has become rather depleted lately. If you’d written me beforehand, I could have bought it for you. I went to Sōrinji Temple to discuss my sister’s funeral arrangements, but though I waited endlessly, not a soul appeared. I ended up sitting in the main hall and brooding vacantly for thirty minutes.”

A flashlight came bobbing up and down the slope from the direction of the front gate. It was Dr. Ebizuka. When he noticed us, he stopped in surprise and said, “Good evening,” but— “So even Ouni the Magnificent has turned to a wisp of smoke?” he asked.

Ouni had finally become a wisp of smoke. Though I felt some satisfaction about this within myself, hearing that lame doctor say the same thing made my blood boil. In short, since this bastard had a way of mocking and sneering at not just Ouni but all of us, every time he opened his mouth I wanted to smash my fist right into his face.

However, at that moment, I had noticed something terrible and began growing terribly confused. This was what I had told Kazuma as well—what I had also mentioned when parting with the other three after climbing the valley path and reaching the village road—that I was going to the hot spring inn to buy Calmotin. I had completely forgotten: in Ouni’s case, there had been sleeping pills in the Geranium thunbergii drink, and then today, hadn’t there been some strange white powder spilled by the pillow of Tamaki’s corpse too?

It was as if I were deliberately flaunting my regular use of Calmotin or other hypnotics, like some utterly clumsy performance that felt completely unbalanced. The feeling that everyone suspected me made me unbearably uncomfortable and wretchedly miserable.

Dr. Ebizuka parted ways with us at the earthen-floored entrance, but as we rounded the ornamental garden toward the Western-style building, there in the main house’s formal reception room—the space that had served as the funeral parlor during daylight—sat four monks sharing a meal with Old Man Tamon and Lady Oyura. Kazuma approached the veranda edge of the tatami room, “What’s this? “The reverends were here? "I didn’t realize—I’ve been sitting in the main hall waiting a full thirty minutes.” “Poets and their ilk remain ever ignorant of practical matters.”

Old Man Tamon clicked his tongue and gazed at his son’s face, “After Buddhist services, it’s an age-old Japanese custom to invite the venerable monks and offer them a meal, you know.” “What can I do for you?”

The old monk asked Kazuma with a laugh. This old monk had been a renowned Japanese Buddhist scholar who lectured on Indian philosophy at a university until before the war, hailing from this very village. Since wartime, he had lived at the village Zen temple, though to look at him now, he appeared merely as an aged monk—a shabby old man bearing no trace of scholarly distinction. "No, since you're in the middle of your meal, I shall call again tomorrow morning." When they entered the hall, the dining room stood ready, everyone waiting for Kazuma.

When they sat down at the dining table, Utsumi began to speak. "I hitched a ride back in the funeral carriage today, and the farmer pulling it said something weird." "I thought we had a murderer among us fancy folks here, but seems that's not how it is." "There's this demobbed nutjob in the village evacuees—some kinda political or literary fanatic." "Turns out he's a terrorist who says smut-peddlers like Ouni are Japan's cancer and need wiping out." "He was packing a dagger in his coat, showed it off to villagers, bragged he'd use it on Ouni." "This creep also hated Tamaki-san something fierce—ranted about her type ruining Japan." "They say even the cops have started watching him now."

Kazuma had been listening with a look of utter bewilderment, but “Even if you call him an evacuee, he’s actually from this village.” “Okuda Tonegirō was a demobilized soldier who worked as a draftsman or something. When he was discharged, his house had burned down, his wife and children had gone missing, and he’d gone a bit mad, or so they say.” “Though his madness truly began while he was stationed in North China during the war. Even back then, he became obsessed with Confucius, and to this day, they say he still hangs signs like ‘Confucius Research Institute’ and ‘Analects Study Group’ in the window of his evacuation room.” “It’s just hearsay, but apparently he once confronted Ouni on the street and tried to pick a fight, only to be soundly beaten and sent running. Since he’s a skinny, lanky man, he stood no chance against Ouni.” “He apparently ran away like a puppy with his tail between his legs, yapping all the while. But you see, even though this gentleman calls Ouni an erotic writer, he’s rather odd himself—he sometimes sends strange letters to our Ayaka.”

Ms. Ayaka also wore a troubled expression, "But they're not love letters." “After all, they’re related to Mr. Ouni.” “Don’t be fooled by erotic writers like Mr. Ouni,” “He may be crazy, but there’s logic to it.” “After Mr. Ouni beat him up, he came to my clinic for treatment.” “Just a superficial wound.” “At that time he said:” “‘Those with brute strength are gangsters—physical or mental vigor aren’t cultural.’” “Pathological thinking, yet not entirely wrong.” At that time he also mentioned: “He claimed to have sent a letter addressed to ‘the grotesque prostitute at Utagawa Tamon’s residence.’” “Apparently there was no reply.” “Since he didn’t specify names, he said there must be so many prostitutes they all deferred to each other.”

Dr. Ebizuka said something unpleasant again. “Hey, you pretentious quack putting on airs of virtue—why don’t you try dragging me out then?”

Pikaichi grew furious. “What a despicable, neurotic bastard you are!” “You pretentious fraud.” “You’re nothing but a scholar who twists his learning to please the masses!” “And what exactly are you?” “Why bother attending gatherings of such repulsive company?” He marched over, heaved up Ebizuka—chair and all—then hauled them out to the hall and deposited them there. Yet by the time Pikaichi returned to his seat, the doctor had already limped back carrying his chair and resumed his original place with customary composure, wearing his usual stern expression.

Pikaichi's residual anger did not subside, “Dr. Notre Dame here may be a lame cripple, but he’s got no half-baked brains, does he?” “Don’t fuck around.” “The murderer’s gotta be right here among all these people, ain’t they?” “Why? Isn’t it possible that someone could have sneaked in from outside?” said Utsumi. “That’s ridiculous.” “Isn’t there evidence that couldn’t have been done unless it was someone here in this house?” “The criminal can lock and unlock Ouni’s room with the key, I tell ya!” "They’ve got the key, I tell ya!" “So I’m telling ya, unless it’s one of you distinguished folks here in this house, there ain’t no way someone could pull off such a feat!”

Then, Kazuma shouted irritably.

“We aren’t detectives. Let’s stop discussing the criminal.”

“Heh,” Pikaichi spat out,

“Very well.” “Exactly what I wanted.” “Erotic talk.” “Do we have any of this?” “This is the only way.” “A dinner table is always that sort of place.” “When men and women sit around drinking while making indecent yet tedious conversation about literature and art, no wonder your works remain forever juvenile.” “In any case, Mr. Ouni’s novels were truly adult novels.” “Therefore, let us discuss erotic matters and engage in them with gusto.” “Tonight, I must make a move on Ms. Utsugi.” “But you know—I do like Ms. Kocho’s cold reserve. Though I suppose being Japanese gives me this taste for Buddhist statues.” “The Asuka period, I suppose.” “Of course, even Java and Bali’s erotic dancers share that Asuka-period primary-color eroticism.” “The line of the waist—I want to make it quiver.”

Pikaichi stood up again and began performing a South Seas native hip-swaying dance. He even knew the natives’ songs by heart. His gestures, hip movements, and singing voice—all vivid and exactly like the booming voices of the South Seas—left the ladies dumbfounded, transforming the eyes of all present from loathing into barely concealed admiration.

10. A Gathering of Madmen

It was 9:40.

To the hall came Granny Yura. She was looking around, then turned to Dr. Ebizuka and, “Is Ms. Chigusa not here?” “I don’t know.” It was a curt response. Ms. Utsugi, who had been nearby, interjected, “Ms. Chigusa hasn’t appeared at all.” "It seems she didn’t appear at the dining table either." “That’s right, wasn’t it, Dr. Ebizuka?” “I don’t know.” “Ayaka-sama, do you know where Ms. Chigusa is?” "Was she at the dining table, I wonder?"

“No, she wasn’t there.” “Oh, I wonder what could have happened.” “I thought she might be here, but then where could she be?” The old woman turned back and shuffled away unsteadily. Granny Yura had once suffered a stroke. Since then, her walking had become quite restricted; she dragged her feet when moving around and found ascending and descending stairs agonizing. However, with no suitable room available elsewhere, she endured the inconvenience, crawling up and down the stairs. The elderly couple were making do with a chamber pot at night.

We were all drunk. Even Pikaichi drank an unusually large amount, and Utsumi had stacked up quite a few beer cups. The gathering on the night of the murder was inevitably fraught with a sharp, almost neurotic tension that bordered on painful. The fact that there was a murderer among us pricked at our consciousness at every turn—an unpleasant sensation. Kihyoe wasn’t one to drink normally, but when he did get drunk, he’d cling persistently—he’d been pestering Tango quite a bit earlier—and then, whether due to a shift in the wind, he suddenly turned his blade toward Ebizuka,

“Oh great Dr. Grump. “Hey, you—why don’t you sit here?” “Hmph—don’t want to?” “Very well. “You’ve secretly decided we’re lunatics—but from where I stand, the real madman here is you.” “Ooh, chilling! Brilliant!” “Brilliant!”

Pikaichi was overjoyed and restrained the group, “Silence, please!” “I generally dislike exposing people’s scandals, but in your case alone, I find myself unwilling to maintain such restraint.” “You scrutinize the private conduct of us literati, yet you yourself have been lodging at Tsuri-dono and engaging in nightly trysts with a certain young lady, have you not?” “Furthermore, it seems Ms. Kayoko dislikes your examinations and will not undergo them without a witness present.” “Judging from the rumors spread by the Gonbei and Nabe gang, you’ve been holding Ms. Kayoko’s hands and groping her breasts for extended periods, isn’t that right?” “Moreover, you’ve recently taken an unusual interest in Ms. Shitae—a lovely young maid—pressuring her to undergo frequent examinations by claiming she might have a chest ailment or some internal abnormality. That makes three cases within this estate alone—who knows what you’ve done at your clinic? Even judging solely by these three instances here, compared to us literati’s ordinary carnal desires, yours appear rather abnormal, deviant, and perverse—or is this prejudice on my part?”

“Yes, yes! That’s it!” While Pikaichi was delighted, the ladies tried their best to feign ignorance and exchange hushed whispers—likely out of social decorum—but Kihyoe’s words held a force that would soon freeze their sociable airs in an instant. “Oh great Dr. Grump. “Mr. Virtuous. “Those eyes! Those eyes!” “Everyone, look!” “Those eyes—glaring madman’s eyes.” “Murderous eyes.” “Eyes thirsting for blood—a killer’s gaze never sated even by oceans of gore.” “This true nature can’t be hidden!” “There! Look! Look!”

Kihyoe had turned pale with drunken rage and radiated murderous intent, his own eyes glowing fiercely like those of a demon—yet Ebizuka's eyes were beyond compare. I had noticed this progression from the beginning; he was trembling violently with anger, his eyes now harboring the unmistakable glint of madness born from frenzied excitement. That was indeed the momentary gleam in his eyes—one capable of lunging forth to kill a person. It was a light of unparalleled ferocity that could rend one into eight pieces, could twist and strangle—a light capable of every atrocity a madman might commit.

The ladies held their breath. Kihyoe glared dagger-sharp at Ebizuka. “He’s a full-blown deviant—call it schizophrenia, paranoia, whatever you like—but mark my words, the man’s a certified lunatic.” “He fancies himself pure as driven snow.” “Gropes Ms. Kayoko’s breasts under medical pretense, carries on with some lady at Tsuri-dono inn, engineers chances to paw at Ms. Shitae’s chest—all while acting righteous!” “The sheer blindness to his own depravity proves he’s unhinged.” “And this ‘purity’ of his? Mere delusions of others’ filth—classic symptoms of derangement.” “Well? Am I wrong?”

Ebizuka's eyes blazed even more fiercely. They were opened to their utmost limit, beyond any means of restraint, and with him having lost all capacity for speech or movement, it now seemed as though anything might abruptly erupt at any moment.

At that moment, dragging footsteps sounded as Oyuya Babasama entered, supported by Moroi Nurse.

“Chigusa is nowhere to be found. What could have happened? Might any of you ladies and gentlemen have an idea where she could be?”

A different terror swept through the gathering.

“That’s absurd!” “There’s no way she’s been killed!”

Pikaichi bellowed at the top of his voice.

“Granny, don’t worry.” “That girl’s in heat, I tell you.” “Even in front of you, Granny, that girl’s just a walking bundle of lust, isn’t she?” The gathering remained silent. No one attempted to speak next. Then Nurse Moroi, in a quiet, sunken voice like a drowned corpse speaking from beneath the water,

“That’s correct. Ms. Chigusa had gone out to Ibiki.” “What did you say? So you knew all along?”

Oyuya Babasama’s stunned gaze found no purchase on Nurse Moroi’s icy countenance. “Ms. Chigusa received a note from Ibiki.” “She was fluttering it about for everyone to see.” “I didn’t read it, though.” “And then, around six o’clock, she had gone out.”

“Where to?” “I’m not aware.” “Who is it? The gentleman?” “It would be improper for me to disclose that,” she said coldly. The gathering fell silent again. Ebizuka swayed his arms like a bear. What strange behavior this was. Was it from agitation? And with explosive force, he whirled around. He briskly shook his gimpy buttocks and, swaying his arms all the while, tried to leave the room.

And then, at the corridor entrance, he suddenly turned around, “You bastards!” It was a full-throated scream. Despite his small stature, he had a truly madman’s savage voice—what a piercing voice! And then, whirled around as if leaping up, he walked away.

“Wahahaha! Wahahaha!”

Pikaichi started laughing like a madman. "It's all a farce. “Hell, even murder’s just a farce here!” "This whole place has always been one big farce itself!" "How can you keep a straight face?" “I’d call this a whorehouse—no, scratch that—it’s practically a seething mass of lust, a nest of sex-crazed maniacs!” “Shut up!” “Scoundrel!” “Go back to Tokyo!” “Just go home right this instant!”

Akiko-san trembled with anger, crackling like electricity, her nerves leaping out with such ferocity. "What did you say, you bastard? Say that again."

As soon as he finished speaking, Pikaichi’s features twisted grotesquely. He was truly a demon. Ebizuka possessed the scalpel-like silence of a serial killer, but Pikaichi was a raging beast—no longer human in form, but a demon, a maddened wild animal. When the tension snapped, he lunged forward, grabbed Ms. Ayaka, swung her around in one great rotation, and hurled her away. Ms. Ayaka was flung a good two ken (about 3.6 meters), landed hard on all fours, her clothes torn and knees battered, unable to rise.

When we lifted her up, she immediately rose—a woman more resolute than her appearance suggested—and sharply raised her face,

“You scoundrel! You criminal!” “You bastard!” By the time we thought “Ah!”, Ms. Ayaka had already been struck with a sharp smack and sent flying—truly, this bastard’s physical strength was as swift as an arrow.

However, by the time we next gasped in alarm, there was no time for that. The bastard had suddenly raised the large vase beside him. It was fortunate that Hitomi Koroku braced himself. Pikaichi hurled the vase downward, but it struck no one, shattered against the floor, and broke into countless fragments.

With the monstrous strength of a raging bull, Pikaichi flung Koroku away. Ms. Ayaka sensed the murderous intent and, whirling around, fled. She jumped into the dining room and fled from there toward the garden. Pikaichi was already in pursuit. When we finally caught up, Ms. Ayaka was pinned against a garden pine tree, beaten mercilessly and thrown about until she lay gasping for breath.

We clung onto him in a cluster and finally managed to pull them apart, though we ended up dragging them nearly ten ken apart. Ms. Ayaka, now protected by the group of women, began withdrawing, while Pikaichi too was huffing like a bull as he regained his breath. Thinking it was over, we let our guard down—a fatal mistake—for he suddenly charged out like an arrow. When she realized this, Ms. Ayaka once again fled like an arrow. Ms. Ayaka was indeed an agile person—slender of build, yet possessing a splendid speed that streaked away in a straight line like a fish.

Ms. Ayaka, instead of fleeing further out, leaped back into the house from the dining room she had just exited. We gave chase, but by the time we caught up, Ms. Ayaka had already leaped into her bedroom and locked it from the inside, while Pikaichi’s misstep while running up the stairs had created some distance between them. Pikaichi was kicking down the door to Ms. Ayaka’s bedroom like a madman. When we caught up, “You bastards!” He chased us around,

“You damn beasts! “Slobs!” “If you come out, I’ll kill you.” “I’ll strangle you to death.” “I’ll wring your neck!” Pikaichi grabbed his own shirt collar and throttled his throat violently, but after kicking the sliding door relentlessly, he finally collapsed face-up in front of it, limbs splayed wide. This madness persisted for nearly an hour. Whenever we drew near, he would rise and charge at us. He howled like a wild beast and lunged.

We gave up and each retreated to our own bedrooms. Every ten or twenty minutes, Pikaichi would get up and kick down the door to Ms. Ayaka’s bedroom—we could hear it—then flop back down spread-eagled and keep howling. I gave up and went to sleep in exasperation, but it was said that Pikaichi had kept howling for three hours after that. By the time someone woke up the next morning, he had exhausted himself and lay spread-eagled, fast asleep outside Ms. Ayaka’s door.

Ms. Ayaka was unharmed. By the next day, Pikaichi had completely settled into quietude, but a murder had been committed where none could have foreseen.

The Semushi Poet had been murdered in his bedroom, and when we split up to search for Ms. Chigusa, we found her killed in the forest of Miwayama Mountain.

Postscript: The title *Discontinuous Murder Case* has caused various issues—since it says "discontinuous," these self-styled master detectives keep insisting there must be different culprits for each incident. First came Detective Yomisugi to my humble abode, proudly demonstrating how he'd cleverly used the title as his deductive key, though his interpretive methods proved rather deficient. Ms. Atapin even sent a personal letter all the way from Iizuka, Kyushu, remarking something like, "I hear seven or eight people die, but having the murderers get killed one after another—what a nasty trick!" Truly, I must bow to Atapin's pin-sharp intellect—positively brilliant. You shouldn't be able to unravel the trick so easily.

Estimating culprits from the title—that’s a technique straight out of *Hanshichi’s Arrest Records*. Inspector Kanguri was a virtuoso at deducing criminals from detective novels’ cover designs, so truly, ever since the Meiji Restoration, apprehending real culprits has become downright impossible. When it comes to detective novels, authors scheme all manner of things starting with the title itself. These so-called master detectives flaunt their skills at *Hanshichi’s Arrest Records* levels with such shameless abandon that it transcends mere absurdity—it’s a tragedy for Japan’s public safety.

There will surely come a time when Dr. Kosei delivers a terse lecture concerning matters of continuity and discontinuity. I do hope you won’t be so easily manipulated by the culprit’s ploys. The author too is utterly at a loss without any leads.

An additional challenge: According to Detective Rampo’s theory, among detective novelists, Mr. Kakuta Kikuo is reputed to be the foremost master at deducing culprits. Therefore, with utmost respect, this challenge is humbly presented to the Great Detective Kakuta. Next, Mr. Shikiba Ryuzaburo.

Furthermore, I decided to set the prize money offered by this author at the standard sum of 10,000 yen. My apologies that it aligns so conventionally with typical reward amounts. I would have preferred to present you with an 18-carat diamond or suchlike, but lacking such resources renders this impossible.

Sakaguchi Ango

Eleven: The Way Back from the Crematorium

When I went out for a walk the next morning, Pikaichi was still fast asleep spread-eagled in front of Ms. Ayaka’s bedroom door. As I exited the back gate and approached the direction of the usual Miwayama Mountain,

"Hey!" Someone over there was waving a cane and calling out. It was Kamiyama Toyo and the elderly servant Kisaku.

“You’re up ridiculously early，Mr.Kamiyama.Wearing knickers for your stroll—you’re quite the dandy.” “I always wake up early，you know.Don’t be ridiculous.” “Only you literary men and thieves sleep during the day.” “I’m not out for a walk.” “This is an investigation.” “Ms.Chigusa went out yesterday evening and still hasn’t returned.” “Mr.Yashiro，this is truly an ill-omened matter，but under these circumstances，I can’t help but think it’s happened again.” “Despite my appearance，I have a weak heart—walking through this jungle-like mountain path feels unbearably eerie.”

“Did you search thoroughly?” “Well, we mainly checked the paths people could walk.” “We walked from Miwayama Shrine all the way to Miwayama Pond.”

The three of us went around to the back of Miwayama Shrine and looked up at the jungle-covered mountain. Bamboo grass ran rampant, weeds and vines tangled and intertwined, and an oppressive darkness and silence hung thickly.

“It’s exactly the kind of jungle where you’d expect someone to be murdered, isn’t it? Hey, Mr. Yashiro. Even if I could step into this place, I absolutely don’t want to, no way.”

As he said this, Kamiyama noticed something on the ground and came to a halt. "Hmm, what's this?"

Kamiyama picked it up. “This is bad. “This is a lady’s lipstick. “It seems she did come here after all. “Ah! Ah! Those weeds over there look trampled—like someone’s been stamping through them! “Well now, this is…”

After advancing five or six steps, they found a handbag thrown aside with its contents scattered. After progressing about ten steps further, they discovered Ms. Chigusa murdered beneath the roots of a large tree, lying face down as though asleep. She had been blindfolded with a furoshiki cloth before being strangled over it using something resembling a woman’s waist cord.

There were no signs of resistance or struggle in the vicinity. "There was almost no resistance." "The trampled weeds we first found might be where she was killed, don’t you think?" "They brought the corpse here and dumped it." “She hadn’t been assaulted, has she?” "This culprit—when it comes to the lady’s chastity—is quite the gentlemanly fellow, isn’t he?"

Ms. Chigusa was wearing a suit and trousers, and her clothing was not disheveled in the slightest.

After reporting to the police contingent, when Kamiyama and I guided the detectives—including Dr. Kosei and his team—to the crime scene and returned for breakfast, another commotion erupted here: Umi Akiko had been stabbed to death in her bedroom. When Ms. Ayaka went to check on Umi Akiko after noticing her absence from the dining table, she found the bedroom had become a sea of blood, with Umi Akiko in pajamas lying face down on the floor at the room's center. There were three stab wounds in her flank, two in her chest, and two in her neck; the dagger had been washed and placed on top of the vanity table. The culprit had washed their hands. This dagger too was one from the display cabinet in the parlor.

Umi's slippers lay about two feet away from her feet, but beside the door were those the culprit had kicked off upon entering the room. These were toilet slippers from the lavatory adjacent to Umi's bedroom. No other traces left by the perpetrator were discovered, nor any fingerprints. Around when the crime scene inspection concluded, doctors dispatched from the prefectural hospital arrived with Ms. Chigusa's remains, transformed Soryu-ji Temple's main hall into an autopsy chamber, and conducted examinations of the two fresh corpses.

Ms. Chigusa was estimated to have been killed between 6 PM and 7 PM on the 18th, while the Semushi Poet's death was placed around 11 PM to midnight. As for Umi Akiko, she appeared to have been reading Laclos' *Dangerous Liaisons* in bed before closing the book and getting up, whereupon she was killed. It remained unclear whether she had been murdered upon returning from using the toilet or after inviting her assailant into her room. Given their likely acquaintance, she was probably stabbed in the flank from behind without sensing any murderous intent, staggered forward from the blow, and then subjected to multiple frenzied stabbings as she fell. By the time her heart was pierced, she was already completely dead—after which her body was turned face down again to stab her neck. In other words, it was a crime committed by someone she knew. Therefore, it was concluded that the culprit, fearing resuscitation, had persistently stabbed her multiple times without mercy.

After dinner, at 8:30 PM, Inspector Kanguri gathered all of us residents of the Western-style house in the hall,

“Now then， ladies and gentlemen． Under these circumstances， we can no longer afford to prioritize courtesy alone． Given that we can no longer exclude you all from suspicion， we must humbly request your full cooperation with an impartial investigation． We need you to verify your alibis from when we finished chanting sutras at Mr． Mochizuki’s cremation， lit the fire， and departed until dinner． First， regarding this overall situation—Dr． Kosei， what time did you leave？”

"Well, you see, I’m rather careless by nature and not one to check clocks often, so... I’d say it was around the time of the cremation." When Dr. Kosei flushed and gave a bitter smile, Kamiyama Toyo—

“I looked at my watch. When the sutra ended and we lit the fire—just as we were about to leave—Mr. Yashiro asked what time it was. That would be young master Kazuma, correct? When I checked my watch, it showed 6:06, but Mr. Kazuma said it was 6:09. Though my watch is just a cheap Mobard, it’s a bargain find that doesn’t deviate by even a tenth of a second! How about it—for a hundred thousand yen, I might even sell it! Ah hah hah!”

Then Ms. Atapin raised her shrill, piercing voice,

“Oh, Mr. Yashiro—aren’t you wearing a wristwatch? Why did you ask about the time then?” “Because I left mine on my desk yesterday when I went out. Do you make it a policy to carry every last possession on your person year-round, Ms. Atapin?” “How dare you address me as ‘Ms. Atapin’ with such disrespect!” “Silence.” Inspector Kanguri fixed them with a piercing glare—a truly formidable one.

“So—did everyone return together?” No one answered. Then Kamiyama Toyo—

“First of all,” Kamiyama Toyo addressed Inspector Kanguri and the gathered residents, “Master Painter Doi Koichi pushed the large cart—with Ms. Umi riding in it—and this group departed first. Since two young men were pulling it, and with Master Doi’s added pushing making three in total, they climbed up the valley at a tremendous speed.” “Why was there a large cart?” “We brought her body.”

“Why didn’t you return immediately after bringing the corpse?” “That’s different from city rickshaws or taxis.” “Country young men don’t just up and leave right away when they come to help at the master’s house.” “Like gathering firewood—aren’t there plenty of tasks at the crematorium that require many hands?”

The inspector turned to Detective Yomisugi and, “Are the two young men here?” “Yes, all of yesterday’s involved parties have been summoned to that room over there.”

And they called two young men named Wasaburō and Kiyoshi. “How far did you take Ms. Umi?”

“Yes’m, ’twas on th’ mountain path behind th’ mansion.”

“At the fork in the road to Miwayama Mountain, right?” “Yes, that be thirty ken upstream from there.” “From there, descendin’ ’bout thirty ken down th’ slope brings ye t’ th’ fork path.” “Why didn’t ye take ’er all th’ way t’ th’ back gate?” “From there ’tis downhill, an’ she said we’d come far enough an’ t’ let ’er off.” “Ridin’ downhill don’t sit right in th’ gut.” “That matches your reckonin’, don’t it, Mr. Doi?” “I wouldn’t know.” “Quit pushin’ that cart long ’fore then.” “Just shoved like mad through four-five chō up from th’ crematorium valley.” “Past that point—nothin’ but twisty dirt track, no cobbles t’ speak of.” “Two lads draggin’ cart down plain road—might as well be pushin’ a Datsun.”

"Didn't you come back with the car?" "The car was moving at a tremendous speed." "The damn thing just kept building momentum, see." "It rattled around the bend and disappeared in an instant." "When I reached the fork at Miwayama Mountain, there was no trace of Semushi, you know."

“Did anyone here see Ms. Umi in the mountains?” No one answered. “When Mr. Doi returned, was Ms. Umi already back?” “No, I was first. Umi was second—after that, I don’t know. I’m not keeping watch or anything, see.”

"Do you happen to know what time it was when you returned?" "That's a tough question. When I got back, the first person I exchanged greetings with was Ms. Utsugi here—she's probably got a better sense of time than me." "Around seven o'clock... or maybe ten minutes before seven? Though I'm not exactly known for keeping track of time myself." "Were the rest of you all together?"

"The group consisting of myself, Mr. Kazuma, and the priest was next in line." "The others appeared to have been delayed quite significantly." Kamiyama Toyo answered. Thereupon I,

“Exactly so.” “I came ambling along with Tango, Kihyoe, Koroku, and Dr. Kosei as one group, engaged in debate the whole way.” “When we reached the top of the valley, Tango broke off and headed toward the mineral spring village.” “This was likely a sort of lyrical stroll to escape the stifling debate—after which I went to that same mineral spring village to buy medicine.” “After walking a short distance, I passed Tango returning on the path.” “I purchased medicine at the mineral spring inn and returned as darkness fell.” “I bumped into Kazuma at the back gate—just then Dr. Ebizuka arrived with his philosophical gait, flashing his flashlight about all the while.”

“So your party returned together, Kamiyama-san?”

“That is correct.” “No one separated from the group along the way.” “At the back gate, the priest returned to the temple once.” Following that, Kazuma—

“That’s correct. That’s why I assumed the priest was at the temple. So I went back once, but since the priest had business there, he went to the temple. No matter how much I called out, there was no answer, so I waited in front of the main hall for about thirty minutes. When I gave up and came back, I met Yae at the back gate. Then when I went to the sitting room, it turned out the priest had already come there.”

“I see,” said Inspector Kanguri. “So while you were at Sōrin Temple, Mr. Utagawa—did you encounter anyone there?” “The temple lies far from any thoroughfare,” replied Kazuma. “I didn’t see a living soul.” His lips twisted into a self-deprecating smile. “Which means I’ve no alibi whatsoever.” The inspector turned to the assembled guests. “Mr. Tango and Mr. Yashiro returned separately.” His pen hovered over the notebook. “The rest of you—Mr. Hitomi, Mr. Miyake, Dr. Kosei—you came back together?” Kihyoe’s head snapped up, his features hardening like frosted glass. “No,” he said coldly. “I walked alone—again.”

“Hitomi and Dr. Kosei turned onto the beech forest path, but I took the back road—that is to say, I walked along the route where Umi’s cart was said to have passed.” “So you met Ms. Umi at that time, right?” “Not at all.” “Not a single soul.” “That road winds through dense mountain forests with no fields or paddies around, so there was no coming and going of villagers.”

At that moment, Dr. Ebizuka belatedly entered by himself.

“Ah, we’ve been expecting you. I deeply regret summoning you here during your busy hours. I understand you visit this household every night without fail—did you have an emergency tonight?” “Ridiculous. Why must I come every night?” The doctor stretched his back in an exaggerated posture, his eyes flashing a sharp, arrogant glare. Then once more: “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “Dr. Ebizuka, approximately what time did you arrive at this household last night?”

"Why should I need to remember such timings?" "You must know when you left the hospital." "I'm no clock-watcher." "People other than bell-tower keepers don't live by checking every minute." "But generally speaking—when visiting someone's home—isn't it natural to think 'If it's about X o'clock now, we'll arrive by Y'? Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Ebizuka?"

“If that’s not the case, then he must be insane.” “Dr. Ebizuka.” “Do you understand?” “The Inspector is absolutely correct.” “When people leave their house to go to someone else’s home, they must always be conscious of the time.”

Kihyoe said with piercing coldness. He likely still remembered last night's events. Being of scholarly temperament, Kihyoe possessed a womanly persistence—the sort to obsessively fixate on single matters. “Investigate however you like.” “That’s what detectives do.” “My vocation is treating patients—I’ll answer for that alone.” “The rest means nothing to me.” “Mr. Yashiro and Mr. Utagawa encountered Dr. Ebizuka at the rear gate.” “Mr. Yashiro took that back road—the cart track.” “Mr. Utagawa arrived from the Zen temple.” “You approached from the village direction, Doctor?” “What time was this?”

“Well, I suppose it was around eight o'clock. Because it was right when the sun had completely set. Wouldn’t you agree? In these mountain areas—hidden by the peaks—sunset might come early.”

When I said that, the inspector... “No, understood.” “Then Mr. Doi was the first to return—around seven or six-fifty.” “Next was Ms. Umi, then Mr. Kamiyama, followed by Mr. Utagawa.” “Mr. Utagawa returned once and then went out again.” “Next?” “Mr. Hitomi and I,” said Dr. Kosei. “And then Mr. Miyake.” “Mr. Tango.” “Mr. Yashiro.” “That’s everyone, then.”

“Did any of the ladies go out during that time?” “We were all gathered in the hall. There were those who were in the kitchen, but I believe we were all gathered,” replied Utsugi Akiko. “When you say ‘all together,’ who exactly are you referring to?” “Ms. Kocho and I were here; Ms. Ayaka went back and forth between the kitchen and our group to talk; and Mrs. Kamiyama did likewise. I don’t believe Lady Chigusa was present in this room.”

“Who was the last person to see Lady Chigusa?”

“I”

Moroi Nurse, who had been part of the gathering, answered clearly. That answer seemed to contain an arrogant confidence that intimidated the others.

"I saw Lady Chigusa leaving through the back gate around six o'clock." "And one minute before that, she showed me a piece of paper."

“Did you read that piece of paper?” “I read it.” “The unattractive woman and the parasite shall hereby arrange their rendezvous today between 6:30 and 7:00 PM behind Miwa Shrine.” “Details shall be settled through consultation.” “Lady Chigusa looked quite pleased, saying, ‘Mr. Umi is infatuated with me.’”

“That piece of paper was something I delivered to Mr. Umi at his request.” Ms. Ayaka made a troubled and somewhat ashamed expression, then began to speak with an awkward air. “Mr. Umi is such a Tokyoite.” “Even if you call it a rendezvous, it doesn’t mean the commonplace sort.” “It’s a rhetorical expression, you see.” “He just loves deigning to say things like ‘a secret meeting of demons and spirits.’” “He simply deigns to phrase wanting to meet as something like a secret rendezvous of demons and spirits or an unattractive woman and a parasite.” “He truly intended to pour his very soul into writing what he called a poem dedicated to an unattractive woman, you see.” “Ms. Chigusa existed solely for that poem.” “He didn’t compose the poem for Ms. Chigusa’s sake.”

“How could you know that?” “How could you possibly know... such a thing?” With that, Pikaichi showered her with contempt-laden words. “So had he actually started writing that poem?” “Inspector—did you examine Umi’s manuscript?” asked Hitomi Koroku. “Well, we did check the manuscript, but I’m just a layman in such matters.” “Dr. Kosei—did you find that manuscript?”

“I did find it. “However, it seems only the title was written.” Inspector Kanguri adjusted his demeanor there and surveyed the gathering.

“I heard last night was quite lively,”

With a laugh, he glared at Pikaichi, but Pikaichi turned his back as if to say he knew nothing. There, the inspector shifted his gaze to Ms. Ayaka. Ms. Ayaka had bandages on her kneecaps, upper arms, elbows, and fingers from last night’s injuries, her expression one of utter distress; yet whether it was her natural beauty’s disposition that maintained an air of composure regardless of circumstance, she always imparted a crisp impression. Then the inspector’s eyes fixed precisely on Dr. Ebizuka,

“Dr. Ebizuka, I hear you were quite angry last night—why didn’t you return directly home?”

“I returned straight home.”

Dr. Ebizuka’s face seemed ablaze with anger. He looked ready to bare his fangs. Inspector Kanguri paid no heed to such matters, his eyes fixing on the bandages around Ebisuka’s hands, “How did you come by those injuries to your hands?” “Last night, I fell on a mountain path.” “Dr. Ebizuka, while your leg seems to be troubling you, walking directly from our estate to the hospital would take four and a half hours—an excessively long time, wouldn’t you say?” “You left our estate last night at nine-thirty, correct?”

The fact that Dr. Ebizuka, who had been staying over every night, had returned home last night was news to me. I instinctively pricked up my ears, but Dr. Ebizuka—his entire face ablaze with glaring eyes—stared at the inspector and did not respond. “Due to an ill-timed coincidence, there happened to be an emergency last night.” “It was 12:30 AM.” A call came from the hospital to the estate, and Nurse Moroi went to search for Dr. Ebizuka at the fishing pavilion, but he was not there. “Dr. Ebizuka supposedly returned home at 2 AM—an hour and a half after that—but you couldn’t have spent four and a half hours walking back during that time, could you?”

“I kept walking.” Ebizuka puffed out his shoulders and spat out the words.

“Hmph.” “I kept walking.” “But it wasn’t the direct path home.” “To purge myself of the foul air from fools and shameless wretches—to reclaim my own purity—I had no choice but to wander unfamiliar back mountain paths.” “Hence these hand injuries.” “Hmph.” “Isn’t this place a kennel?” “Hmph. Preposterous.” “Did you not meet anyone? Visit someone to converse?”

“Hmph, who in this village is worth my visit? Ridiculous.” “Ms. Chigusa had already been killed by nine-thirty last night, you see.” With that, Kihyoe mocked. Ebizuka trembled with anger, clenched his fists, glared fiercely at Kihyoe with eyes that filled his entire face, and held his breath.

Inspector Kanguri turned his eyes toward Ms. Ayaka, “Madam, you had a terrible ordeal last night. Are your injuries healing well?”

Ms. Ayaka smiled and,

“Thank you. My left knee just hurts a bit—the rest are mere scratches.” “Madam fled into the bedroom; Mr. Doi gave chase—pounding on the door, kicking it—and he kept that up until around midnight, I take it?”

Pikaichi, with a composed face, stared fearlessly and directly at the inspector,

“I don’t remember well.” “Inspector, don’t you recall turning into a tiger?” “If you’re dead drunk, anyone would lose all sense of time.” “As for my doings last night, those bastards damn well know more than I do.”

The inspector nodded. “It seems he tried to grab anyone who approached—is that correct, Mr. Kazuma?”

“It wasn’t as if I approached intentionally, but to enter my bedroom, I had no choice but to get close. Then he grabbed me by the collar—I was pushed away and then kicked—but finally managing to slip free from that, I escaped into my bedroom. Dr. Kosei also ended up being grabbed, didn’t he?” “Since my bedroom was nearby. Even when I peeked out by sticking my face through the doorway, he bared his fangs, raised his hands, let out a roar, and charged at me. For about the first hour, I suppose.”

Then Kamiyama Toyo nodded, “Indeed, until around eleven o’clock, he stood blocking the doorway, his eyes blazing like a Nio statue as he bellowed.” “Quite the warrior’s bearing, I must say.” “From around eleven o’clock, he plonked himself down in the corridor, leaned back against the door, and alternated between singing and shouting.” “Since I’m more of a reader than I look, I was lying there reading last night too.” “Mr. Doi’s shouting finally died down at 12:18 AM.” “When I quietly opened my door to peek out then, there he was—dozing off against the door, his back just starting to slide down.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded. “Given your profession as a lawyer, Mr. Kamiyama, your attention to timing in crucial moments is most meticulous.” “Thanks to that, everything has become quite clear.” “The door to your bedroom, Madam, commands a clear view of the corridor. If one were leaning against that door, all comings and goings would be entirely visible. Mr. Doi, could you tell us who came and went?” Pikaichi wore a somewhat sheepish expression and looked embarrassed, but

“Well now—this humble one might’ve hollered at folks or chased ’em every time someone came through last night, but truth be told... I can’t rightly recall.” “But see here, after I leaned against that door and plopped my rear down, seems everyone’d turned in—didn’t look like a soul came or went after that.” “Hold on—”

He pondered deeply but seemed unable to recall. “Mr. Doi, did you yourself never leave from in front of the door even once?” Pikaichi scratched his head, “I might’ve gone to take a piss or somethin’, ya know.” “’Cause I’ve got no damn memory of it at all.” “No, he absolutely did not move from in front of the door.”

Kamiyama Toyo stated flatly. "Because the voice shouting in the same spot had not ceased for even five seconds." "Wouldn't that become clear if you asked Madam more than anyone else?" "Surely Madam couldn't have slept soundly with the tiger's roar right behind her." Ms. Ayaka received those words with a serious expression,

“Yes, I remember everything.” “Until after midnight, there was not a moment when the tiger’s roar ceased before my door.” “Ever since the tiger appeared on this mountain, I had made it my custom to sleep in my husband’s bedroom—but last night alone I rushed into my own.” “Because by habit, I always leave my room key inserted in the door from the inside—this gave me confidence I could lock it instantly when needed.” “Thus by a hair’s breadth difference, I managed to slip inside and turn the key just in time.” “It was almost as if my usual negligence had proven fortuitous.”

At that moment, Kamiyama Toyo inquired.

"Could it not be that the culprit entered through the window?"

“Why do you think that?” “Given that Doi the painter was holding his ground there, even if he currently claims to have no memory of it, you couldn’t exactly go out to commit murder counting on that, after all.” “Or perhaps the culprit, fully aware of the drunkard’s psychology, calmly carried out their work—I wonder.” “It may be as you said.” Now, Inspector Kanguri was quite a seasoned individual, never once showing us the tail end of his investigations. However, I was able to learn from Dr. Kosei that there were no signs the culprit had come from outside. At least, they hadn’t come through the room’s window.

This culprit had left no tampering with whether they came through the window or the door; the very lack of such tricks meant there were no clues to be found. The more elaborate the ruses, the more psychological traces they would leave—something a novelist like myself could easily handle—but with none present, there was no foothold for amateur detectives to grasp.

After concluding the above questions, Inspector Kanguri broached the central thrust of his investigation.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen—as you’re well aware—four murders occurring in one house over three days marks an unprecedented event in Japan.” “Under such circumstances, though you residents of this mansion lead ordinarily upright lives, being unable to entirely escape suspicion constitutes a rational outcome of a nation governed by law.” “I must frankly request your cooperation: we wish to inspect your bedrooms and personal effects.” “Out of respect for your standing as distinguished cultural figures, I’ll state our investigative focus plainly. From analyzing Ms. Umi’s horrific blood loss patterns, we conclude the perpetrator’s clothing must bear bloodstains—compelling them to either conceal these garments, launder them, or take equivalent measures.” “This inspection serves that purpose alone—we impose no compulsion.” “We merely appeal to your fair judgment for cooperation, seeking your presentation of compelling counter-evidence to our inquiries.”

Now then—particularly regarding the esteemed ladies—the prospect of inspecting personal belongings stirred an uneasy atmosphere, but ultimately Dr. Ebizuka alone remained adamant in his refusal. Yet true to the proverb of “the mighty mountain that births a mouse,” only one bloodstained garment surfaced—Ayaka’s dress torn to tatters by Pikaichi’s flailing. The blood proved hers alone, for while Umi was type B and Ayaka type O, this left no room for dispute.

We inspected even the bottoms of our trunks, but the key in question still did not appear.

12. Why Was the Semushi Poet Killed?

We grown men too were trembling in fear from three consecutive nights of murder incidents; merely locking our doors proved insufficient, so we went to exhausting efforts—winding ropes around them and tying them to our beds—showing signs of slight nervous exhaustion. Yet even a fellow like Pikaichi in the Japanese-style room was no exception to the general state: without a key, he could not sleep soundly and seemed to be making do primarily with daytime naps.

I knew that Dr. Kosei had been meticulously investigating the route from the crematorium to the back gate, timing it with great precision. Carrying a stopwatch, he had been traversing the same route over five days; when I accompanied him on his investigation one day, “Walking at a normal pace takes forty to forty-five minutes, but here—there’s this small path, you see.”

From along the mountain stream—thought to be roughly halfway between the crematorium and the back gate—a small path about one shaku wide descended to the valley floor. At first glance, it was so narrow one might not even recognize it as a path. Upon descending to the valley floor, it crossed the ravine by following the stones, then wound its way into the depths of the jungle, its traces growing indistinct as it went. Guided by Dr. Kosei and proceeding along this narrow path while parting the weeds, I found myself involuntarily holding my breath and staring. Below us lay Miwayama Shrine. We had emerged at the side of Miwayama Shrine.

I couldn’t help but shout. “Ah! Now I understand! The culprit used this path to get ahead and kill Ms. Chigusa.” After killing her, they must have avoided Umi approaching from another path and returned home—no, wait. Perhaps they met Umi along the way, feigned innocence to deceive her—that’s why they had to kill her too.” “In that case,” I pressed Dr. Kosei, “wouldn’t it have been safer to murder Ms. Umi at that location instead?”

Dr. Kosei smirked. “Whether the culprit came along this path is unclear—I can’t say for certain. But anyway—and pardon my saying so—with this path’s existence coming to light now, Mr. Miyake, Mr. Tango, and Sensei too would all rightly fall under suspicion. Honestly, it’s a tangled mess of a situation.”

Assuming that walking normally from the crematorium to the back gate took forty to forty-five minutes, since the handcart had come at a half-run, it might not have taken more than thirty minutes. Given that a round trip to Miwayama Shrine on Umi's feet might have taken twenty-five to thirty minutes, Pikaichi would have returned around 6:50 or 7:00 PM, with Umi following five to ten minutes later. There was scarcely any time left for Ibiki. Ms. Chigusa had already been killed. Therefore, since there was no sign of her, Umi must have misunderstood that Ms. Chigusa wouldn't be coming and returned. Had he met Ms. Chigusa, he should have returned later, and moreover, should have come back together with her.

“Is there any trace of that paper Ebizuka made Nurse Moroi read?” “I’ve been searching for it, but it doesn’t appear among Ms. Chigusa’s belongings.” I couldn’t stand that Moroi woman. Her arrogant airs and pretentious intellectual affectations grated on me. Until Ms. Ayaka admitted being asked to deliver it to Ms. Chigusa, I’d believed it was either Ms. Chigusa’s performance or Nurse Moroi’s trick.

It was said that morphine had been introduced into the cup and water pitcher by the bedside where Tamaki-san was murdered; not only did Ebizuka Hospital secretly stock morphine, but in fact, old man Tamon was a morphine addict, and the mansion had morphine concealed within. One day, Dr. Kosei and I were summoned to old man Tamon’s study. When the conversation shifted to the incident, Nurse Moroi happened to be present for a vitamin injection, so I deliberately tried to provoke her,

“Nurse Moroi was not only the last person to meet Ms. Chigusa while she was alive but also the last to meet Tamaki-san during her lifetime—and furthermore, it’s said that morphine was introduced into the cup and pitcher by Tamaki-san’s bedside. Now, according to the conventions of modern detective novels, since a nurse having morphine seems all too obvious, one would conclude that no one would be foolish enough to leave behind such an idiotic clue.” “However, conversely, one could also devise a trick by intentionally leaving behind clues that are too easily suspected—anticipating precisely that critical point where they would therefore not be suspected—couldn’t one?” “Ms. Moroi here is a woman of excessively keen intellect, you see.” “If I may be so bold, when it comes to an esteemed lady such as yourself—so inscrutable, like a mystery—we third-rate writers do find ourselves entertaining all sorts of speculations.”

Though it may sound appallingly rude, these days the guests in this house had reached a state where exchanging greetings meant bluntly declaring, "You’re the culprit, aren’t you?"—a perversely refreshing directness.

Nurse Moroi glared at me, “Mr. Yashiro returned from the crematorium quite late all by yourself.”

“Exactly as you say. By the way, Ms. Moroi—you do have quite an imposing physique. If I may be blunt, I’d wager you possess strength rivaling that of a small man.”

Dr. Kosei was listening with a smirk, but— “In Mr. Ouni’s case, there was the bell on his shoe; in Ms. Tamaki’s case, morphine—something vaguely suggestive left behind each time. But for Ms. Chigusa and Ms. Umi’s cases, there’s nothing corresponding to that, you see.” Old man Tamon questioned,

“I see—that’s quite fascinating.” “Truly a masterful observation.” “Oh, please, not at all,” Dr. Kosei demurred bashfully. “There’s nothing more prone to distorting truth than so-called clever insights.” “It just makes them feel self-important—utterly beyond salvation, I tell ya.” “You know, Mr. Yashiro—isn’t literature the same?” “Politics’s no different, I tell ya.” “But Dr. Kosei—this crime was planned with extreme meticulousness, wouldn’t you say?” “What I question is Ms. Umi’s case.” “The mystery lies in why they had to kill during that perilous moment when Mr. Doi was keeping watch.” “There must be some reason it absolutely had to be that day.” “Solve that riddle, and you’ll unravel one corner of this case—wouldn’t you agree?”

“What are your thoughts on that mystery?”

Old man Tamon did not answer. So I interjected,

"That’s likely because Umi saw the culprit." "But since he doesn’t know Ms. Chigusa was killed, he hasn’t realized he should suspect them yet." "That’s why they absolutely had to silence Umi that very night." "A crisis of survival, eh? Still—they crossed a dangerous bridge." "Crossed a dangerous bridge indeed."

At that moment, Dr. Kosei said something strange. "It may have been the least dangerous option after all."

“Why?” Dr. Kosei smirked,

“When Mr. Pikaichi is in the lower Japanese-style room, killing Ms. Umi becomes rather troublesome, you see.” Old man Tamon glared sharply at the doctor but refrained from commenting further.

Thirteen: The Saintly Maiden’s Artful Deception

A week passed uneventfully, and on July 26th, when I awoke from my nap, Ms. Kayoko came to visit Kyoko and appeared in our room. This day was Kazuma’s birthday, and in the main house kitchen they were steaming red rice while over in the Western wing’s kitchen bustled with dinner preparations; Ms. Kayoko had also been scheduled to join us at this dining table today—a rare occurrence. Ms. Kayoko was an utterly fierce saintly virgin. Yet compared to this, Ms. Ayaka presented herself as a peculiarly maiden-like figure amidst flower-like radiance, appearing nothing like a married woman. This demonic allure—whether it provoked hostility among her own sex or simply drew every last man with special fascination—inevitably bred jealousy. What made Ms. Kayoko exceptional were her feelings for Kazuma, but whenever talk turned to Ms. Ayaka, the resentment simmering beneath became so unnervingly acute that it pained me.

Excessive hatred and jealousy have a way of rendering their bearer wretched while elevating their object—and even someone as pure as Ms. Kayoko, an unsullied maiden, ended up imparting such discomfort upon her listeners that one could not help but feel convinced: yes, there truly exists such a thing as a beautiful demon born of seething envy. Ms. Kayoko, likely owing to her frail health, possessed a religious dimension that manifested itself in prophetic utterances.

Yet, for instance, from the single slipper bell of Ms. Ayaka’s found rolled beneath Ouni’s bed, she would decisively conclude that Ms. Ayaka was the culprit or stubbornly persist in believing there had been some relationship between Ouni and Ms. Ayaka—and for us who knew otherwise, this intensity of conviction grated on our nerves, making her difficult to manage. “But Ms. Kayoko, that’s incorrect.” “In Ouni’s case, only Ms. Ayaka has an alibi.” “Ayaka was sleeping in Kazuma’s bed, and Kazuma was writing until around dawn.”

“Brother is protecting Sister.” “Brother has been completely deceived by Sister, after all.”

That was roughly how it went. When it came to talk of Ms. Ayaka, it was utterly irritating. However, in the midst of such talk, Kazuma and Ms. Ayaka happened to come visit me.

“Oh, Ms. Kayoko, how unusual.” Ms. Ayaka’s eyes darted about as she beamed like scattering pollen.

“Tonight’s dinner will be delightful. Since Ms. Kayoko resembles a fragrant alpine flower, simply sitting there quietly will naturally let her floral essence permeate through everyone.” Ms. Kayoko first appeared to reject this flattery with an irritated manner—but that wasn’t the case at all. She smiled happily instead, “Sister, you’re the one who’s as fragrant as a bouquet.” She said rapturously, as though utterly captivated by Ms. Ayaka’s flowery splendor from the depths of her being.

I was utterly dumbfounded. Women—even a maiden of such unyielding purity herself—are all born liars, diplomats, and tacticians. Even so, I thought Ms. Kayoko’s case was particularly egregious. I suppose Ms. Kayoko was an exceptionally lonely person—with Kyoko being her only friend and no intimate feelings held toward anyone else—so it was only natural she maintained diplomatic composure at all times. Through my chance association with Kyoko, I alone had come to know Ms. Kayoko’s true heart—the one that lay beneath her tactful facade. If women were to show their true hearts, they would all be like this, but perhaps we men are simply not blessed with many opportunities to touch upon women’s true hearts.

Kazuma showed not a trace of being troubled by his position and maintained perfect composure, “Are you feeling better now, Kayoko?” “You had that slight fever until recently.” “With these endless incidents, I couldn’t visit properly—but I hear you’ve been refusing even Dr. Ebizuka’s medicine lately.” “Being overly sensitive won’t do.” “You must take the doctor’s medicine.” Ms. Kayoko lifted her face with a desolate expression,

"Yes, but I don’t intend to live long, you see." "That’s it. That’s the problem. Well, Ms. Kyoko, don’t you agree?" "Yes, really, dying so soon would be such a pointless thing. If you hold onto bright hopes, an illness or anything like that is certain to be cured quickly." It was pure presumption. Because she spoke as though curing an illness were a simple matter, even when stated so breezily, the actual patient must have felt unable to keep up.

Kazuma turned to face me, “Dr. Ebizuka has become rather troublesome lately, you know. That Mr. Okuda Tonegichiro from the Analects Study Group came earlier with an introduction letter from him—insisting he wanted to lecture my guests on the Analects at his own convenience, asking when would suit us best. Fortunately, Detective Arahirosuke Hatchobana was here, so I had him send the man packing. The letter itself was preposterous—claiming we’d all benefit from hearing Mr. Okuda speak, describing him as some genius saint in terms that defy common sense. The man’s clearly unhinged.”

“Is that Analects teacher sane?” “All fanatics are essentially fanatics—they might as well be certified madmen.” “Having him deliver an ingratiating lecture might prove amusing, don’t you think? He’s precisely the sort of character who’d haunt Tango’s novels. Doctor, I suspect you’d find great sport in alternately flattering and mocking him. Hitomi Koroku’s recent works have done nothing but parade eccentrics, oddities, and lunatics since the war ended. Perhaps madmen have become the leading players in our present era since the war.”

“Heso Review and Mr. Analects are as mismatched as bush clover and the moon, eh?” “Precisely.” “Even a novel by someone like Sakaguchi Ango would just bundle together Heso Review and Mr. Analects, wouldn’t it?” “Truth be told, Detective Hatchobana apparently has questions for us.”

We left Ms. Kayoko and Kyoko behind and exited the room.

Hatchobana was waiting for us in Kazuma’s room. Ms. Ayaka left for the kitchen to help with dinner preparations.

Hatchobana was with Ms. Atapin. “Thank you for coming all this way.” Hatchobana was rough-mannered yet unexpectedly polite, and bowed his head once with a thud. “Today I’d like to inquire about circumstances in the literary world. I hear Mr. Mochizuki Ouni had many enemies.” “What sort of enemies?”

“They’re literary enemies, you see.” “With Mr. Mochizuki’s passing, what sort of people would be pleased?”

“First off, there’s not a soul who wouldn’t rejoice,” “He was intensely disliked by his fellow writers.” “A rude and crude fellow through and through.” “Of course, I’m absolutely delighted myself.” “Literary men are all jealous types anyway!”

Ms. Atapin charged in with a shrill shout. “You lack confidence, don’t you?” “Because you lack talent.” “So that’s why you’re eaten up with jealousy.” “How pathetic!” “Because it just doesn’t click.” “It’s truly the height of misfortune.” “We are indeed fools, aren’t we?” “When Mr. Mochizuki dies, your manuscripts will sell better, won’t they?” “Your reasoning is spot on.”

“Your reasoning is indeed correct.” “By the way, Mr. Yashiro—can one conceive of murder arising from literary, that is, talent-based jealousy?” “That is conceivable.” “Among all possible scenarios, wouldn’t that be an exceedingly plausible one?” “Though in truth, across all eras and lands, such murders may surprisingly never have actually occurred.” “For one thing, killing someone doesn’t actually enhance your own talent, you see.” “Since writers’ jealousy concerns talent rather than reputation—and since murdering rivals does nothing to improve one’s gifts—it follows naturally that such killings rarely happen at all.”

“I see—that may very well be the case.” “In any artistic field, killing someone out of jealousy over talent seems plausible yet rarely occurs, you see.” “Indeed, even if one were to kill someone, if it doesn’t change their own talent, then killing them would be rather futile, you see.” “By the way—and I do apologize for the impertinence of this question—but you all are living right in the thick of these incidents.” “And this isn’t just a single incident—over three continuous days, four of your acquaintances have been killed in succession.” “Even without a detective’s mindset, I imagine anyone would naturally harbor suspicions or have certain things come to mind—but is this merely my misguided conjecture?”

“Well—I suppose anyone would have to feel somewhat like an amateur detective.” “No—you’re absolutely right.” “Human nature being what it is, that’s only natural.” “In light of this—though it’s an impertinent request—I’d ask everyone to disclose their secret suspicions.” “Of course, through an inoffensive method.” “For instance—even half in jest—we could have everyone participate in a voting game to guess the culprit.” “Since it would cause friction if we organized it ourselves, we’d like you to have Mr. Yashiro present this as a joke.” “How about it? It’s entirely half in jest—a mere diversion will suffice.”

“But ultimately, this would be a pointless endeavor. While we may each play at being amateur detectives and poke around various matters, I suspect none of us has reached any concrete conclusions about the culprit’s identity. I myself certainly haven’t. Even if asked directly, I’ve no solid reasoning to support any answer.” “Naturally, that’s perfectly acceptable. Isn’t it reasonable for those unsure to simply state their uncertainty? Some may harbor vague suspicions about particular individuals seeming questionable. I’d appreciate hearing these private hunches expressed in each person’s own manner.”

“However, I must decline to be the organizer of such a game.” “You should take charge of it openly yourselves.” “Even if it causes friction—this was never a dignified affair to begin with—there’s no reason you shouldn’t bear responsibility directly.” “Employing others as pawns only degrades matters further.” “Wouldn’t having Ms. Atapin host prove most entertaining?”

“You did say that, didn’t you? Talking about what’s refined or vulgar—what exactly are you? Aren’t you the one who became Mr. Utagawa’s kept woman? To boldly bring that kept woman back to your former master’s house for visits—that’s not just a heart with hair growing on it, but one made of bearskin! If you think you’re so refined, then isn’t what the police are doing practically divine judgment? Know your place.”

She was in a tremendous fury.

However, things had taken such a dire turn that even the half-hearted leisure of games like culprit-guessing votes had to be swept away.

Fourteen: The Holy Virgin and the Last Supper

While we had not yet taken our seats at the dining table and everyone was gathered in the hall—the drinkers nursing their whiskeys in slow sips—Dr. Ebizuka entered, leading a lanky, completely bald man around thirty years old. His cheekbones protruded, pale—a man who looked like the very picture of malnutrition. At that very moment, the cuckoo clock in the room struck seven. Dr. Ebizuka, putting on airs with his gestures,

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to introduce Mr. Okuda Tonegichiro here. Rather than call him a scholar of the Analects, he is its most sincere and earnest practitioner—an ascetic and a saint.”

The Sage’s pale face quivered violently as he stared down the group with a desperate expression. “Man does not live by bread alone, I declare—” “Hey now, that’s not from the Analects.” “Sauntering in here without a shred of fear, spouting some half-baked Japano-Western sermon—you think that’s gonna fly?” “You mad ape!” “Even pared down to bones, artists are uncompromising bastards who embody the thing itself.” “This ain’t some factory-made crap, you mad ape—get lost!” “You ain’t even worth being a drinking snack!”

Pi Kaichi became enraged, veins bulging, and glared.

Hitomi Koroku intervened to take charge,

“This is utterly insufferable!” “Hey, Dr. Ebizuka! Even your mere presence at our gathering is unwelcome and serves no purpose—yet you bring an unknown person here without our consent! What do you think you’re doing?” “We aren’t guests in your house!” “The Analects preach propriety, but from the very manner of his appearance, this ‘Analects teacher’ has betrayed them egregiously!”

Kazuma also became angry, "Dr. Ebizuka, as the host of this gathering, I cannot permit this person's intrusion. Please remove them." "It would be best if you refrained from attending this gathering for the time being as well." Caught off guard by Kazuma's unexpected vehemence, Ebizuka stood there for a while, his lips quivering wordlessly, but then the sarcastic Tango—just as I had anticipated—began to speak in a slow, plausibly calm voice, "A holy sermon from the Analects Sage—now that's something you won't find in Tokyo." "There's no need to get hung up on commonplace notions like etiquette." "In disregarding the common sense of propriety—there may lie this saint's greatness." "To recklessly drive someone away without yet having determined their true worth—isn't that contrary to the mindset expected of artists?"

“Enough already! You’re the type who can only spout textbook lines. Without even understanding your own likes and dislikes, you keep spouting off in some trendy new mold. That’s why your literature will always be a fake. Between Ouni and you, there’s more difference than between the moon and a snapping turtle!”

Pi Kaichi stood up abruptly, grabbed the Sage by the shoulders, and spun him around to face backward.

“Alright, walk.” “You’re violating trespassing laws too.” “I’ll let you off without reporting you to the authorities—so vanish and be gone.” “C’mon, one, two! One, two!” The Sage—who had once been flattened by Ouni without putting up any resistance and ended up under Dr. Ebizuka’s care—now grew even paler at the appearance of this formidable figure who rivaled Ouni in presence. Unable to muster another word, he staggered as they shoved him out through the dining hall doors. Ebisuka also chased after him and disappeared together through the dining hall door.

The dining table had been laid out.

“Dealing with that mad doctor is trouble enough, but that fake artist Tango really rubs me the wrong way. The man himself’s so damn full of himself—it’s downright insufferable. Hey, Ms. Kayoko. That’s a fine name you’ve got. And you seem like someone with a straightforward heart. Compared to a fake like Tango, one can see the depth with which you perceive the true nature of things. Well now, young lady, I’ll be taking the seat next to you. As for me, I won’t tease or pester a person of such upright and profound heart as yourself. May I be allowed to hear the various tales of things reflected in your deep, quiet heart?”

Pi Kaichi offered Ms. Kayoko a chair and sat down next to her. Thanks to that, Kyoko had moved away from Ms. Kayoko. However, Ms. Kayoko seemed somehow taken with Pi Kaichi, and the sight of her earnestly engaging in back-and-forth conversation with him struck us as peculiar. Yet perhaps this is how young maidens become effortlessly tamed when encountering such men. Kamiyama Toyo’s wife Kisano and the maid Yae were serving as per the usual arrangement. Around the time the meal course had passed its midpoint, Ebizuka circled around the main house and entered the dining room from the direction of the hall, but as no seat had been prepared for him, Ms. Kisano—

“I have your meal prepared, Doctor.” “We’ll arrange your seat now—” As she tried to move a chair from the corner, Kazuma—unlike his usual self—looked up with an unusually agitated expression, “Dr. Ebizuka, it appears your disposition is fundamentally incompatible with everyone here.” “Though your continued attendance at this gathering might suggest some personal satisfaction, the others find your presence nothing but a source of discomfort. I must therefore request you withdraw from this assembly immediately.” “You may take your meal in the main house.”

“Whew.” “Exactly—it must be so.” “I may have a different temperament myself, but this here is a sacrificial victim enduring unpleasant thoughts under the police’s no-entry order!” Pi Kaichi thumped his chest. “Compared to Ms. Kayoko’s beauty, serenity, and depth, a woman like Ayaka amounts to nothing more than some gaudy trinket decked in peacock feathers.” “With all due respect—even when considering Ms. Utsugi Akiko, that popular woman novelist—in terms of her soul’s condition, its proper alignment, its tragic depth and tranquility, does she truly exceed Ms. Kayoko, our holy maiden?” “Ah, forgive me—to think my pure-hearted praise of Ms. Kayoko would dare provoke the beautiful Blue Stocking poet... Doesn’t this demonstrate admirable sincerity, even by my own measure?”

“Oh, but I do acknowledge Mr. Pi Kaichi’s pure-heartedness more than anyone else, you know.” Ms. Utsugi said, her face flushing and eyes brimming with coquetry. “If it’s Ms. Kayoko, you may praise her as much as you like.” “Truly, someone like me is just scum of a woman.” “Ah, Ms. Akiko—my apologies.” “I have long been fully aware of your fair and magnanimous disposition.” “I presume upon that, you know.” “Magnanimity and generosity—you truly are a Blue Stocking poet like Watatsumi.”

“If only Mr. Uchiumi were still alive—he’d surely have some sharp words to put Mr. Pi Kaichi in his place. How utterly detestable that man is.” “If Uchiumi were here,” Hitomi Koroku sneered at Ms. Akiko, “he’d probably say something like ‘Calling it detestable is rather human of you.’” “Carnal, I suppose.” Kibe turned his sullen face away from his wife and said.

“I despise any gentleman who scorns his wife with carnal contempt.” Pi Kaichi declared with an air of composure. At that moment, Ms. Ayaka stood up and whispered something to Kyoko in the adjacent seat, and the two of them rose and left the dining hall. After a few minutes, they returned, and Kyoko came to me, “I went to the lavatory with Ms. Ayaka—she said she was scared to go alone, so I accompanied her.” “Then Ms. Ayaka said she saw someone hiding in the back of the garden.” “I’m rather frightened, so could you take a look?”

Evidently Ms. Ayaka had informed Kazuma, for he too stood up. I also stood and called Dr. Kosei, then went under Ms. Ayaka’s guidance to the lavatory in the corridor connecting the main house and Western-style building. The downstairs lavatory in the Western building neighbored where Uchiumi had been brutally murdered, making it natural for the ladies to avoid that place. When they noticed a figure outside the corridor toward the main house’s front reception room and called out in challenge—it proved to be Dr. Yomisugi. “Oh—it was you, Detective.”

“Ah, just taking a little stroll while keeping watch, you might say.”

“Every day?” Kazuma asked. “Yes. Even after you’ve all fallen asleep, we continue to keep a discreet watch.” “Then was it you, Detective, who hid in the thicket at the garden’s edge just now? Is someone else keeping watch near the waterfall upstream?” “What do you think? We haven’t coordinated anything formally, but Hatchobana might be there. Though he should have other duties—I’ll go make an inspection round.”

Ms. Ayaka looked relieved with a sigh. Since Kazuma and I were already standing up anyway, we took care of our business, and I returned first. As everyone had filed out en masse—seemingly influenced by this—Kibe and Kamiyama Toyo stood up while passing me by on their way to take care of their business before returning. At that moment, coffee was being distributed.

When Yae brought coffee to Pi Kaichi’s seat and placed it on the table, Pi Kaichi took the cup in his hand, stroked it, and twisted it around, “Damn you—still rotating that chipped cup around, huh?”

Glaring sharply at Yae, "You’re the one who caused a commotion and chipped the coffee cup. It’s your own fault." Yae seemed to dislike Pi Kaichi. "Oh, I should have given Ms. Kayoko that one—this one’s even more chipped."

The other day, when Pi Kaichi had caused a commotion, the table had overturned, causing about a dozen coffee cups to become chipped or broken. Ever since then, there had been one fewer coffee cup, and it had become customary to always give Pi Kaichi a chipped one. Tonight, since Ms. Kayoko had appeared, a chipped cup was also passed to her. Ms. Kayoko was the child of a maid, so it couldn’t be helped that her treatment was worse compared to the guests. As per custom, Yae had distributed Pi Kaichi’s usual chipped cup to him, so Ms. Kayoko ended up with a cup that had a larger chip on its rim than Pi Kaichi’s.

“Then I’ll give Ms. Kayoko this one.” “This one’s got a bit less chipping, see?”

With that, Pi Kaichi exchanged coffees with Ms. Kayoko. Ms. Kayoko stirred her coffee and took a sip or two, but with an oddly strained expression, she gazed suspiciously at the cup while quietly setting it down. As she did so, she dropped the cup, suddenly stood up, opened her eyes wide, clawed at her chest, crawled forward onto the table as if lunging, and collapsed. When Pi Kaichi, taken aback, tried to lift her up, she merely slid limply from his arms onto the floor.

Pi Kaichi held Ms. Kayoko, shaking her as he raised his Asura-like face, “Hey! Call a doctor!” “What’re you dawdling for?!” “Call a doctor now! Don’t you get it?!” “You bastards!” “Hey! You lot—why’re you standing there gawking?!” “I said call a damn doctor!” “Goddamn idiots!” Kyoko and Kazuma rushed over to tend to her. Dr. Ebizuka appeared with unexpected swiftness—after taking her pulse for a minute or two, he shook his head and stood up.

At that moment, Pi Kaichi’s voice—frenzied like a cracked bell—resounded.

“Don’t move. “Don’t go outside. “Don’t touch anything on the table. “Ms. Kayoko was poisoned! “She was killed in my place! “Goddamn it! “You tried to poison me, you bastard! “Look! “The one who died is Ms. Kayoko. “Take your seats. “Return to your original positions!” Pi Kaichi’s ferocious eyes blazed fiercely, fixed upon Ms. Ayaka. He was frenzied with rage, his shoulders heaving violently. At that moment, Ms. Shitae appeared, opening the door hesitantly,

“Is Dr. Ebizuka here?” Ebizuka raised his face and turned around suspiciously.

Kamiyama Toyo said in a loud voice, “He is here,” answered Kamiyama Toyo. “I need you to come right away—the master’s condition seems abnormal.” While saying this, she fixed her eyes on the collapsed Ms. Kayoko, appearing on the verge of fainting yet struggling to hold herself together.

Kamiyama Toyo’s booming voice resounded ominously like a funeral bell.

“8:14 PM.”

Postscript: Mr. Ozaki Shiro, a resident of Ito, informed a visitor thusly: "Ah, you see—in Sakaguchi’s detective novels, isn’t the culprit always 'I'?" "In Sakaguchi Ango’s novels, it’s always ‘I’ who ends up being the villain." “So, ha! The culprit is that—it’s ‘I,’ yeah, I’ve got it now.” Oi, give me sake.

Postscript: Mr. Dazai Osamu, a resident of Mitaka, remarked to a magazine reporter: “The culprit hasn’t shown up yet. They’ll appear in the final installment. That’s the one who shows their face just once, acting all innocent. It’s obvious. The one who pops up innocently just once in the final chapter. Auntie! Beer! And keep ’em coming—I’m counting on you.”

These two detectives lack the caliber to accept the author's challenge. Since it's patently obvious, I'll spare you the detailed explanation. The most courageous and matchless was Mr. Hatchobana from Kyushu. He had come all the way to the capital and appeared at my humble residence, "Listen well, Mr. Sakaguchi—if I deduce the culprit now, there'll be nothing left to write." "Even so—will you hear me out?" "May I speak?"

The foreshadowing may be grandiose, but it amounts to nothing.

A certain person devises a plot; a completely different person secretly carries it out. Good grief—isn't that *The Tragedy of Y*'s old trick? Whether we speak of Ms. Atapin or Mr. Hatchobana, Kyushu people all have more or less Atapin-like tendencies and are reckless.

Mr. Hatchobana of Kuki, Saitama Prefecture—when combined with the Hatchobana from Kyushu, making eight Hatchobanas—cherishes peace in his gentle household where the wife leads and the husband follows. So starting a detective novel by stripping a woman naked? That’s just a desperate detective story, I tell you. Mr. Sakaguchi, have you gone mad? Even if eight Hatchobanas became twelve, it’d still be useless. This month’s challenge left me unable to find anyone worthy of accepting it. The world lacks worthy men. I had overestimated the Japanese. To think that merely writing a detective novel would make me confront despair in my homeland’s wisdom—how regrettable, how utterly unexpected.

Sakaguchi Ango

15. The Sugar Jar and Pi Kaichi’s Magic Trick

Ms. Kayoko’s corpse was carried away, and we—along with the Tsubohira couple and maid Yae—were confined in the hall, while the dining room and kitchen were sealed off. It was slightly past 9:30 PM when Inspector Kanguri’s group, having completed the autopsy, appeared in the hall accompanied by Ms. Shitae and Nurse Moroi. After first investigating the dining room and kitchen, they stood before us, “Ladies and gentlemen, I must apologize for troubling you again so late at night, but we require your continued cooperation.” “Though our incompetence brings us profound shame, our adversary is truly a genius among devils.”

Inspector Kanguri appeared somewhat agitated, having lost his usual composure; brimming with fighting spirit, he carried himself with an eager intensity unbefitting his age. "This evening, two murders were committed simultaneously in different locations—" "Two?"

Ms. Utsugi Akiko involuntarily cried out. Inspector Kanguri nodded, “Indeed, two. Mr. Utagawa Tamon and Ms. Kayoko. However, the scheming was carried out within this very precinct. In short, both parties were killed by poisons mixed into their food—Ms. Kayoko through potassium cyanide, and Mr. Utagawa Tamon through morphine.”

This was utterly shocking. It turned out that old man Tamon had died not from coffee but from morphine that had been mixed into the pudding.

First, the Tsubohira couple were questioned. Old Man Tamon avoided game meat and limited himself to only the mildest fish dishes, so his menu differed from ours. The day's menu consisted of salt-grilled sweetfish, carp sashimi, clear soup, devilfish tofu, and simmered dishes. For Old Man Tamon's dinner, he would eat pudding after the meal. At lunchtime it was jelly, but since that spring Ms. Ayaka had been entrusted with preparing it. The morphine had been cooked into the pudding itself; this wasn't a case where someone had sprinkled it over the finished product.

"But I can’t even begin to imagine it." "While I was preparing the pudding, nothing out of the ordinary happened." "I don’t recall leaving my position, nor did anything suspicious occur." "When was it—when did you make the pudding?" "I believe it was around four o’clock." "When the detective arrived saying he wished to meet Mr. Yashiro, I went to his room where Ms. Kayoko happened to be present, exchanged greetings with her, then proceeded to the kitchen." "I first made the pudding and placed it in the refrigerator."

“Madam—could it be the sugar—” Tsubohira’s wife interjected. Ayaka-san stared wide-eyed at Madam’s face, her cheeks flushing as the gleam in her eyes intensified. “What exactly happened with the sugar?”

When asked by Inspector Kanguri, Tsubohira’s wife answered. “It was said that His Lordship’s constitution could not tolerate it, so he had made a habit of not consuming regular sugar.” “We use beet sugar and have made it our practice to employ only the sugar from the special sugar jar exclusively for His Lordship’s consumables.” Immediately, a thorough investigation of the dining room’s sugar, soy sauce, and other items was conducted, but it was discovered that only old man Tamon’s sugar jar contained a large quantity of morphine—discernible upon close inspection.

The sugar jar was a one-kan capacity glass jar, but the sugar was still half full, and until that day, there had been no abnormalities when used in cooking.

"Aside from using sugar in the pudding, was it used in any other dishes?" "We have not used it in any other dishes for dinner."

Tsubohira answered timidly. He had lost all color from his face. “Approximately when was the sugar used prior to the pudding?” “We used it in the tea for lunch. For lunch we had sandwiches, so we boiled two gō of milk with loose tea leaves and sugar.” “So you used a considerable amount then.” “Well, that’s correct. I believe we used about the amount needed for the pudding.” “Did Mr. Utagawa drink all of it?”

As Tsubohira hesitated to answer, Ms. Shitae— "He drank all of it." "You were the one who served it?" "Yes." "And there was nothing unusual afterward?" "There was nothing." "When was the tea prepared?" "His Lordship’s lunch is set for twelve-thirty and supper for eight o’clock. Since Ms. Shitae always comes for the tray about ten minutes prior, we prepare everything in time. I believe it was ready exactly ten minutes before twelve-thirty."

Inspector Kanguri nodded. “Did anyone touch the sugar jar between 12:20 and 16:00?”

Tsubohira cowered and, "I'm terribly sorry, sir—I wasn't paying any attention at all."

“Weren’t you in the dining hall the whole time?” “Yes, sir. I retired to my room during the lunch break and was resting until around three o’clock, but I believe my wife remained in the kitchen cleaning up until about one-thirty.” “Yes, I was washing the dishes. Madam Kamiyama kindly assisted me, and I retreated to my room around 1:30 PM.” “During that period, did anyone come to the kitchen?”

“After lunch, everyone would retire for their afternoon rest, so until around three o’clock, it was quite rare for anyone to come to the kitchen. After three o’clock, when we returned to the kitchen, Madam Utsugi, Madam Yashiro, Mr. Tango, Madam Kamiyama, and others came by—but not a single one of them laid a hand on the sugar jar.”

“So from half past one until three o’clock, the kitchen was unmanned?” “That is correct. However—around two o’clock, I believe—some sweetfish were delivered by Ms. Moroi.” “You received them?” “No. She said to put them in the refrigerator and left after merely announcing this from outside the door. Here it is customary for servants to take their afternoon rest after lunch—everyone knows this custom—so they take thorough care not to disturb our repose.”

Inspector Kanguri, with an intrigued expression, stared intently at Nurse Moroi. “Have you retired from your hospital duties lately?” “From 8 AM to 11:30 AM. Since Lady Chigusa’s incident, Lady Oyura’s condition has deteriorated—hence His Lordship’s directive.” Nurse Moroi remained as composed as ever. Even men deemed great figures tended to alter their attitudes depending on whom they faced—yet Nurse Moroi maintained an expression as placid as water, her utterly unflinching demeanor before both a grand duke and Inspector Kanguri commanding nothing short of admiration.

“Is delivering sweetfish also part of your duties?”

“At that hour, there were no other servants awake in this household besides myself.” “So the kitchen was unmanned at that time, correct?” “No, there was one person present.”

Involuntarily, the entire group tensed up. Inspector Kanguri assumed a posture of focusing his strength into his Saika Tanden,

“Who was it?” “Lady Kayoko.” The chaotic thoughts of the people coalesced into a palpable aura. Inspector Kanguri’s entire body became charged with intensity.

“Ms. Moroi.” “You’re counting on dead men telling no tales, aren’t you?” Nurse Moroi nodded coldly. “That may be so. “Hence the foolishness of my words going untrusted.” “What was Ms. Kayoko doing?” “She said she had come to drink water. While I was putting the sweetfish into the refrigerator, she left. When I exited the kitchen, Ms. Kayoko was sitting in a chair in this hall reading. She mentioned having gone to visit Mrs. Yashiro but found her apparently napping.”

"I also saw Lady Kayoko in this hall," "It was around 2:40 PM," "She was indeed reading." Kocho-san interjected.

It was now nearly eleven o'clock. Inspector Kanguri was growing impatient, “Now then, Mr. Kamiyama—given your profession, you seem to possess thorough observational skills. Please tell us about the dinner proceedings.”

“I see. Then, I will speak on behalf of everyone.”

Mr. Kamiyama was indeed seasoned in such situations. Until moments earlier, he had not been particularly noteworthy, but having been appointed to represent the entire assembly, his bearing now radiated an entirely different caliber of authority.

Inspector Kanguri possessed such masterful composure during interrogations that he nearly overshadowed those around him. “First, this occurred just before dinner began. We had gathered in the hall and were casually drinking beer, sake, and such while awaiting the dining table’s preparation.” “Just as this cuckoo clock struck seven o’clock.” “For your reference, this cuckoo clock runs approximately four minutes slow.” “At the moment it struck seven, Dr. Ebizuka arrived with a member of the Analects Study Group—a pale, lanky man in military uniform named Okuda something-or-other.” “After Dr. Ebizuka gave a brief introduction, this sage immediately launched into his sermon. When he began quoting ‘Man shall not live by bread alone,’ Painter Doi glared at him and roared: ‘You idiot! Does Confucius have such words? Preaching this East-West hybrid nonsense to us artists who deal with things-in-themselves is outrageous!’ Mr. Hitomi Koroku also raged about his lack of manners. Though Mr. Tango alone seemed to side with the sage, Master Kazuma ultimately declared trespassers unwelcome. Painter Doi then did an about-face—‘Hup, two, three!’—and marched straight out through the dining hall door.” “Dr. Ebizuka left with them.” “At the time, I felt uneasy—Dr. Ebizuka, you all had removed your shoes and approached from the main house, correct?” “Did you walk here barefoot?”

Dr. Ebizuka merely rolled his gleaming eyes around and did not respond.

“With these preludes concluded, we now approach the main spectacle.”

Then Pi Kaichi interrupted, “Let me take over from there. Near the end of the meal, the mistress of the house whispered to Ms. Kyoko, and the two left the dining hall together. Soon after returning, she gathered Yashiro, Kazuma, and Kosei—making five in total—and they all left the dining hall. After that, things got chaotic with two or three more people coming and going, but I don’t remember those details clearly. That’s when the coffee was being served.” “Inspector! Listen up! Only my coffee cup had a distinguishing mark—a chipped rim! Sure, I’m the one who chipped it a bit, but isn’t it fishy that a fancy house like this can’t replace it? For a week now, those maids”—he jabbed a finger—“kept bringing me that chipped cup, saying ‘You broke it, so it’s yours!’” “Hear me out! There’s a wire involved here! This was planned! And you all know damn well who pulled the strings! They slipped potassium cyanide into my cup just like they schemed! But then”—his voice dropped mockingly—“poor Ms. Kayoko’s cup turned out chipped too. ‘Yours is worse,’ they said, ‘let’s swap!’ And that’s how tragedy struck! Me? I’d have tasted that cyanide brew in a heartbeat—not atropine or whatever—and spat it right out!”

“I’m invincible, I tell ya.” “Detective, check who was comin’ an’ goin’ from the dinin’ hall near supper’s end – culprit’ll pop right out, I tell ya.”

“Why did you exchange the coffee cup?” Inspector Kanguri asked with an uncharacteristic expression.

“Of course it is. I’ve made it my life’s purpose to serve ladies with dogged devotion, you see.” “Don’t lie! You’re the one who put potassium cyanide in your own cup and gave it to Ms. Kayoko!” Ms. Ayaka trembled with anger and glared at Pi Kaichi, but he snorted dismissively and ignored her. Her fury reached its boiling point. “This man is a master of magic tricks. Slipping poison into a coffee cup would be child’s play for him. Whether it’s flower cards, dice, or any game—he cheats better than professional gamblers. A veritable wizard with his fingertips!”

Next to Pi Kaichi’s sofa, there was a Go board. Pi Kaichi picked up a single Go stone. And then, as if to tease Ms. Ayaka, he pinched a Go stone between his fingertips and thrust out his arm. The Go stone at his fingertips appeared and vanished unpredictably; it moved with a playful, almost lifelike fluidity, as though the stone itself were taunting its audience. Pi Kaichi, while employing his sleight of hand, remained composed, “Ladies and gentlemen! The acrobatic feat I shall now present for your viewing is ‘The Scroll of Phantom Love Between Black and White’—ta-dah!”

In addition to the black stone, he picked up a white stone as well and clamped both between his fingers at once. They appeared and vanished freely, demonstrating the pinnacle of skilled mastery. Pi Kaichi calmly fixed his gaze on Ms. Ayaka,

“I’m not some murderous maniac—why would I have any reason to kill Ms. Kayoko?” “Every murder has a motive.” “First, let’s have you find the motive.” “Ta-dah! Ladies and gentlemen!”

Inspector Kanguri seemed barely able to contain his inner agitation; nevertheless, he first leisurely lit a cigarette and surveyed those present. Deliberately turning toward Ms. Ayaka, "Ms. Ayaka, when you left the dining hall with Mrs. Yashiro, was there some particular reason?" Ms. Ayaka flushed crimson, but as Kyoko also squirmed awkwardly without answering, "We went to the restroom." Ms. Ayaka reluctantly replied.

“I felt uneasy going alone, so I asked Ms. Kyoko to accompany me.” “When I happened to look toward the mountain behind the waterfall from the restroom window, I saw someone’s figure hiding.” “There are lights at one place in the Azumaya and about two lanterns elsewhere, so areas where things are faintly visible intermingle with darkness depending on the location. Since the figure I saw was right at that boundary area, it disappeared into the darkness in an instant.” “Given the circumstances, I became frightened and asked my husband, Mr. Yashiro, and Dr. Kosei to come. Since Detective Nagahata was also present, I had them investigate.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded,

“Yomisugi has promptly investigated, I see.”

“Ah, I rushed over immediately, but there was no trace of anyone left.” “You see, I couldn’t head straight there—had to circle around the Western building first, and what’s more, those garden paths are like a proper maze.” “That would’ve been beyond any single person’s capacity—no helping it.”

Inspector Kanguri showed consideration for his subordinate. “So everyone, did you return to the dining hall immediately?”

“I took care of some business and returned, but Kazuma and Dr. Kosei likely did the same.” When I said this, Kazuma and Dr. Kosei nodded. “Did all three of you return to the dining hall together?” “Since there was no particular reason to return together, it seems we came back separately.” “Did Madam and Mrs. Yashiro return together earlier?” “We did peek into the kitchen and exchange words with the maid, but since we weren’t particularly conscious of staying together, Ms. Kyoko may have gone ahead first.”

“But it appears you were nearly together.” “Since I also chatted with Mrs. Tsubohira and glanced around the kitchen a bit.” “There wasn’t any particular reason for it, though.”

The inspector gave a firm nod.

“Had the coffee been prepared in the kitchen at that time?” “The preparations had been made.”

Ms. Ayaka looked at the inspector with a resolute gaze and said clearly. However, despite her resolve, her voice involuntarily dropped to a natural low. “When we returned, the coffee cups were just being arranged on the table over there in the hall.” “Had the coffee been poured into the cups?” “It had been poured.” “The sugar and milk had been added in the kitchen, carried there, and were being arranged.”

Inspector Kanguri had Pi Kaichi and Ms. Kayoko's cups brought from the dining hall and slowly examined them. Pi Kaichi's cup had one slightly larger chip and one smaller chip on its rim, while Ms. Kayoko's cup had two larger chips and two smaller chips on its rim.

Inspector Kanguri raised his face and looked at the maid Yae. “Which cup is Mr. Doi’s dedicated one?”

“Yes, that one.” Without error, she pointed to the cup with fewer chips and answered.

“Are there no other cups without chips?” “No, there are none.” “Since the war, many have been broken and left unreplaced, as we haven’t purchased any new ones.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded,

“These days it’s all cheap goods, and on top of that, the prices are exorbitant.”

Then, turning to me and Kazuma, “Did you see the coffee cups on that table over there?” We nodded. “I understand two or three others stood up as well. Who were they?”

“I stood up.” Kamiyama Toyo answered. Next, Kihyoe replied, “I did too.” “Did you also see the coffee cups on the table?” “When I returned from the restroom, they were being carried to the dining hall,” said Kihyoe. “Some might’ve still been on the table, but I wasn’t paying close attention.” “When I went back,” said Kamiyama Toyo, “the coffee cups were already gone.” He paused meaningfully. “But I did see Dr. Ebizuka emerge from the kitchen then—gripping a cup and drinking from it.”

The inspector looked surprised. “Was Dr. Ebizuka not in the dining hall?”

“I had my meal in the kitchen.” It was a reply delivered with autopsy-scalpel coldness and brusque finality. Kamiyama Toyo took it up, “This requires some explanation, you see. “Painter Doi went leaping over the middle part, abruptly moving from the prelude straight to the finale. “During the meal, Dr. Ebizuka—having presumably admonished the Sage and taken his leave—returned to the dining hall. “Then Mr. Kazuma requested that Dr. Ebizuka refrain from attending this gathering, stating that his temperament differed from that of the other guests. “Therefore, he left the dining hall.”

The fact that Dr. Ebizuka had been eating in the kitchen continuously from then on cast us into no small suspicion and unrest. Among them, Pi Kaichi wore a thoroughly bewildered look. With an expression of utter bewilderment, he sullenly kept his mouth shut.

“Where in the kitchen did you have your meal?” In response to this question, Ebizuka merely glared defiantly and made no move to answer. Tsubohira’s wife answered in his stead, explaining that depending on the nature of the dishes being prepared, whenever the busiest area of the workspace shifted, he would move from place to place—sometimes sitting on a chair, sometimes eating while standing.

When the interrogation ended and the group of officers began to withdraw, Pi Kaichi wore a somewhat troubled expression,

“Inspector. I’m sick of this, you know. Can’t I just go back to Tokyo?” “Well, we can’t force you to stay. But if there’s no particular inconvenience, it would be most helpful if you could remain a while longer.”

“Is that so.” “I don’t have any particular business here, though.” “I’ve already finished my pieces for the autumn exhibition, so that’s not a worry—but damn it, starting tomorrow, I’ll make my own damn food!” “That won’t do.” “How typical of you—disgusting!” “You’re the one likely to poison us all!”

Ayaka-san shouted.

Inspector Kanguri cut in,

“Well then, how about this: I’ll arrange for atropine to be sent daily and have them assist with the cooking.”

“Yes, understood.” “As long as I draw breath, there’ll be no trouble.”

She wore a look of complete assurance—as if about to thump her chest. “Even if the culprit might be present among us, you’d find my glare quite fearsome.” After holding wakes for Old Man Tanmon and Ms. Kayoko, I went to bed after two o'clock.

Sixteen: The Secret of the Utagawa Family

At the police's request, they decided to examine Old Man Tanmon's will. When they opened the safe, it emerged without difficulty. However, it wasn't an official document—merely a paper bearing Tanmon's signature. The date read July 24, 1947 (Showa 22), meaning it had been written just two days before his murder. This will came as a complete shock to Kazuma. Tanmon first confessed that Kayoko was his sole daughter following Tamaki's death, then stipulated that the entire estate should be divided equally between Kazuma and Kayoko.

In addition, it stated that prior to distribution, 200,000 yen each was to be given to Oyuya Babasama and Katakura Seijiro. “Who is Katakura Seijiro?” “He was our chief clerk who served the family his entire life but fell ill this spring and has been convalescing." “He’s already seventy-six years old, you see.” Inspector Kanguri took a copy of the will, inquired about Katakura Seijiro’s address, and departed. However, it was evident that he had grown deeply interested in how the discovery of the will had provided a compelling motive for Ms. Kayoko’s murder.

However, just missing the inspector’s group, Old Man Katakura—accompanied by family members and jostled along in a car—had come to pay his respects at the main house. His ailing body was nearly incapable of even walking. He prostrated himself before his master’s remains and could not raise his face for a full ten minutes.

The inspector’s group, knowing their destination, turned back and listened to Old Man Katakura’s account in the room with the remains, but Kazuma and I were also present at that gathering. “How many years have you served the Utagawa family?” “I was sixteen when I began, so being seventy-six this year makes it sixty years in the distant past. At that time, the family’s assets were worth 100,000 or 120,000 to 130,000 yen at market value—a mere sum by today’s standards—yet even then, they were among the wealthiest. The changing times leave me in awe, and though I am astonished by the recent upheavals, given our defeat in the war, perhaps this too is inevitable.”

Old Man Katakura was ailing and frail, but his mind remained sharp; though he had no formal education, it was evident he possessed steady discernment.

The inspector’s demeanor had shifted naturally. “Is it true that Ms. Kayoko’s mother committed suicide?” “Such is the case.” Old Man Katakura closed his eyes and murmured as if reciting a Buddhist prayer. Inspector Kanguri gazed at the old man with unexpected compassion while speaking: “Mr. Katakura, we at the police have naturally examined old station records and long since grasped the surface facts.” “To force such a merciless confession about secrets of the main house—to which you’ve devoted a lifetime of sincerity—from an elder makes me feel demonic. But Mr. Katakura, when considering these bizarre crimes plaguing the household, we must endure this cruelty—for without uncovering the truth, we cannot identify the culprit either.” “I know this imposition is grievous, but I swear never to speak of it beyond these walls.” “As for the Utagawa family’s old wounds, I’ll refrain from official inquiry—so I implore you to disclose the truth.”

After saying this, Inspector Kanguri looked at the old man. A calm hue of understanding quietly gathered in the old man’s eyes, as though he had accepted the inspector’s sentiments. “It has been passed down among some elders that Ms. Kayoko’s mother was not a suicide but a victim of murder—is this fact?” The old man closed his eyes and remained silent for a moment, but—

“Inspector, sir. That, even I do not know. When I reflect upon it, my recklessness may indeed have brought trouble upon the main house. The storage shed where that person hanged themselves no longer stands, but they had tied a single knot behind their neck and hung from the shed’s beam—until the binding rope snapped, sending them crashing down with their neck severed clean through. This binding rope was Lady Kaji’s possession, and among the footwear left at the scene were one of Lady Kaji’s and one belonging to the deceased. When I saw that, I gasped in shock—hid Lady Kaji’s geta, untied and concealed the neck cord, then replaced it with another rope. At that time, with it being a remote mountain police outpost, they untied the rope and claimed artificial respiration had been performed—thus easily passing it off as suicide. But secrets always leak out. That such rumors persist even now stems ultimately from my recklessness. Though in truth, I have always believed it ninety-nine percent a suicide. Lady Kaji was strong-willed and prone to hysterics—but considering how thin and frail she was, utterly lacking the strength to strangle someone—anyone might have discerned this with calm reflection. Yet in that panicked moment, I became single-mindedly convinced and acted rashly. As ill luck would have it, at that time, the villain who served as master’s secretary at the main house and rushed to the scene with me was Kamiyama Toyo.”

Our shock was profound. Even more than the inspector and I, Kazuma’s shock was severe. He turned pale, his entire body stiffening like stone. The inspector showed sympathy and nodded,

“I understand. So the rumors about Kamiyama Toyo blackmailing the Utagawa family weren’t false after all, were they?”

Old Man Katakura remained silent for about a minute as if gathering strength, "In Kamiyama Toyo's blackmail scheme lies yet another secret of the main house." "This matter—even the Young Master may be unaware of it." "Had these dreadful events not occurred, I would have taken all this to my coffin. But this present turmoil weighs heavily on my conscience." "My purpose in coming today—beyond paying respects—was truly to disclose this matter to the Young Master."

The old man rested again. "When the master was twenty years old—during his studies in Tokyo—he dallied with an inn maid and fathered a child." "We had the child adopted into the distantly related Ebizuka household and severed ties with the mother. But as the boy grew, he proved ill-natured—committing fraud, extortion, and finally robbery—until he died in prison." "This man married by twenty and left two children behind. The younger of those orphans is Ebizuka Kouji, now practicing as a doctor in this village." "This man here is the master’s grandson." "His elder brother Gentaro passed away three years ago, leaving three children." "The eldest of those three was still about eleven years old. A widow in M Village—twelve ri from here—raises them through farming." "They now have no ties to the main house, and we’ve ceased all financial support."

Inspector Kanguri was also left speechless. Kazuma had turned completely pale. “When we took in the master’s illegitimate child into the Ebizuka family as an adopted son, this Ebizuka man was truly a gentle soul who kept his promise well, never once letting slip even a hint that he was Lord Utagawa Tanmon’s child.” “Thus, as he was registered as a legitimate child, they never knew—until his death—that this man of such ill character, who committed fraud, extortion, and even robbery, had remained Lord Utagawa Tanmon’s eldest son.” “Of those orphaned brothers Gentaro and Kouji, since Kouji was academically gifted, we provided him tuition under the pretext of training him as a doctor for a village without one—but even so, he had no way of knowing he was Lord Tanmon’s grandson.” “The only one who came to know this secret was that scoundrel Kamiyama Toyo, you see.”

“So you informed Dr. Ebizuka about that, did you?” Old Man Katakura did not answer and once again let his words rest for a time. “That Kamiyama wretch used even this matter as fodder to blackmail Lady Kaji.” “Though Her Ladyship naturally had no means of knowing such secrets, she grew alarmed and pressed me about their veracity. But that Kamiyama scoundrel threatened to inform Ebizuka of everything and instigate a lawsuit over the estate’s division—demanding whether she could endure such consequences.” “I cannot count how many times I wished to kill that Kamiyama fiend.” “In truth, I should have slain him.” “A life utterly unworthy of preservation.” “When I reflect on it—this bitterness clinging to me through all these years—even now I cannot die cleansed of regret.”

The old man’s tears streamed down.

Breaking the deep silence, Hatchōbana unconsciously leaned forward on one knee. “Then the rumor about Lady Kaji being poisoned isn’t groundless after all.” “Hmm… Looks like I’ll have to start over from the beginning and dig up some new roots.” Inspector Kanguri coldly,

“Do you think unearthing year-old bones would still yield poison?” Inspector Kanguri then turned to face Old Man Katakura: “Mr. Katakura—one final question. Aside from Mr. Kazuma, the late Ms. Tamaki, and Ms. Kayoko...does Mr. Tanmon have any other living biological children?” “None remain among the living.” “The master sired few offspring.”

Seventeen: The Discontinuous Murder Case

Despite the authorities' efforts, no conclusive evidence had been found. Once Kamiyama and Ebizuka became suspects, the case seemed practically solved. Even regarding Utsumi's murder—while Kamiyama on the second floor couldn't have deceived Pi Kaichi's sharp eyes—Ebizuka could easily have killed Utsumi Akira downstairs. However, only in Chigusa-san's murder did both suspects' alibis hold firm. Kamiyama Toyo had returned from the crematorium with the monk and Kazuma, then engaged in prolonged conversation with the ladies in the hall—a fact unanimously corroborated by the women themselves.

Ebizuka came from the direction of the village around eight o'clock and collided with Kazuma and me at the back gate. Though grilled by Inspector Kanguri about the time he left his clinic and cornered by Kihyoe, he ultimately gave no response. However, investigations revealed through patient testimonies that he had made sequential house calls to three patients from six o'clock until seven-twenty, leaving him no opportunity to commit the crime during this period. The period from 7:20 to 8:00 PM also aligned with the walking time required from the last patient's house—and given that he was lame, it was hardly surprising this took somewhat longer than for an average person.

Mrs. Kamiyama Kisano had also been bustling about helping with preparations for Otoki that day, with numerous witnesses testifying she never left the kitchen; the aforementioned Confucian scholar had gone to a town seven or eight ri away, where there existed definitive witnesses to corroborate his alibi.

I knew that not only the authorities but Dr. Kosei had been conducting a thorough investigation into Ebizuka and Kamiyama. Yet despite this, overturning their alibis still appeared impossible.

“Hey Doctor, couldn’t these incidents have different culprits? The cases involving the Utagawa family versus those with Ms. Chigusa, Ouni, and Utsumi—the perpetrators might be separate, don’t you think? Even though they’re temporally connected, with mixed motives and different criminals, wouldn’t that make this a discontinuous murder case in the end?”

“That’s right.” “The nature of this case might be termed a discontinuous murder case.” “When I record this for posterity, I may name it the Discontinuous Murder Case.” “Because that’s precisely what the criminal is aiming for.” “In other words, the main point lies in obscuring which incidents were actually intended by the criminal.” “Because the criminal fears having their true motive discovered.” “Because once the motive is understood, the culprit becomes clear.”

“So, are all these incidents the work of the same culprit?”

Dr. Kosei grinned and nodded.

“That goes without saying, of course.” “Because gathering this assembly of tainted individuals wasn’t accidental—it was orchestrated through the culprit’s will.” “To have gone so far as courteously summoning even me—it does rather chafe the sensibilities, wouldn’t you agree?” Dr. Kosei offered an abashed chuckle, but I realized he already held some crucial insight.

“Well then, what’s the criminal’s true motive?”

Dr. Kosei laughed out loud. “If we understood that, we’d know the culprit.” “But this is a terrifyingly well-planned crime!” “Every detail has been meticulously calculated.” “It must be the most intellectually sophisticated—the most grandiose crime in Japan.” “This criminal is a genius, isn’t he?” “The way all those intellectual types’ petty tricks get utterly dismissed—truly commendable.” “Setting up thread mechanisms to close doors automatically, faking locked-room murders—those gimmicks themselves leave traces.” “Don’t they inherently reveal a certain psychology?” “This criminal fears nothing more than having their psychology exposed.” “This dreadful silence proves they’re a murderous genius.” “What’s their true motive?” “Which murder was their real objective?” “The case will likely conclude on August ninth as warned—but their true target might’ve been eliminated long ago.”

“Then there’s no reason to go adding unnecessary crimes in the middle of all this heightened security.”

“In other words, he must conceal his true motive. However, what will happen on August 9th—this will also serve as a climax of sorts. Though I must say—this criminal isn’t some honor-bound fool who’d rigidly carry it out on August ninth simply because he issued the warning. You see, he dares commit two murders in a single day when necessary—always targeting vulnerabilities and exploiting them. Once a poisoning occurs, vigilance against it heightens. That’s why he executed two poisonings at once—thereby concluding his poisoning scheme without doubt. The next crime will likely manifest in an unforeseen manner. This defines his nature. Hence, taking August ninth at face value may prove unwise.”

However, Dr. Kosei was by no means certain.

I also knew that Dr. Kosei had visited old man Katakura and gone to Ebizuka’s birthplace. However, I also knew that he suspected Kazuma. Because Dr. Kosei had turned to Kazuma and,

“But I simply can’t imagine that you, Mr. Utagawa, didn’t know you were Mr. Ebizuka’s uncle, I tell you.” “Lady Okaji might not have known, but as this household’s heir, Mr. Utagawa, your father ought to have confided this in you. It’s rather beyond common sense.” Kazuma looked deeply offended. Speaking in Kazuma’s stead, “You weren’t there then, Doctor—but I witnessed old man Katakura unveiling that secret firsthand.” Kazuma’s face at that moment had been utterly blank with shock—completely aghast, drained of color. “No actor could replicate that expression—it laid bare his soul’s truth.” “That face couldn’t lie.” “Such truth outshines any lie detector.”

“Is that so? Your literary methods are each arbitrary and self-serving—hardly as precise as a lie detector, I must say.” “It’s strange that Mr. Utagawa truly didn’t know about this until now—that the family heir wouldn’t know something Mr. Kamiyama Toyo was aware of.” “If Mr. Kamiyama Toyo hadn’t known about it, I could understand—but”

Kazuma was thoroughly displeased. He genuinely scowled, “I truly didn’t know!” “Even if you call me an heir, someone like me is only inheriting simply because there are no other heirs.” “Moreover, my father was the sort of man who was thoroughly nihilistic—to the extent of saying, ‘In your generation, you can do as you please; once a person dies, things like graves don’t matter at all.’” “So, unlike what you’d expect from the head of an old family, he had little concept of ‘family’—originally being someone who transcended all worldly distinctions—and was a person who continued to gaze unflinchingly at the cold aspect of human solitude.” “So, unexpectedly, he may have had a deeper understanding of literature than I did.” “Therefore, it’s only natural that small secrets like old family wounds weren’t considered worth addressing.” “It’s simply that by chance such an incident occurred and became something gravely significant—had this sort of incident not happened at all, wouldn’t it remain nothing more than a trivial matter?”

Dr. Kosei, somewhat sheepishly,

“Hmm.” “But here’s the thing—if this were some trifling matter in a family like mine, with no lineage or wealth to speak of, one might dismiss it as you say. Yet when you consider that it’s become blackmail material for Mr. Kamiyama Toyo, and imagine a scenario where this household’s assets must be divided… Well, I suppose the sum in question can hardly be called insignificant, wouldn’t you agree?” “If Kamiyama Toyo intends to file a lawsuit—and if it’s legitimate—then instead of yielding to blackmail, I will distribute the inheritance to Ebizuka.” “I side with justice over material things.”

Kazuma declared breathlessly, as if shouting.

Yet Dr. Kosei was even suspecting me.

“Hey, Professor.”

He visited my room and, while smirking at Kyoko and me, “Mr. Utagawa says that, but setting his matter aside—could it be that you, Professor, knew about Mr. Ebizuka being the family’s grandson?” “In any case.” “Since it’s become blackmail material—those close to Lady Okaji, like the maids, and Ms. Kayoko.” “I wonder if someone like Ms. Kayoko might have known.” “Ms. Kayoko—smells fishy, I tell you.”

He smirked even more broadly,

“Hey there, Mrs.—you’re Ms. Kayoko’s close friend, surely you’ve heard such stories from her before?” His detective methods were utterly blatant—wielding his dagger-like approach to suddenly plunge into personal matters—so even Kyoko found herself somewhat offended. “Oh, Dr. Kosei, how cruel!” “No, Mrs., please don’t take this the wrong way. Even if I tell you not to take it badly—these are matters where I must ask impertinently, fully aware of my rudeness. The truth is, Mrs., since you were Mr. Tanmon’s lover, you might’ve somehow overheard that story from him too.”

“No, there was nothing of the sort.” Kyoko flared up and cut in. “I’m terribly sorry.”

Dr. Kosei grinned sheepishly.

“By the way, Professor—is Mr. Tango unmarried?” “He seems to be single.” “And does he not have a lover?” “Hard to say… I don’t hear much about that sort of thing.” “As for Tamaki-san, wasn’t there something rather significant involving Mr. Tango, I wonder…” “She was somewhat infatuated with him, I suppose. But as for what that guy’s deluding himself into believing—I’d rather not dwell on the thoughts of such a contrarian.”

“Honestly, once someone becomes a great author, they turn so prickly—truly impossible to deal with.” He seemed to suspect every human being without exception. I too had grown somewhat weary. I realized I’d overestimated Dr. Kosei. By contrast, when it came to Inspector Kanguri, there was no trace of recklessness—he maintained deep caution, and one could sense reassurance in how he seemed fixated on some objective beyond our understanding, single-mindedly pursuing it.

One morning when I went out for a walk toward Miwayama, I came upon two elderly people—a man and a woman—in a precarious state, crouching on the path as if entangled in their own limbs. Upon looking closer, I recognized Lady Oyuya; the man beside her, whom I was seeing for the first time, could only be her husband Nagumo Rojin. When I approached and asked, “Is something wrong?”, Lady Oyuya’s face—which had been twisted with distress—softened into relief. “I insisted on walking despite my limits,” she said, her voice labored. “What we elderly could manage ten days past slips beyond our grasp today.”

“I heard you had been ill, but...”

“Yes, fortunately I was feeling well this morning.” “Moreover, this old man here’s legs and hips have become unusually sturdy lately.” “I thought it might be too much, but I tried venturing out to where Miss Chigusa’s body was found—just an old woman’s idle whim, you see.” “Knowing this full well yet rushing out like so—it’s not mere grumbling, but an old soul’s aching sentiment. As I said earlier, it’s because life’s impermanence—that what one can do today becomes impossible tomorrow or the day after—has truly seeped into my bones.” “If not done now, it’ll never be done—irreversible. Even if it kills me, I must act without regrets. For our impatience surpasses even that of four or five children who can’t wait till morning.” “In the end, utterly spent—this is how we’ve ended up.” “Just this spring, I could still walk to the mineral springs without tiring so.”

“Oh yes. The other day at the mineral springs inn, I heard that story from you as well. You went to buy Calmotin, didn’t you?” “Calmotin? No—there’s no such medicine.”

Oyuya Babasama flushed and denied this vehemently. “Who might this be?”

The crouching old man inquired. "This is the guest staying at the Western mansion—Mr. Yashiro, you see? The one who married Ms. Kyoko." “Ah, ah—that gentleman.”

When I reached out my hand, he grabbed it and stood up. I even considered carrying him on my back, but though thin, he was a tall man measuring over five feet eight inches,

“Well then, I’ll ask Old Man Kisaku to arrange for a car.” “No, no—this is sufficient. I can walk.”

He clung to my shoulder and began to walk.

“Ms. Moroi is such a stingy person. When it comes to patients taking walks, far from showing the slightest compassion by accompanying them, she’s the type to say, ‘If you want to die along the way, go ahead and do as you please.’ Moreover, she’s greedy and unscrupulous. If you slip her a bribe, she’ll do absolutely anything. Just try slipping her a decent sum of money. That woman is such a devil—she’d calmly provide even the slightest assistance for a paltry bribe!”

The old man clung to my shoulder, huffing and puffing, straining to force out his voice through labored breath. “Mm, that’s so.”

It appeared that Moroi Kotomi was an exceptionally vexing presence. "What about her moral character?" When I asked, “Moral character—you ask.” "How could someone like her have any?" "My brother Tanmon was inherently unwell himself, but that aside—had Dr. Ebizuka approved of her conduct, he would have made her his lawful wife." “Postmasters, schoolteachers, lately even prosperous farmers—try counting all the men she’s taken up with and you’d lose track!” “They say that woman sleeps embracing stacks of hundred-yen bills from those dealings—more than what’s offered at the Shaku Festival." "With no true affection in her heart, money alone became her bosom companion." “Repulsive creature.”

If I hadn’t met Kamiyama Toyo on the road, I would have collapsed right then and there. Kamiyama was a large man over five feet eight inches tall, so he effortlessly carried Nagumo Rojin on his back and began walking shoulder to shoulder with Oyuya Babasama.

Moroi Kotomi. I couldn't help but acutely conclude that this mysterious woman must have been fulfilling some enigmatic role at the periphery of this case. Who could have been manipulating the will of this greedy and unscrupulous woman?

I promptly investigated her alibi for the evening of July 18, the day Ms. Chigusa was murdered. But it failed with surprising ease. That day, the person who last saw Ms. Chigusa leaving through the back gate was Moroi. And Moroi Nurse had been performing Old Man Tanmon’s massage from six to seven. After that, she had not gone out either.

18. The Seventh Victim

It was August 3rd.

Recently, I had taken to going out to the mineral springs inn during the daytime to work. This place was certainly quiet as well, but if I had to say, the Utagawa family’s Western-style house was even quieter. As it was a sturdy reinforced concrete structure, outside noises weren’t heard much.

However, more than the silence itself, I had grown weary of the monotony. Moreover, with these incidents occurring one after another, being wrapped in mutual wariness while facing each other felt stifling—which was why I decided to go to the mineral springs inn. This urge wasn’t mine alone; lately, everyone had taken to eagerly going out during the day. Some rode the bus into town. Tango visited village Go players to play matches. Kazuma too, showing signs of neurasthenia, seemed to wander about restlessly and irritably, while those who never went out were Pi Kaichi and Kamiyama Toyo—these two gentlemen remained engrossed in playing billiards for money day after day. Both played at around a three-hundred ranking, with Dr. Kosei occasionally joining them. Here was another display of equally formidable skill—a master of any game he turned his hand to, a born gambler by nature. The three had been conspiring since the previous night, resolved to settle their match by playing nonstop from morning till evening even at risk of losing their entire fortunes—a commitment so intense that Kamiyama Toyo reportedly performed a Saikai purification bath upon waking at dawn.

Kyoko left early in the morning, saying she was going shopping in N-town and would also visit an old acquaintance while she was at it. As I was about to leave for the mineral springs inn around nine o'clock,

“Hey, Mr. Yashiro!” Ayaka-san noticed me, called out to me, and her eyes sparkled.

“Today I’m finally going to the mineral springs. Take me with you.”

“Since today’s Sunday, it might be crowded again.” “Oh, there won’t be any crowding on a Sunday, you know.” “It’s deep in the mountains, after all.”

That might indeed have been true. When she had previously said she wanted to try the mineral springs and followed me, that particular day had turned out unexpectedly crowded—so much that even I found it too noisy to work—and since the bathhouse was always packed with people practicing mixed-gender bathing, Ayaka-san hadn't been able to bathe. Unlike urban hot springs, these mountain spa guests lived almost entirely in the bathhouse's chaotic bustle, as if considering it a loss not to bathe—their sole pleasure being the mineral waters.

Ayaka-san was delighted and followed behind me, carrying towels, soap, and a full set of toiletries. When we reached the beech forest, Tango Yumihiko was strolling in his yukata while swinging a walking stick. As we caught up to him, he gazed at our pair and Ayaka-san’s full set of bathing implements with a strangely intrigued yet sarcastic look, “How unusual. Madam, taking the waters?” “Are you going to the mineral springs too? Let’s go together.”

“I actually have a Go meeting at the postmaster’s place today.” “Oh, but the postmaster’s house isn’t in this direction, is it?” “Yes, well—in other words, while I do enjoy Go itself, I’m the sort who detests *meetings*. Meetings are always chaotic, no matter what kind they are. So when I try to walk toward the venue, my feet naturally end up heading in the opposite direction.” “You’re a born contrarian, aren’t you? Since your feet are leading you that way anyway, let’s go to the mineral springs inn.”

“When you say that, my feet naturally start heading in the opposite direction again—”

While saying that, he veered off from the middle of the beech forest into the depths where no path existed. "He's quite the eccentric, isn't he?" "It's best not to take such contrarians seriously." "He's the type who's bound to say black if you say white."

The hot spring this day was utterly deserted. Generally speaking, rural spa-goers rarely came in pairs or trios; it was more like whole families moving en masse for leisure. Therefore, even when there were no other groups of guests, there existed this peculiar characteristic where a single group would instantly create a bustling atmosphere. Since there were no other guests besides us, Ayaka-san didn't need to request a bath attendant and was leisurely enjoying herself in the bathhouse for over thirty minutes.

She came to peek into my workroom, "This is quite a stylish room for the countryside." "That's right." "It's only this detached room that's special."

Directly below lay a mountain stream. Outside my room window, a mountain fisherman passed by, politely excusing himself with an "Pardon me." "Oh, so this isn't a garden but a path?" "In remote mountains like these, there's no real distinction between gardens and paths." "Look—you see that path leading down to the valley there?" "They say there's a deep pool at the bottom that's one of the best fishing spots around here." "See here." "I even bought a proper fishing rod." "During work breaks, I sometimes climb down from this window to fish there."

“Did you catch any?”

"I haven't caught a single one yet. The timing's all wrong, you see. And this fishing gear they sell at the inn is bottom-of-the-barrel cheap stuff—completely useless for catching proper ayu, yamame, or iwana." "If you do catch any, you'll show me, won't you? Well then, goodbye." With that, Ayaka-san departed.

After all, whenever a rare visitor like Ayaka-san would come and then leave, I couldn’t settle down. Unable to work, I tried dangling a fishing line for a while, but it proved futile. I ate lunch, took a nap, did a bit of work, and then returned.

From around eight to eight-thirty, four or five people returned. This stemmed from the bus schedules—both those arriving from N Town and those bound for N Town had their final arrivals around seven o'clock—but rural buses never kept strictly to their timetables, requiring one to always allow about thirty minutes' leeway. Lately, with people going out markedly more often, many were returning midway through dinner. The village arrival time hovered around seven o'clock, but since departures from N Town left at five, going into town generally meant catching the five o'clock last bus. Even hurrying at a man's pace after reaching the village around seven, it took about an hour to reach the Utagawa residence.

On this day, the three who returned via the last bus from N Town were Kihyoe, Kyoko, and Kisano-san, while Kazuma and Tango came back on the last bus from F Town. F Town referred to buses that shuttled between N Town and F Town, with this N Village situated precisely midway along the route. Whichever direction one went, it took less than two hours by bus. The last bus departing from F Town was delayed, and Kazuma and Tango returned home around eight-thirty, but Ms. Utsugi Akiko was nowhere to be seen.

“Wasn’t Ms. Utsugi Akiko on your bus?” When I asked Kazuma, he stated she hadn’t been aboard. She apparently hadn’t taken the last bus from N Town either. “Dr. Ebizuka was on the last bus from N Town. Today’s Sunday, so the clinic’s closed for consultations. I saw Nurse Moroi in town, but she wasn’t traveling back with him,” Kyoko informed me. “Did you skip the Go meeting and ride all the way to F Town?” I inquired.

“Ah, thanks to you all, I can’t even go to the mineral spring inn anymore.” Ms. Kocho looked doubtful,

“What could have happened to Ms. Utsugi?” “We had a lecture and demonstration event today for the village’s youth association and maiden association members. In the morning, Mr. Hitomi gave a lecture, and in the afternoon, I conducted makeup demonstrations and such. When we left here around nine in the morning, Ms. Utsugi was working in her room.” “Perhaps she’s tired and taking a nap?” “I’ll go check.”

With that, Ms. Kocho went out, but in the room there was only an unfinished manuscript, and she was nowhere to be seen.

Around the time they finished eating, Inspector Kanguri strolled in,

“Inspector, this might be another incident,” said Kamiyama Toyo. “What’s this? Don’t go scaring people like that. You’re all just being paranoid.” “We can’t find Ms. Utsugi Akiko. An adult going missing might be a joke elsewhere, but here, it’s no laughing matter.”

“I see. Since when has she been missing?”

“The only lead we have is that Ms. Kocho saw Ms. Akiko working in her room around nine in the morning,” said Detective Nagahata. “Painter Doi, Dr. Kosei and I were engrossed in a heated billiards match, while the others—Mr. Kazuma and Mr. Tango went to F Town; Mr. Miyake, Ms. Kyoko and Kisano-san went to N Town—what about Yashiro?” “I went to the mineral spring inn with Ms. Ayaka,” replied Dr. Kosei. “We left around nine o’clock.” “So everyone’s scattered about then,” Nagahata muttered. “We billiards players might as well be invisible for all our usefulness. When exactly did she go out, and where to?”

At that moment, Tsubohira’s wife, “I happened to see Ms. Utsugi going out around nine-thirty or ten o’clock.” “Where?” “It was in this hall.” “Ah, right! She had some water in the kitchen, you see. When I asked if she was going out, she said, ‘Yes, just a short walk.’” “And it seems she went outside from the direction of the dining room still wearing her zōri sandals.”

“And during lunchtime?”

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t see her during lunch either.” “The meal has been prepared, so when she returns, she would naturally say, ‘I’m hungry—let me have something to eat.’”

Ms. Utsugi was discovered the following day as a drowned corpse in the waterfall basin deep within Miwayama Mountain.

Postscript: The case had drawn near its conclusion. With the next installment, this would be discontinued, and we would finally see everyone’s skills put to the test. As promised in the previous postscript, Dr. Kosei had shared a portion of his insights regarding the nature of "The Discontinuous Murder Case." Truly, this had to be called a story of utmost consideration that left nothing wanting. With culprits like Madame Atapin and Professor Shichōhana of Kyushu—so many of them, each with different motives—it seemed that no matter how many people gathered their monkey wits together, there was simply no hope unless I went out of my way to make it this considerate. It was not until reaching this age that I realized creating detective novels required Bodhisattva-like compassion—that even when humiliation became inevitable, one must structure it to cause the smallest possible disgrace.

Truly, making full-grown adults suffer humiliation was a moral failing, so every effort had been devoted to minimizing everyone’s embarrassment as much as possible.

Lately, certain individuals had been attempting to bribe people close to me, and I found myself troubled by their incessant pestering. They’d proposed splitting the reward, suggested collaborating on answers, or asked me to do a bit of spying—completely abandoning moral principles and sportsmanship. The editor of a Japanese novel approached someone close to me, saying, “Hey, you, go ask the culprit. Quietly check the notebook. I’ll give you half the reward.” “I just need to buy shoes, you know.”

That they had already resolved to resort to bribery was tragic. Even so, though it pained me to harden my heart thus, upon reflection I must state: When matters had been made as painstakingly clear as this yet remained incomprehensible to some, such individuals were truly cursed by fate and deserved not a shred of sympathy.

Sakaguchi Ango

19. Alibi Comparison

There was a mountain stream flowing in front of Miwa Shrine. Miwa Pond also began to flow into it when water levels rose, though its true sources lay elsewhere—gathering springs from the mountains deep within—and even during normal times maintained abundant water volume that formed a waterfall basin at the valley bottom just beyond Miwa Shrine, creating a deep pool spanning roughly 100 tsubo. Surrounded by sheer cliffs on all sides, the water’s surface lay sunken so deep that sunlight rarely reached it, bearing an emerald hue. It appeared still and stagnant, but in reality contained many whirlpools, making both swimming and fishing impossible there.

Ms. Utsugi, dressed in a kimono, floated upon the water’s surface, gently swaying as she rotated within the whirlpool.

It appeared she had been pushed from the cliff above, though there was no definitive evidence to prove it wasn't suicide. While the plains endured prolonged drought, the mountainous areas frequently saw rain in mornings and evenings—considerable rainfall having occurred on the evening of August 3rd and predawn hours of the 4th erased any footprints, leaving no discernible signs of struggle on the cliff above. Ms. Utsugi's corpse was discovered early the following morning on the 4th. After the police doctor had been dispatched to perform the autopsy at Sōrin Temple—concluding that evening—the state of digestion in her stomach suggested she had likely been killed approximately three to three and a half hours after her last meal.

Lately, with more people going out, meal times and attendance in the dining room had become extremely irregular. To catch the first bus—even at a man’s walking pace—one needed to depart from the Utagawa residence by 7:30, which was why meal times had grown utterly haphazard. However, on the third [of August], Ms. Akiko’s breakfast was shared by me, Kyoko, the Kamiyamas, and Ms. Kocho, with everyone recalling it had occurred around seven-thirty—though even Kamiyama, usually so punctilious, had neglected to consult his prized watch that day, leaving the exact timing uncertain. The crime was estimated to have occurred between 10:30 and 11:00.

On the evening of the 4th, after dinner, Inspector Kanguri gathered us along with Dr. Ebizuka, Nurse Moroi, Ms. Shitae, and others in the hall. “Honestly, I feel like committing suicide myself.” “I fully understand how troublesome this has been for all of you time and again, but I must ask you to bear with me just once more and cooperate.” “In Ms. Utsugi’s case, while there is no definitive evidence to determine whether it was suicide or murder, I believe it would be more natural to consider it murder for the time being.” “Generally speaking, suicide victims typically take some deliberate action rather than jumping in naturally—for instance, removing their footwear, placing belongings on the ground, or even binding both legs over their clothing to prevent their hems from becoming disordered. However, since none of these are absolute rules, we cannot definitively conclude it was murder simply because Ms. Utsugi jumped in while still holding her handbag and wearing her sandals without leaving any such traces.” “However, given that this incident follows a series of unresolved cases up to now, we believe it is only natural to consider this another murder and proceed with our investigation accordingly.”

Inspector Kanguri began with these words. He had grown increasingly ingenious. “Now, I must apologize once again for the usual formalities, but as part of investigative procedure, it becomes necessary to have you provide your alibis from yesterday. While I deeply regret presuming too much upon your continued patronage, I humbly request your gracious cooperation once more.” With that, he set out like a greengrocer hawking his wares—a man who had quite mastered the knack for handling us.

“First, following procedure—Mr. Miyake, I would like to ask: I hear you were in N Town all day yesterday.” Kibē nodded,

“The day before, I asked Mrs. Tsubohira to prepare breakfast early and departed before seven-thirty.” “I took the first bus out and returned on the last one.” “That day, did you notice anything unusual about your wife?” “From my perspective, that woman was always acting strangely.” “Even when coming to the main house, we live in separate rooms, and in effect, we are in a state of separation.” “As you all know, that woman ignored me and calmly carried on with Ouni in that manner. Besides, she was someone who couldn’t go three days without a man’s body—I’ll leave the rest to your imaginations.” “I haven’t confirmed any facts beyond my own imagination, but the fact that we are not truly husband and wife in practice is, in other words, clear evidence that that woman has been involved with other men.”

“So you had no daily interactions with your wife either?” “We’re already more distant than strangers. In other words, we’re in a state of war—not strangers, but enemies.” “I see. Well, that business of unstable international relations is something that seeps into one’s bones and proves hard to forget. So, if I may ask, was there no intent for peace between you both?” “There wasn’t. Unlike international relations, this is fated by destiny. The state may be eternal, but humans have but a fifty-year lifespan. There’s no need to make peace with someone you dislike. In short, we were already essentially divorced.”

“And yet your Miren was downright effeminate, wasn’t he?” Pikaichi cut in without ceremony. “That Miren bastard might make effeminacy his calling card, but your Miren’s got bonus features—one of those puffed-up fools who treats his wife like a maid or piece of furniture.” “Can’t blame even some lady novelist for getting jealous with that.” “Jealousy’s fine sport, but announcing to the world your wife can’t last three days without male flesh? That’s some grimy shit right there.” “Compared to Ms. Utsugi’s lot, your whole damn character’s contemptible—petty and rotten to the core.”

Kibē turned pale and glared, but seemed at a loss for words to counterattack. Inspector Kanguri efficiently mediated, "So, Mr. Miyake, you have no idea what plans your wife had made for that day either?" "I have absolutely no idea." "Do you have any friends in N Town, Mr. Miyake?"

"No, I simply went out because I’d grown weary of boredom—aimlessly browsing bookstores and, now that you mention it, if you can even call it shopping, I bought a magazine. But unless someone at those places happened to remember my face, I’ve no alibi whatsoever."

“Yet for someone claiming boredom, isn’t taking the first bus an unusually early departure? Esteemed members of the Utagawa household—is there some custom of taking the first bus to N Town?”

When no one answered, Mrs. Kisano—

“Yesterday, I also went to N Town, but I took the second bus. “We women require time for preparations and such, and our walking pace is slower compared to gentlemen, so we generally take the second bus. “Yesterday, I went with Ms. Kayoko and also met Nurse Moroi at the bus stop. “We got off at Taisho Avenue in N Town, parted with Ms. Kayoko—I did some shopping—and then by chance on the last bus, I ended up together with Ms. Kayoko again and also with Mr. Miyake.”

“Did you also go shopping, Mrs. Yashiro?” “No, I went to visit a friend.” “About two or three years ago, I lived in this area—she’s a friend from that time, Mrs. Honma, the wife of a kimono shop owner.” “I was there the entire time yesterday.” Inspector Kanguri nodded and turned to Nurse Moroi. “I must admit, I’m rather poor at questioning you.” “Surely you don’t answer your patients with the same detachment you show police officers?” “Where did you go?”

“Yesterday was Sunday, a closed day, so I went to pick up medicine.” “I don’t believe such a simple errand would require staying until the last bus, but I’d like you to provide as detailed an account as possible.” “After that, I was just wandering around.” "When you come out to town from such a remote mountain area, anyone would wander around." “Ah, quite right.” “What you say is always so very reasonable—I’m indebted.” Inspector Kanguri deftly parried while meticulously questioning each person about their N Town alibis, but ultimately, only Kayoko's stood verified; Mrs. Kisano had done some shopping and window-shopping, but with no acquaintances there to vouch for her presence, nothing could be confirmed unless others remembered seeing her.

Nurse Moroi took the second bus and arrived in N Town at 12:30 PM. She procured medicine at the pharmacy in front of the bus terminal and was supposed to return on the 2:30 PM bus—but upon arrival there, she first delivered an order form to the pharmacy, wandered around town, returned before the 2:30 departure to receive the prepared medicine package, and boarded the bus back. For those intervening two hours, she had no alibi beyond having wandered around town.

The worst was Kibē. When taking the first bus, it arrived in N Town at 10:30. From then until the last bus at five, he claimed to have simply wandered around. “However, Mr. Miyake, that’s six and a half hours. Isn’t there at least one place where someone might have remembered your face from some interaction?” “That’s just conventional reasoning, you know. People have all sorts of proclivities—things don’t follow set patterns. In unfamiliar places, you only retain memories of similar roads, houses, forests, and temples; their directions and sequences remain entirely fragmented in your awareness without forming a unified whole. I was simply enjoying a stroll through those scattered locations—it couldn’t be helped that there were no human interactions during that time. I don’t live my life consciously maintaining alibis. Though of course, had I known such an incident would occur, I would’ve properly prepared one.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded,

"By the way, Mr. Miyake, did anyone you knew happen to be riding on the first bus?"

“No, I don’t know anyone in this village—and besides, I’m not the sort to pay attention to people’s faces anyway.” “Wasn’t Dr. Ebizuka with you?” “We weren’t together.” Kibē replied.

“So on the second bus were Mrs. Yashiro, Mrs. Kamiyama, and Ms. Moroi. What about Dr. Ebizuka?” Ebizuka wore an expression that seemed to ask “What trivial nonsense,” but answered nonetheless.

"I took the third one."

“What time is the third one?”

When Ebizuka didn't answer， Inspector took out the bus timetable. The timetable was as follows.

“Dr. Ebizuka took the 12:40 PM departure and arrived in N Town at 2:30 PM. Ah, I see.” Inspector Kanguri, recognizing the futility of further exchanges with the obstinate physician, bypassed prolonged questioning and shifted his focus to Kazuma. “You went to F Town, did you not, Mr. Utagawa?”

“That’s correct. From F Town, I went about one ri further into the mountains to visit relatives. I took the first bus out and returned on the last one, but accounting for walking time, I arrived at my relatives’ around half past noon and left there just after three o’clock.”

“I see. So although the directions are opposite, since both are first buses, weren’t you with Mr. Miyake as far as the village bus stop?” “The first F-bound bus departs about thirty minutes later, so we weren’t together. Moreover, when we go to F Town, we don’t go out to N Village but use the bus stop in T Hamlet. The distance is nearly the same—from this house, at my normal walking pace, both routes take about an hour and fifteen minutes, though that’s when going downhill.”

“When you say ‘T Hamlet,’ in which direction does it lead out?” “In other words, if you pass through the beech forest, go past the hot spring inn, and descend the zigzag path, you will arrive at the T Hamlet bus stop.” “From here to the hot spring inn is about half a ri, and from the hot spring inn to T Hamlet is not quite one ri—altogether it must be nearly one and a half ri.”

“Ah.” “There was such a route?”

Inspector Kanguri wore a look of surprise. This time, he turned to Tango,

“Mr. Tango, while you were supposed to attend the superintendent’s Go gathering, your feet carried you in the opposite direction—but in fact, Yomisugi and I were both at that gathering ourselves, looking forward to a match.” “In short, Mr. Tango, your feet naturally turned toward F Town, leaving you no choice but to wander about—but which bus did you end up taking?” Tango, as though dismissing the matter, took out a cigarette and surveyed his surroundings. The inspector, sensing this, lit his lighter for him. “Oh, thank you,” Tango said, bowing politely.

“Around nine o’clock, I parted ways with Mr. Yashiro Sunbei and Mrs. Ayaka in the beech forest, then wandered aimlessly through mountain paths—stumbling about until I reached the bus route.” “Just as a bus approached, I waved it down and boarded.” “Let me see that timetable.” “Ah yes, that would be the 10:50 AM departure from N Village to F Town.” “After arriving in F Town, I roamed about and found a fish weir serving sweetfish. I ate my fill, took a nap, then returned.”

“Understood.” “That’s healthier than a Go gathering anyway. Sensible choice.” “So Madam—were you at the hot spring inn the whole time?” “No, I stayed forty or fifty minutes then came straight back.” “I soaked in the bath about half an hour for relaxation.” “They’re conserving fuel—the water was quite tepid, you see.” “But I prefer lukewarm baths, so I enjoyed myself.” “What sort of spring is it there?” “I couldn’t say exactly—it’s milky white and cloudy.”

I also soaked in it every day but didn’t know what kind of spring it was. They said it was good for wounds, but I had never actually seen any patients coming for treatment. There was a faint peculiar odor, but it wasn’t particularly strong. However, the fact that there were none of this area’s notorious mosquitoes around that hot spring must have meant there was something to it.

Inspector Kanguri finally asked me about my movements yesterday, but as I had already stated, I left the house around nine o'clock with Ms. Ayaka, arrived at the hot spring inn around nine-thirty, and since I couldn't work, tried dangling a fishing line for a bit, soaked in the hot spring and took a nap, then wrote some miscellaneous pieces before returning in the evening. However, since people from the inn rarely visited my detached quarters to begin with, it wasn't entirely impossible for me to have pretended to go fishing, gone to Miwayama, killed Ms. Akiko, and returned. Inspector Kanguri had naturally considered these possibilities long before. His particular fixation on scrutinizing the bus timetable—poking at it like a needle—stemmed from uncertainties such as whether Kihyoe had actually taken the first bus at all. Even if Kihyoe had departed on that bus, it remained conceivable that he could have doubled back, killed Ms. Akiko, returned to town, and then caught the five o'clock bus home.

Those who could be completely excluded from suspicion were Kocho-san and Hitomi Koroku—they were conducting lectures and workshops for the Youth Association and Maidens' Association members from 10:00 AM to 3:00 PM—and Kamiyama and Pikaichi, who were fully occupied gambling with jade pieces alongside Dr. Kosei.

“Now then, Dr. Ebizuka.”

Inspector Kanguri stared solemnly at Ebizuka. "You took the 12:40 PM bus to N Town." "I would like you to account for your movements from nine o'clock to twelve forty." Ebizuka glared sharply as always and remained silent.

“Very well. Dr. Ebizuka. Until today, I have respected your human rights and exercised considerable forbearance. Do you understand me, Dr. Ebizuka? When I say forbearance, I mean I respected your rights as a person—and your response has been contempt toward us. Today marks an end to my forbearance. If you refuse to provide an explanation, I shall present my own account. Is this acceptable?”

Ebizuka rolled his eyes—burning with rage and defiance—in a fierce rotation, openly displayed his contempt, and turned away. Inspector Kanguri also appeared to have reached the end of his patience. “Well then, I will explain your actions for you.” “You passed through the back gate of the Utagawa residence yesterday between approximately 9:40 and 9:50.” “At that moment, you must have encountered Ms. Utsugi as she was leaving for a walk.” “You went around to the Utagawa family’s kitchen and ordered the maid Yae to summon Nurse Moroi.” “However, as previously stated, Nurse Moroi had gone out to town on the second bus.” When you heard this, your face changed color. “Suddenly appearing to change your mind, you said, ‘Well then, I’ll be waiting at the fishing pavilion—send Ms. Shitae over for a moment,’ then went to the fishing pavilion.”

Dr. Ebizuka turned ashen and trembled violently, “You insolent fool! Lies!” he shouted, but Inspector Kanguri did not flinch in the slightest, piercing Ebizuka with his gaze without blinking an eye. Having perhaps received prior orders, Hatchobana and Yomisugi stood flanking Ebizuka on either side. “Ms. Shitae, having received a message from Yae, promptly headed to the fishing pavilion, wondering what it could be about.” “Then, you were already waiting with a stethoscope and said, ‘You clearly show signs of a chest illness.’” “You said, ‘I’ll give you a health check today,’ and took Ms. Shitae’s hand.” “Ms. Shitae, sensing your abnormal demeanor and feeling terror, replied, ‘No, I am not ill, and I have other business to attend to now.’ You suddenly lunged at her, pinned her down, and shouted, ‘Hey! Do as I say! If not, I’ll strip you naked even while holding you down!’ Then you abruptly tried to kiss her.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” “You insolent fool!”

He shouted furiously as if about to lunge forward, but two detectives grabbed his arms from both sides. Inspector Kanguri stared even more coldly at Ebizuka, “Ms. Shitae was startled and resisted.” “She tried to escape.” “Each time you were shaken off, you lunged again; each time you were thrown off, you lunged again—and when you finally pinned her down, Ms. Shitae let out a piercing scream.” “Fortunately, at that moment, Madam Oyuya, who had come for a walk by the pond, heard the scream and peered into the fishing pavilion.” “Thus, your plan was thwarted, and Ms. Shitae managed to escape the jaws of danger.” “How do you respond?” “Ms. Shitae is present here, but if that’s not sufficient, shall we have Madam Oyuya come as well?” “You then dashed out of the Utagawa residence like a madman, in a frenzy—the time being around ten or ten past ten.” “Now then, Dr. Ebizuka. After that, until you boarded the bus—this 12:40 PM bus arrived in N Village around 1:00 PM, twenty minutes late—where were you and what were you doing until that 1:00 PM?”

Dr. Ebizuka glared at Inspector Kanguri with blazing eyes, "You bastard! Madman!"

Suddenly swinging both arms, he leapt up with a shriek, then turned around and stormed out of the room. As the detectives moved to pursue him, Inspector Kanguri stopped them with a hand gesture.

Then, Dr. Ebizuka turned around in the hallway. “You all will be wiped out by divine punishment!” “You lunatics!” “You goddamn morons!” Like a gorilla, he waved his hands, turned around, and left.

“Why aren’t you arresting him?”

Kamiyama asked. “Why?”

Inspector Kanguri answered calmly. “There is no evidence at all.”

Twenty: The Prime Suspect

No sooner had Inspector Kanguri’s interrogation concluded than Kazuma and Ms. Ayaka came rushing into the room with pale faces. When they returned to their own room—which they had locked upon leaving—they found a single sheet of paper placed on the desk inside. It was written in pen on Utagawa family stationery following established precedent:

August 9th, the fateful day It was written. That evening was thrown into disarray by preparations to send Ms. Akiko’s body to the crematorium. We all headed to Soushin Temple, where sutras were chanted in a disorderly space halfway converted from an autopsy room back to its original main hall. After seeing off Ms. Akiko’s body loaded onto the vehicle and returning, we eventually took our meal. Kazuma and Ms. Ayaka were preoccupied with various tasks and had no opportunity to return to their room beforehand; they joined the meal table, underwent Inspector Kanguri’s interrogation, and only then managed to retreat to their quarters.

Kazuma, his wife, and I knocked at Dr. Kosei’s room. Dr. Kosei was in the midst of rummaging through his trunk but showed not the slightest surprise upon hearing our story,

“Hah, is that so?”

He was rummaging through the trunk even more busily. And when he finally found something and looked relieved, it turned out to be nothing more than a single pair of socks. “What’s with those socks? Is that some kind of piece of evidence?”

When I made the sarcastic remark, he chuckled with an “Eh heh heh,” “No, you see, I’m going on a trip tomorrow. Since I’ll be heading to Tokyo anyway, I thought I’d drop by and visit that girl. She’s quite particular about cleanliness, so I always make sure to follow her orders when it comes to socks.” he said cheerfully. “So this is a retreat in defeat?” “No, it’s the path to victory.” he declared with a dramatic intake of breath,

“I must apologize,” said Dr. Kosei. “I got completely absorbed in Tamatsuki’s bet and utterly failed.” He paused, then continued with renewed resolve: “But rest assured—I won’t let the culprit escape.” His tone shifted abruptly as if answering an unspoken question: “What’s that? Ah yes, August 9th—the fateful day.” Turning directly to the couple, he advised, “I will return by August 9th, but Mr. and Mrs. Utagawa, please take utmost care. Wrap your room key tightly with string if needed. Be vigilant with your food. Refrain from walking alone during daylight—stay in groups whenever possible.” His final warning carried grim emphasis: “Caution above all. Assume every person you meet is a murderer.”

Dr. Kosei now took out a new necktie and unconsciously broke into a grin. "What's the purpose of this trip?" When I asked this, "To search for physical evidence." "Isn't there any evidence here?"

“Hah, there isn’t any.” “However, the culprit has revealed an inescapable presence in the relationship between time and space, you see.” “And psychologically.” “But there’s no physical evidence, you see.” “That’s what I’m going out to find.”

“So, do you know who the culprit is?”

“Hah, it’s already clear beyond doubt—it simply must be that person, you see. But since this all comes down to temporal and spatial equations, it can hardly serve as courtroom evidence. Still—what can I say—if there’s no physical proof left at all, I’ll have no choice but to present these equations in court out of sheer desperation. Pure desperation, you understand? They’ve made a complete fool of me—utterly rotten, isn’t it?”

—he clutched his head.

“Where are you going?”

“All over the place, you see.” “If it’s come to this, out of sheer stubbornness and desperation, I’ll search every corner under heaven—no matter how far—even if I have to crawl through water itself.”

He grinned bashfully.

The next morning’s breakfast table—since there was also the matter of receiving Ms. Akiko’s remains—had everyone gathered around it. Even with everyone gathered, from those seated at this dining table, Ouni, Tamaki-san, Chigusa-san, Utsumi, and Akiko-san had been killed; Ebizuka had been removed. Twelve remained—and when Dr. Kosei left on his trip, it would become eleven. Kamiyama Toyo addressed Dr. Kosei:

“Dr. Kosei.” “Dr. Kosei, I hear you’re traveling to search for physical evidence. Might you share a fragment of your deductions?” “I believe this case hinges on the July 26th incident—Ms. Kayoko’s murder. If Painter Doi was the intended target, it would suggest a maniac’s work. But if Ms. Kayoko was truly the aim, the crime’s motive becomes starkly straightforward—wouldn’t you agree?” Dr. Kosei grinned slyly and offered no reply.

Pi Kaichi interjected,

“Huh—so if you’re targeting me, I’m a maniac killer? To be compared to such a ridiculous wooden puppet—I’m flattered. If killing Ms. Kayoko was the goal, then it’s straightforward? Who’s the culprit? Oh ho, you corrupt lawyer sir!”

“I don’t know that.” “I stated that the motive was simple and clear.” “Then what happens to Ms. Utsugi, Ouni, and Utsumi?”

Tango said with a sneer. "Well, that's a separate matter."

Lawyer Kamiyama handled the conversation with practiced skill, but writers made for troublesome company,

“What’s ‘separate’ about it?”

Tango asked. Kamiyama didn’t bat an eye, “Well, let’s leave that final resolution to the detective.” “These seven murder cases can broadly be divided into two categories.” “The first consists of cases where any of us could be the culprit—the three incidents of Ouni’s murder, Tamaki’s murder, and Professor Tanmon’s murder. Even Professor Tanmon’s poisoning by adding morphine to the sugar jar should have been possible for anyone.” “The second category comprises cases only specific individuals could commit—Chigusa’s murder, Utsumi’s murder, Kayoko’s murder, and Utsugi’s murder—where certain people are completely incapable of being culprits.” “How about we eliminate those who couldn’t possibly be guilty one by one?” “And if anyone objects to those who remain unavoidable suspects, let’s hear their defenses and have all of us act as jurors to render judgment—shall we?”

No one replied, but Kamiyama Toyo remained unperturbed, “First, regarding the case of Chigusa’s murder.” “On the return path from the crematorium, anyone who came back alone cannot avoid suspicion.” “Even among those who returned in groups of two or three, Kazuma-san—having once returned and gone to Kusabayashi Temple for thirty minutes—lacks an alibi for this period and thus cannot avoid suspicion.” “Ultimately, those free from suspicion are Dr. Kosei and Mr. Hitomi returning as a pair, myself returning in a group with the monk and Kazuma-san—of these, only Dr. Kosei, Mr. Hitomi, the monk, and I lie outside the scope of suspicion.” “The first to return, Painter Doi; the second group—Mr. Utsumi, Kazuma-san, Mr. Miyake, Mr. Tango, and Mr. Yashiro—the above five individuals have no alibi.”

Since no one else was interjecting—Mrs. Kisano, Kamiyama’s wife—cut in: "But Mr. Doi who returned first, and Mr. Utsumi who came second, shouldn’t need alibis at all." "It’s just the normal walking time required."

Kamiyama nodded in agreement, "That’s also a factor." "Mr. Utsumi went to Miwa Shrine with Ms. Chigusa and Aibiki but returned when he couldn’t find Ms. Chigusa." "However, he might have killed Ms. Chigusa during that time and returned." "The fact that Ms. Chigusa had her face completely covered with cloth and was strangled through it doesn’t seem ordinary, does it?" "In other words, precisely because they were close comrades who permitted foolish games like blindfolding, someone exploited that vulnerability to strangle her—that’s how we must imagine it happened." "So Mr. Utsumi too appears unable to escape suspicion." "But since Painter Doi returned ahead of Mr. Utsumi, perhaps only Painter Doi should be exempt from suspicion." "However, Painter Doi was alone too—solitary status itself constitutes grounds for suspicion." "As someone intimately familiar with this village’s geography: one ascends from the crematorium to the mountain pass." "A couple blocks beyond that lies an inconspicuous bypath crossing the valley to Miwa Shrine." "Less a proper path than a woodcutter’s trail—just grass trampled enough to grow slightly shorter." "Regardless, taking this shortcut around Miwayama Mountain to Utagawa’s back gate would only take ten or fifteen minutes longer than the main route." "Such hidden paths mean all solitary individuals remain under suspicion." "But since Painter Doi returned before Mr. Utsumi, we might exclude him." "The others cannot be cleared." "Anyone could dash through that hidden path." "But there’s another problem here."

Kamiyama wore a face that mocked others.

“I generally adhere to the principle of avoiding comments about those who don’t belong here, but given how critical this problem is, I have no choice.” “First, regarding Ms. Chigusa’s alleged departure for Aibiki around six o’clock—this relies solely on Nurse Moroi’s testimony.” “However, no other individuals witnessed Chigusa-san leaving at six.” “In essence, while people confirm seeing Chigusa-san at home until approximately five o’clock, her whereabouts during the following hour remain unverified.” “Though Nurse Moroi possesses an alibi from six to eight o’clock—what if Chigusa-san had already been killed before six?”

Until then, the entire group had maintained completely indifferent expressions, but suddenly found themselves unable to conceal their tension. Kamiyama Toyo pretended not to notice this atmosphere, maintaining his composure as he remarked: "In any case, even crimes committed by country uncles and aunties contain foreshadowing and false testimonies that can't simply be taken at face value. There's something astonishing about their desperate cunning when cornered."

He piqued their interest and immediately shifted the topic. “Now, regarding the case of Utsumi’s murder—at that time, Painter Doi was glaring intently from a position overlooking the second-floor corridor and persistently keeping watch.” “Therefore, the prevailing view is that there should be no culprit on the second floor.” “However, the fact that Painter Doi was drunk must still be taken into account.” “Those near where Painter Doi was stationed in the corridor—Kazuma-san, Dr. Kosei, and others—might have been scolded if they so much as peeked out. But starting from around Tango-san’s position, which was considerably farther away, even if someone slipped off to the restroom, I don’t believe Painter Doi would have made an issue of it.” “The restroom is on the opposite side from where Painter Doi was stationed, you see.”

He looked around at everyone with apparent amusement, his gaze lingering intently.

“Mr. Tango was positioned facing Mr. and Mrs. Hitomi.” “Next to Mr. Tango is me.” “Next are Mr. Miyake and Ms. Utsugi, and across from them, with one vacant room in between, is Mr. Yashiro.” “Now then, you see.” “The second-floor restroom is designed in such a way that one can pretend to go to the restroom and then descend the stairs.” “Discerning this would be impossible from Painter Doi’s stationed position, even if he weren’t drunk, you see.”

The group buzzed again faintly. However, this was mere rhetorical skill. Since it by no means arose from any quality of piercing through actual truth, I too grew irritated, "The way you speak makes it sound as if I could simply go downstairs anytime and kill Utsumi, does it not?" "But beyond that, isn't the true issue whether I visited the restroom or whether Pi Kaichi witnessed me doing so?"

“Now, now, Mr. Yashiro.” “This is merely discussing possibilities.” “Unfortunately, Painter Doi was drunk and has no clear memory of that time—taking advantage of that gap, I am currently outlining the boundaries of mere possibility.” “So then,” “Since we’re addressing Pi Kaichi’s drunken state, it’s unreasonable to focus suspicion only on those distant from Tango’s room.” “Kazuma and Dr. Kosei should have been able to visit the restroom too.” “The only one who couldn’t go outside was Ms. Akiko, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely.” “This was an error in my reasoning.” “Now that I think of it, it was odd that I set Mr. Tango as the boundary.” “Mr. Kazuma and Dr. Kosei also should have had no reason they couldn’t go to the restroom.” “However, you see.” “Inferring from that night’s circumstances—if Mr. Kazuma, Dr. Kosei, or others near his position opened the door, Painter Doi would undoubtedly bark at them like a snapping dog.” “Therefore, you see—while Painter Doi may have been too drunk to remember the next day—we inside should have discerned the situation through his shouting.” “But if it was the corridor’s far side? Painter Doi likely didn’t shout at all—that much is certain.”

The group seemed to have been persuaded by this truth at last. Kamiyama promptly shifted topics, "Now, next is Ms. Kayoko's murder. Though this was a poisoning occurring simultaneously with Tamon's murder, its nature differs. In Tamon's case, since the kitchen remained unmanned from half past one until three o'clock, any of us could have placed morphine in the sugar jar. However, given that Ms. Kayoko was reportedly reading in the hall at the time, she might have witnessed the culprit. Yet even if seen by Ms. Kayoko, it posed no problem. Because Ms. Kayoko herself should have already been dead by that same time."

Kamiyama had briskly brushed off the mistaken theory conflating Kayoko's murder with Pikaichi's killing, but Pikaichi himself merely wore an expression that seemed to say "How tiresome...," showing no inclination to voice any complaints.

“Kayoko’s murder is the problem here. In this case, there was no time interval during which the poison could have been introduced after waiting specific minutes. Those who could have introduced it include the Tsubodaira couple, Kisono, Yae, and Ebizuka—who were in the kitchen—along with Mrs. Ayaka, Mrs. Kyoko, Mr. Kazuma, Mr. Yashiro, Dr. Kosei, Mr. Miyake, and myself—all of whom attended to minor tasks. Furthermore, Painter Doi—who switched coffee cups with Ms. Kayoko—cannot escape the gravest suspicion. Rather, Painter Doi occupies a position that warrants extraordinary suspicion.”

Pikaichi ignored them, his demeanor practically shouting, “Do as you damn well please!” “However, the problem lies in this chipped coffee cup. While the Tsubodaira couple, Yae, and Kisono—who regularly handle it—can distinguish it, the rest of us may know that Painter Doi’s cup is chipped without understanding precisely how.” “Furthermore, an even greater issue is that the Utagawa family’s coffee cups were destroyed by Doi Susanoonomikoto. Should new guests arrive, they would be assigned chipped cups like Painter Doi’s—this crime required prior knowledge of that fact.” “I maintain the culprit originally intended to kill Kayoko. The theory of Painter Doi’s failed assassination holds no water. If Kayoko was indeed the target, primary suspicion falls on Painter Doi himself—who switched the cups—a suspicion he cannot escape.” “Next, if we suppose someone else poisoned him, we infer they knew Kayoko’s cup was chipped from its presence in his coffee.” “However, they lacked precise knowledge to distinguish between two chipped cups.” “This is one scenario.” “Another possibility: The cup with fewer chips—Painter Doi’s—was meant for Kayoko per the culprit’s plan. But server Yae mechanically gave it to Painter Doi out of habit.” “Alternatively, they knew Kayoko’s cup was chipped but couldn’t inspect each one.” “Thus in their haste, they may have poisoned whichever chipped cup caught their eye.” “As explained, knowing Kayoko would use a chipped cup here required deep familiarity with this household’s kitchen affairs. Since they plotted her murder, we must limit suspects to those intimately acquainted with this house.”

I could no longer stomach this and spoke out.

“From the way you’re talking, Kamiyama-kun, it seems clear the culprit is tied to the Utagawa family inheritance dispute.” “What about the cases of Ouni, Utsumi, and Ms. Utsugi?” “If we take the Utagawa family inheritance dispute as the motive for these crimes—though there are eleven people present here—the number of potential culprits is not large.” “It’s practically decided, isn’t it?” “Now, as for that— “Whether these several crimes were all committed by the same perpetrator or by different ones—this is not something that can be hastily determined.” “It may be the same perpetrator.” “There may be another perpetrator.” “Depending on the circumstances, it may be that the incidents were orchestrated by several separate perpetrators, each acting independently.” “However, let us set aside further consideration of that issue for now and instead examine the case of Utsugi’s murder, shall we?”

Kamiyama spoke with composed assurance, his tone suggesting he had already discerned the culprit's identity.

“On the 23rd, those with complete alibis from after breakfast until evening must first be listed as—unfortunately—the Tamatsuki Game trio: Painter Doi, Dr. Kosei, and myself.” “These three were butting heads so fiercely that even slipping away briefly to use the restroom would have been impossible.” “Next are Mr. and Mrs. Hitomi who attended the theater workshop—their alibis are also airtight.” “Then among those who went to N Town: Ms. Kyoko, Nurse Moroi, and Kisono—who took the second bus departing N Village at 10:40—they needed to leave this house an hour prior and rode together from 10:40 until 12:30. Thus they too have perfect alibis for the estimated crime window between 10:30 and 11:00.” “Next, Mr. Kazuma was visiting relatives in F Town—his alibi likewise appears nearly unimpeachable.” “That leaves us with five remaining individuals.”

With that, Kamiyama smirked, looking slightly sheepish.

“Well now—this is another surprise.” “Am I also being counted among your list of suspects?”

Tango Yumihiko, his seemingly sleepy eyes now unexpectedly sharp, directed his gaze at Kamiyama. “I was strolling from the beech forest and properly made it out to the highway to board the 10:50 bus.” “However, if I may be so bold, Mr. Tango—your leisurely strolls seem to possess no awareness of time whatsoever.” “You don’t appear to own a watch, Mr. Tango. If I may infer, haven’t you lived without one for ten or fifteen years?” “What you thought was the 10:50 bus might have been the 12:20 one.” “There’s evidence, you see.” “A villager who shared the 12:20 bus with you confirms you waved your hand mid-highway to board—exactly as you described.” “This is something Inspector Kanguri already knows well.” “When Inspector Kanguri interrogates us, he’s already investigated beyond our answers—he only comes to study our expressions.” “He’s quite the schemer.”

Tango remained silent and did not answer. “Now then, regarding those who could have committed Utsugi’s murder—starting with Mr. Tango here, as well as Dr. Yashiro of the spa group and Mrs. Utsugi—these two might have taken that shortcut and managed to kill Ms. Utsugi in a surprisingly short time, which isn’t entirely out of the question.” “Next, Mr. Miyake.” “At present, there appears to be no concrete evidence that Mr. Miyake took the first bus on the 3rd.” “Even if he did board it, he would have had to return from N Town after altering his appearance, commit the crime, and then go back.” “And at five in the evening, he boards the bus and returns home with an innocent look on his face.” “That doesn’t seem impossible.” “And finally, Dr. Ebizuka—you and the five individuals mentioned above cannot escape being suspects in this case.”

Kamiyama smirked and pulled out a notebook from his pocket.

"I may seem meddlesome, but having kept proper records beforehand, let me now reorganize the suspects in the four incidents I mentioned earlier." Chigusa's murder: Painter Doi. Dr. Utsumi. Dr. Kazuma. Dr. Yashiro. Dr. Miyake. Mr. Tango. However, Ms. Moroi’s perjury makes this feasible. Utsumi's murder: Mr. Tango. Mr. and Mrs. Hitomi. Mr. and Mrs. Kamiyama. Ms. Utsugi. Dr. Miyake. Mr. and Mrs. Yashiro. Others: Main house residents.

Kayoko's murder: Painter Doi. Mr. and Mrs. Tsubodaira. Mr. and Mrs. Kamiyama. Dr. Miyake. Mr. and Mrs. Kazuma. Mr. and Mrs. Yashiro. Dr. Kosei. Dr. Ebizuka. Utsugi’s murder: Mr. Tango. Mrs. Ayaka. Dr. Yashiro. Dr. Miyake. Dr. Ebizuka.

"That concludes the summary."

“Looking comprehensively across all cases, the individual with potential involvement is Dr. Yashiro.” “Dr. Yashiro’s wife possesses an alibi for the final Utsugi murder.” “Next: Mr. Miyake.” “Only these two individuals remain possible across all incidents.” “For the three cases, the viable candidates are Dr. Ebizuka and Mr. Tango.” “Now, everyone—”

“Truly a peculiar story indeed. Of the seven murder cases—Tamon’s murder, Tamaki’s murder, and Kayoko’s murder—these three clearly exhibit consistent motives, making them appear as the principal crimes when compared to the other four with scattered motives. Yet when examining the common suspects across these four cases, one finds that the individual connected to this primary motive does not appear among them.”

This explanation seemed to leave a profound impression on the people and stir considerable interest.

“Now, this is where the problem lies.” With an unhurried air and perfect composure, Kamiyama surveyed the people.

“So, what on earth does this mean?” "The first problem is whether these seven incidents, with their scattered motives, are therefore crimes committed by separate perpetrators." "Is it a coherently planned series of murders by the same perpetrator?" "In the former case—that they are separate crimes—it is, first and foremost, impossible from a common-sense standpoint." “For people to kill each other in such a haphazard, scattered manner—first of all, even within the abnormal world of artists, that would be rather impossible.” “It is entirely true that literary people are, by and large, master criminals.” “According to the so-called conventions of detective novels, it is said that a great detective is the front and back sides of a master criminal, but that does not seem to be the case.” “Novelists who create novels are two sides of the same coin as master criminals, but detectives are different.” “That’s because detectives are not creators but discoverers.” “According to Dr. Yashiro’s esteemed theory, Dr. Kosei possesses the makings of a great detective precisely because he is incapable of writing novels—and indeed, that is the absolute truth.” “And you see, that this is the absolute truth conversely means that you esteemed literary gentlemen generally possess the makings of master criminals.” "However, this also applies to lawyers." "This too pales in comparison to all of you distinguished ladies and gentlemen, but in any case—it’s also a profession that builds human connections." “However, compared to our ordinariness, you esteemed professionals are geniuses.” “We ordinary folk possess both criminal tendencies and detective talents, you see—whereas you genius professionals, utterly devoid of investigative ability, are thoroughly endowed with nothing but the makings of master criminals.”

Kamiyama was a man whose smile always seemed to contain both a timid-looking grin and a mocking sneer at once. "If we consider these seven incidents to be a series of coherently planned murders by the same perpetrator," he began, "then the question arises: why did the criminal construct these scattered, disconnected events? This is precisely the perpetrator's aim." "To obscure the true motive," he continued. "Either one or several of these crimes constitute the perpetrator's true objective, while the others are mere artifices designed to disguise that purpose." "Why would such artifice be necessary?" "Because once the motive becomes clear," he concluded, "the culprit is immediately exposed."

And then, Kamiyama Toyo began to say the same thing as Dr. Kosei. "What's the motive?"

When I asked him,

“Now, regarding the issue of that motive...”

And then, he gave another strange, knowing smile. "Given that esteemed master criminals are all gathered here, someone like me has no business discussing motives." "The most apparent motive may not necessarily be the criminal’s true motive; the most significant interest may not necessarily align with the criminal’s actual objective—is that not so?" “Dr. Kosei, what do you think?”

Dr. Kosei did not answer. Then Tango,

“Mr. Kamiyama, you listed the common suspects across four cases and stated that only Yashiro and Miyake are linked to all crimes—yet the person who should be the prime suspect for the most critical crime, the Utagawa family inheritance affair, has yet to appear.” “However, you’re forgetting there’s such a thing as accomplices.” “Even if they don’t share commonalities individually, isn’t it possible that two or several people could share them collectively?” “To begin with, seven people have been slaughtered one after another in just over half a month—and this under heavy police vigilance.” “It’s not something that can be done without accomplices.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Kamiyama nodded.

“However, you see,” “Regarding the Utagawa family’s situation—take Mr. and Mrs. Kazuma here as an example. Even if we were to consider these two as accomplices, there remains an undeniable fact that in Uchiumi’s murder, both parties are decisively impossible suspects.” “Do these two esteemed individuals have any other accomplices hidden somewhere?”

Then Kazuma said with a somewhat disdainful expression.

“Admittedly, I am a prime suspect—I acknowledge that. Since circumstances have reached this point, there’s nothing to be done about it. However, matters like suspicion or being a suspect—I have no memory of such things, so they don’t trouble me in the slightest. What fills me with unease—what truly preys on my mind—is August 9th. What sort of person could be scheming what? If I were to be killed this time on August 9th—what consequences would follow?”

Unlike his initial indignant vigor, as he continued speaking, his tone weakened, and through anxiety and terror, his face naturally contorted.

Dr. Kosei looked at the clock and stood up. "As the time has come, I must take my leave." "I intend to return by August 9th without fail, but everyone, please take care of yourselves." "After all, I've been utterly entranced by Kamiyama-san's grand deductions and completely lost track of time."

With only a cursory farewell, he rushed out in a frantic panic.

21. Secret Meeting, Torture, and Arrest

After breakfast, when I went out to the hot spring inn, the innkeeper looked at me warily and said,

“Again, yesterday was quite an ordeal...” “Oh, do you know?” “Yesterday, the police came here twice.” “Good grief.” When I inquired further, I learned that one visit had been from Inspector Kanguri and his team, while the later-arriving man was described as a nearly six-foot-tall brute resembling a sumo champion—this being Kamiyama Toyo. He was said to have exited through the side window to the stream, timing it with his watch as he walked away; but in truth, that morning as well, when Dr. Kosei hurriedly departed, he too went out as if chasing after him—undoubtedly heading to N Town to investigate Kihyoe’s alibi. He was a meddlesome busybody. However, being the scoundrel he was, his discerning eye was not one to be underestimated.

The innkeeper, unaware of the case's true nature, regarded me with visceral suspicion as if I were the murderer now that investigators had come—but truthfully, in this state, even I found myself bordering on absurd delusions, as if I’d committed slaughter during an epileptic seizure without realizing it. This was no time for work. Who could the killer be? My thoughts spiraled endlessly through such questions without coherence, leaving me incapable of writing a single character.

Kamiyama Toyo never returned that day. By dinner the next day, he still hadn’t come back. As we sat down to dinner, Dr. Ebizuka suddenly materialized, his pallid face lit by blazing eyes. He click-clacked his limping footsteps around half the table until stopping directly across from me. There sat Kihyoe. “Hypocrite! Miyake Kihyoe!” Dr. Ebizuka roared, thrusting his right arm out violently to point at Kihyoe’s profile as if skewering it. The gesture resembled a baseball umpire’s call but pulsed with such ferocity it seemed a spearman’s stance. Keeping his hand poised like a weapon, he ground his fingertip beneath Kihyoe’s ear.

“Hypocrite! Miyake Kihyoe!” “Hypocrite! Miyake Kihyoe!”

Once again, he bellowed even more fiercely, “On Sunday, August 3rd, you, Miyake Kihyoe, had a secret meeting with Moroi Kotoro in N Town. You—the other day, when you insulted me, what was it you shouted? You wear the mask of justice and condemn your wife’s infidelity, all while carrying on an affair with Moroi Kotoro! Here! Thou hypocrite, Miyake Kihyoe! What say you? Speak! Thou hypocrite! Miyake Kihyoe!”

At that moment, Kamiyama Toyo, without circling around the main house, opened the door from outside and entered the dining room. He stood transfixed in astonishment as he watched, but soon began laughing with evident amusement.

“Hypocrite, Miyake Kihyoe! Ah ha ha! Brilliant! Brilliant! What’s next? Dr. Ebizuka. Shall I tell you your next line? Pitifully enough—that attempted affair ended in failure! In truth, he’s just a rejected man! Ah ha ha!” Ebizuka too had been momentarily stunned by Kamiyama Toyo’s brazen interruption, but once Kamiyama’s words ended, he thrust out his arm again without hesitation and glared sharply at Miyake Kihyoe. “What say you? Thou hypocrite, Miyake Kihyoe!”

Unusually, the sound of a car horn resounded from the entrance as Inspector Kanguri and his men came clamoring into the house. When Ebizuka saw the group of police officers, he grew emboldened and thrust his finger sharply at Kihyoe. “Gentlemen! Behold! Hypocrite, Miyake Kihyoe! He wears the mask of justice—insults me—condemns his wife’s infidelity—this hypocrite conducts an affair with Moroi Kotoro!” With blazing intensity, he pointed at the hypocrite Kihyoe—but it was Ebizuka himself whom the officers flanking both sides seized by the arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?! Hey! You insolent fools! Behold! There—he is the hypocrite! Wearing the mask of justice—” Detectives Hatcho-bana and Nankawa Yuichiro each grabbed one of Ebizuka’s arms from either side and restrained the diminutive doctor as if hoisting him up. Inspector Kanguri stepped forward,

“Mr. Ebizuka.” “I’m terribly sorry.” “We must ask you to come with us.” With his arms seized, Ebizuka thrashed his legs wildly— “What madness is this?! You fools!” “There sits Miyake Kihyoe—the true hypocrite corrupting this world!” “Insolent curs!” “Now, Mr. Ebizuka,” “the police cannot adjudicate hypocrisy.” “That falls within Buddha’s and Christ’s jurisdiction.” Inspector Kanguri laughed—

“I’m terribly sorry, but setting aside hypocrites for now, we must first apprehend the perpetrator of assault. As the perpetrator who tortured Nurse Moroi Kotoro, inflicted numerous burns and stab wounds across her entire body, and reduced her to a critical, near-death state, we must first arrest Mr. Ebizuka Koji.”

Ebizuka was taken away by two detectives.

“My apologies for the disturbance.”

As Inspector Kanguri was about to leave,

“What on earth happened?”

When asked,

“No, this was sheer madness.” “This evening, after closing the hospital, the doctor locked the building, bound Nurse Moroi naked, gathered fire tongs along with surgical scalpels and scissors, and commenced a horrifying torture session.” “As a result—having forced a confession about the hypocrite Miyake Kihyoe—he came storming in here.” “We received reports of screams from neighbors and rushed to Ebizuka Clinic, only to find him acting like a raving lunatic.” “The scene was too gruesome to witness.” “Flesh seared, blood pooling everywhere, hair ripped out—and with the perpetrator being a doctor himself, there was no proper way to treat her.” “By sheer luck, Yomisugi—some sort of nursing graduate with medical knowledge—administered rough battlefield-style treatment. If she survives, that’ll be miracle enough.”

“Then does that mean he’s behind all the previous incidents too?” I asked, “No—we can’t know that until we investigate.”

With that, Inspector Kanguri left.

Kamiyama Toyo finally sat down in a chair. “Well now, that was truly astonishing.” “When he stormed into the dining room shouting ‘Hypocrite! You, Miyake Kihyoe!’—why, even I was completely dumbfounded.” “However, since yesterday through today, I’ve been investigating around N Town regarding this hypocrite Miyake Kihyoe.” “In truth, Nurse Moroi Kotoro’s confession contains certain inaccuracies.” “On August 3rd, the person Nurse Moroi secretly met was a black-market profiteer farmer from the neighboring village—while Mr. Miyake and Dr. Ebizuka waited at their respective inns, desperately anticipating Miss Moroi’s arrival, only to be cruelly stood up in the end.” “To lie and implicate Mr. Miyake’s name even amidst that fiery tongs torture—Miss Moroi proves herself a coldly intellectual schemer of remarkable composure.” “Indeed, she too possesses the makings of a master criminal.”

Kihyoe did not utter a single word. Indeed, when one considered how he had come to display such unexpected hatred toward Ebizuka, it made sense upon realizing how matters had developed between him and Nurse Moroi. He too was an effeminate, jealous, suspiciously-minded deviant. "So I hear you even investigated me at the spa inn. Is this how you're verifying everyone's alibis?"

When I asked Kamiyama Toyo,

“Yeah, that’s right. Being a lawyer at heart, this sort of thing suits my disposition perfectly. I investigated F Town too. Mr. Kazuma had an alibi, didn’t he? Mr. Tango’s no good. Mr. Tango did indeed take the 12:20 bus—just as I suspected. Staggering out onto the road and waving his hands in this swaying, swimming-like manner... Both the bus conductor and driver remembered it clearly. But Mr. Miyake—putting aside Miss Moroi’s situation—this concerns the first bus matter. You didn’t take the first bus, did you?”

Kamiyama stared at Kihyoe, but Kihyoe did not engage, showing no sign of response.

“Dr. Ebizuka began to suspect the relationship between Miss Moroi and yourself, Mr. Miyake.” “There exists concrete grounds for this suspicion.” “Because rather than taking the first bus, you boarded the 12:40 one—the same as Dr. Ebizuka’s—to N Town.” “Meaning you departed this house before seven-thirty.” “Yet you must have remained somewhere in this village until 12:40.” Kihyoe offered no reply. He made no attempt to respond. His complexion remained unchanged. There was nothing to change. Paling, features contorted, he kept his head bowed as though deaf to all words.

Tango said with heavy sarcasm,

“Kamiyama-kun, is playing detective so entertaining that you’d do it even when nobody asked?” Kamiyama Toyo didn’t so much as twitch. “Ah ha ha! When you’re living through this barrage of murders one after another, if you don’t get a little detective fever brewing, I’d say that’s what makes you a real oddball!”

That evening, just as we were about to go to bed, Hatcho-bana and Police Officer Nankawa Yuichiro were stationed at both ends of the second-floor staircases. This had been arranged since last night under Inspector Kanguri’s orders. Kazuma said to Hatcho-bana, “Hey, you’ve been working hard.” “But don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” “Huh? What is it?” “No, it’s just...” “Mr. Ebizuka is being detained, I presume.” “Yes, that’s correct.” “I don’t believe such stringent precautions are necessary anymore.”

“Hah. In any case, by the Inspector’s orders, we’re to proceed like this until August 9th.” Kazuma seemed somewhat relieved now that Ebizuka had been arrested.

22: "August 9th—The Fated Day" Even when night fell on August 8th, Dr. Kosei had not returned.

Since the fated August 9th would begin in the late hours of this very day, Ms. Atapin kept her eyes sharp and worked tirelessly in the dining room. Everyone had gathered in the dining room, but even the corridor lined with vacant rooms saw Hatcho-bana and Yomisugi stationed at both ends, maintaining an imposing show of vigilance. At dinner, Inspector Kanguri too was in attendance.

“August 8th, 8:00 p.m., huh? Everything’s eights today, isn’t it? During the war, we dealt with black marketeering and all sorts of covert schemes—but for us police, black marketeering’s the most troublesome thing of all. This case reeks of black marketeering through and through. Utterly disgraceful.”

At that moment, a call came from headquarters. Having heard this, Inspector Kanguri returned, “Well now, it seems Mr. Ebizuka is currently delivering quite the speech in the protective custody room at headquarters. They say tonight will see a grand massacre unfold in this house—by divine providence no less—and that Mr. Ebizuka’s very soul might come haunting here tonight. Why, it could already be lurking in some shadowy corner as we speak.” “Furthermore, Moroi Kotoro has been admitted to the prefectural hospital in critical condition—her prognosis appears hopeless.” “The authorities have compelling reasons to keep her alive and are exhausting every treatment option. That woman reportedly possesses extraordinary willpower seldom seen in this world.” “They say even in unconsciousness her resolve persists—she scarcely utters a single delirious word.”

After all, had this case still not ended? I looked at Kazuma's face—he too seemed to be growing uneasy again. Today marked Old Tanmon and Ms. Kayoko's fourteenth-day memorial services, but with tomorrow being the first anniversary of the controversial Lady O-Kaji's passing—an event that would normally warrant an elaborate ceremony—the consecutive murders and its coincidence with this fated day meant attendees would inevitably feel unsettled, and errors were more likely to occur. Thus, the memorial services were postponed until next year. Only a Buddhist priest's sutra chanting remained.

Kamiyama turned to Inspector Kanguri and said, “Hmm, indeed.” “Truly, that nurse was downright criminal-like indeed.” “First of all, her eyes—with that bit of white showing above and below the iris—when they fixed on you intently, there was something truly fearsome about them.” “By the way, will the incident actually occur on August ninth?” “If we could get that clearly sorted out, we’d be in the clear—but alas, we lack Dr. Ebizuka’s clairvoyance or divine insight.” “Mr. Kamiyama, I hear you’ve been conducting an exceptionally meticulous investigation. What does your insight suggest?” “Might I ask you to share your frank opinion without reservation?”

“Inspector, there’s one matter I’d like to ask regarding the estimated time of the crime derived from the autopsy results. Is that considered absolutely definitive?”

“Well...” “First, while it is considered nearly certain, I cannot state it as absolute.” “Fortunately, in this case—though there are seven incidents—the bodies were discovered promptly, with the latest being Ms. Utsugi’s twenty hours postmortem. Therefore, while the estimated time is considered nearly certain, we ourselves do not treat it as absolute.” “What was the state of Ms. Chigusa’s blindfold?”

“Well, regarding that...” “This was Ms. Chigusa’s personal dark blue cloth. It had been folded into two—shaped into a triangular bandage—wrapped from her forehead around to the back and tied there.” “In other words, the triangular bandage hung limply down from her face to her chest.” “Therefore, they strangled her neck with a rope over the cloth hanging against her chest and killed her.” “So you mean...” “Given the culprit was intimately acquainted with her, they might have suggested playing hide-and-seek—blindfolding her before strangling her neck. One could reasonably imagine such a scenario.”

“As per your theory.” “At any rate, we may have to consider that she blindfolded herself by mutual agreement.”

Doi bellowed from the side, “Well then, what’s the damn deal? While she was playing hide-and-seek, some actual demon showed up and strangled her!” Kamiyama snorted— “Surely you don’t think a young lady of marrying age would trek all the way to Miwayama just for hide-and-seek?” “Nah nah—they’d totally do it. Not even close!”

Doi’s face turned serious, “With an ugly hag like Chigusa and some parasite poet, there’s no way they could do anything proper.” “Could they possibly manage something as trite as hugging and kissing like normal people?” “Compared to that, hide-and-seek is something they’d be way more likely to do.” “So Dr. Utsumi would slip into some hiding spot and conceal himself.” “Then a real demon comes and strangles him.” “How’s that?” “Even as a mere fantasy, there’s some artistic realism to this!” “If you concoct everything this way, even murder becomes something worthy of artistic appreciation, doesn’t it?”

Inspector Kanguri also burst into laughter, “Oh, absolutely. The intuition and imagination of artists can sometimes manifest clairvoyant powers. Perhaps that very aspect might very well be the truth. In that case—to make use of everyone’s artistic clairvoyance—I shall disclose this: during the first incident, Mr. Mochizuki Ouni’s case, a single bell from Mrs. Utsugi Akiko’s indoor slippers was found lying beneath the corpse’s bed. With your clairvoyant powers, what does this amount to?”

“No—that’s it! Exactly, you Inspector—that’s it! That’s precisely how it must be! Isn’t everything perfectly clear?” Pikaichi’s eyes gleamed as he shouted.

Ms. Ayaka sank into terror, opened her eyes wide, and stared at the inspector.

“Since marrying into the Utagawa household, I have never once entered the room where Mr. Mochizuki stayed.” “Hmm. Even this fox has some nerve, I’ll give her that.”

Pikaichi involuntarily groaned.

“Even your excuses—spoutin’ ’em here—gotta shock people.” “Since marrying into this household, I’ve never set foot in there”—the nerve of you to spout that crap! “This ain’t some Turkish or Indian harem—it’s just two measly buildings that’d be packed with ten people!” “Upstarts who’ve never seen the wider world go spoutin’ outrageous nonsense.” “This tiny place ain’t a harem—it’s the cooks’ crash pad!” “A ‘considerate’ mosquito don’t go suckin’ blood in every room all night long.” “Don’t take me for a fool!”

Ms. Ayaka was glaring at Pikaichi with her beautiful eyes filled with anger.

Inspector Kanguri nodded as if mediating, “Well, it must be as you say, Madam.” “That bell was certainly not dropped by you in that room.” “Because beneath the bed had been wiped clean with Mr. Mochizuki’s suit jacket.” “And on top of that surface, only a single bell had been placed there.”

This time, Kamiyama Toyo groaned.

“That is a strange mystery, isn’t it?” “So you mean the culprit intentionally left Mrs. Utsugi Akiko’s bell behind?” “Hmm, indeed.” “The bell aside—why would someone wipe under the bed? What do your clairvoyant powers make of this?” No one answered.

Inspector Kanguri waited patiently, but when there was no response, “Well then, one more thing—this isn’t clairvoyance.” “I would like to request everyone’s advice—though it concerns a rather indelicate matter. Given the gravity of the situation, I must ask for your utmost cooperation in addressing this most seriously.” “In fact, as you all know, this case has repeatedly involved lovers—it seems to be a defining characteristic—and there is reason to suspect that Ms. Utsugi Akiko’s visit to Miwayama Mountain was also for the sake of a lover.” “If it was for a lover, who would the other party be?” “It need not be here at this gathering.” “If anyone could offer us advice, we would be most grateful.”

“That’s… Well, that’s just how it is.” “That woman doesn’t go traipsing through mountains and forests for no reason.” “But that ain’t nothin’ rude at all.” “Inspector, you fail to recognize the sublime truth of human nature itself.” “Ms. Utsugi was a lady of noble virtue and deep passion—truly worthy of love and respect.” “To kill such a passionate, tragic beauty—now that’s one detestable culprit.” “But a woman like that wouldn’t get killed by her actual lover.” “See, given half a chance, she’d up and grace the next man—this one’s the clingy type, pesky as hell, with that wicked woman’s lingering sweetness—but all just skin-deep.” “Truth is, she wasn’t the bothersome sort at all.”

“Ha ha ha!” Kamiyama, unable to endure it any longer, burst out laughing.

“You truly live up to your reputation, Painter Doi.” “You just keep going on about your own feelings.” “But you—when a man kills a woman, it’s not always about some wicked woman’s clinging affections or a persistent pest.” “The man might be smitten, but the woman slips away.” “As you yourself said—given time, she moves to the next man. Doesn’t that make her prime killing material?” “Getting murdered over that happens way more often in the real world, don’t you think?” “You’re truly awful, Painter Doi.” “You only ever grasp your own twisted perspective!”

“Nah, what I’m sayin’ is—the actual lover wouldn’t kill her.” “Then perhaps you’re that lover yourself, Mr. Doi?”

Then, Kamiyama Toyo burst out guffawing. "But why on earth would someone go traipsing off to mountains or forests for a lover? If there's a gentleman's room available, that would be far more suitable." "Well, you see—lately security's been tight, with detectives stationed everywhere. Haah—you can't just slip into that person's room." "You can't exactly put it that way." "Truly sinful behavior." "But did you actually go out to meet a lover?" "Is that evidence even reliable?"

When questioned by Kamiyama, Inspector Kanguri—uncharacteristically flustered— “The fact is, several types of items—of a nature used exclusively for lovers—were discovered in Ms. Utsugi’s handbag.” “Or would a lady like yourself carry such things year-round?” “That’s precisely a lady’s decorum.” “Folks’ve been sayin’ that since time immemorial.” “Cross the threshold, and seven foes await.” “In all creation, there’s no grace more vital than this.” “Inspector, you reduce human nature to mere base appetites.”

“Oh no, I’m terribly obliged.”

Inspector Kanguri, without showing anger, smirked and bowed once to Painter Doi.

Having finished their meal, the group moved to the hall.

On the central pillar of the hall, a single sheet of paper was pasted.

“Oh? What’s this?”

The one who spotted it and was first to peer at it was Tango. “Well, well. It’s appeared again, huh? August 9th—the fated day, is it? It’s one of those popular posters going around these days, huh?” Tango dismissed it entirely with a joke, but we were shocked.

Kazuma glared at the paper, stood frozen, his face twisting as if seized by a spasm. It was only natural. While Ebizuka had been arrested, he must have reassured himself inwardly. There was no way Ebizuka’s soul had come rolling in like a fireball, pasted the paper, and was now holding its breath in some corner. Suddenly becoming aware, I noticed Inspector Kanguri glaring at each person’s face with eyes sharp as spitting fire, devouring them one by one.

Postscript: At long last, the time has come to receive your answers. As I have repeatedly stated, Dr. Kosei will not deduce the culprit from facts unknown to you all. However, while the conclusive evidence he discovered during his journey remains unknown to you, it must be noted that this was something Dr. Kosei deduced from facts already known to you—meaning that regarding the basis for identifying the culprit, you all equally possess the entirety of Dr. Kosei's knowledge.

Now, regarding your answers: merely guessing the culprit’s name won’t do. Your reasoning must be substantial enough to bring to court and secure an indictment. Your reasoning may be as long as necessary, but please make it as concise and to the point as possible. It is acceptable even if not on manuscript paper. You may use letter paper if necessary, but please ensure to write in clear block letters—I earnestly request this.

The destination for answers is: Japan Shosetsusha. Please write "Detective Novel Solution" on the envelope. I must apologize for having blown away so much hot air in these postscripts, but my humble intention as the author is simply this: to offer you all an intellectual diversion—a gift of playful respite for a few days or hours in this godforsaken world—and to let us innocently smooth out the wrinkles from our stern brows together.

Therefore, I will not commit the heartless act of publishing misguided answers and absurd deductions to embarrass you all, so please feel at ease and submit your solutions. I dislike splitting the prize money, so I will present it in full to the single most outstanding answer. However, even if none of the submissions correctly identify the culprit, I hereby pledge to present the full prize amount to the single most outstanding solution. If there exists someone who can deduce things as perfectly as Dr. Kosei, then that would truly mark the author’s utter defeat. That solving requires far greater talent than creating is self-evident; those who pen flawless answers are undoubtedly Japan’s greatest detectives. By framing it this grandly, however, I mean to say—Ah-hah-hah—that no such genius exists, a fact equally self-evident.

Well, the author's performance has come to an end. Now begins everyone's passionate performance—here we go, East and West!

The deadline is April 15th, Showa 23 (1948).

Sakaguchi Ango

Twenty-Three: The Final Tragedy

Security measures that night were tightened to the utmost.

At the top of the Western-style mansion’s staircase, in front of my room stood Detective Yomisugi, while in front of Kazuma and Ayaka’s quarters, Hatcho-bana stood resolutely—each glaring at the opposing doors from both ends of the hallway. Downstairs, Inspector Kanguri and Officer Nankawa had even prepared an emergency ladder and were observing the garden. The reserve patrol was Madame Atapin, who paced idly along the upstairs hallway; whenever anyone from our group went to the restroom, she would escort them with meticulous care, and even when the maid brought water to sober us up, Madame Atapin would first take it and test for poison.

Then, Hatcho-bana gruffly snatched the cup away, his face twisted in anger— “Give it to me.”

“What are you doing?” “I’ll test it for poison.” He took a gulp. “Oh my!” Madame Atapin was startled; as she stared at Hatcho-bana, her face visibly welled up with profound emotion,

“Oh my, oh my, you’re so kind. You care about me that much? Aren’t I thrilled? If you’re that earnest, I’ll marry you.” Hatcho-bana glared sullenly, “Don’t spout nonsense! I’ve already got a wife!” “What’s the fuss? Having a wife or two doesn’t ruffle you one bit. I’ll be your wife too. I hate being the mistress, see? What’s wrong with two wives? I’ll dote on half of you. If it’s everyone, they’ll get too spoiled to handle!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” “You’re such a fool.” “Love’s just right when split about half each.” “So I’ll just dote on Yoncho-bana here.” “Hmm, I see.” “You must be thrilled. Come on, just a little.”

When Madame Atapin poked his cheek, Hatcho-bana went limp. Madame Atapin was thoroughly worked up,

“Tonight’s just wonderful, isn’t it?” “Let’s hold our wedding with fugu cuisine in Tokyo this autumn.” “You’ve got savings, right?” “Don’t embarrass me.” “There, there. I’ll let you eat some fugu.”

What a bizarre, sordid commotion! To think that any demon or murderer would be too ashamed to show themselves amidst such squalor—that’s mere amateur conjecture. Then, around four in the morning, from beyond the door to that sordid affair came a piercing scream. It was Kazuma and Madame Ayaka’s room.

The sound of a desperate struggle could be heard. The sound of collapsing from exhaustion. And the sounds came to an end.

They pushed the door, but since it was locked, “Hey, you two—don’t move from this spot!”

Hatcho-bana ran down to the lower floor. They set up the ladder they had prepared beforehand and, together with Inspector Kanguri, broke through the window from outside and entered. Because the lights were off, the two of them illuminated the room with the flashlights they had prepared.

A person lay collapsed on the floor. Madame Ayaka lay on her back with her chest exposed, and collapsed in a heap on top of her was Kazuma.

“Don’t disturb the crime scene. Search for the switch and turn on the lights.” Upon receiving Inspector Kanguri’s order, Hatcho-bana turned on the lights. When they lifted Kazuma up, he had already died after his agonizing struggle. On the desk sat a half-drunk glass of water, white powder scattered around it. It appeared to be potassium cyanide.

Blood flowed from Madame Ayaka’s mouth as well. When they shifted Kazuma aside and attempted to lift Madame Ayaka, she opened her eyes. “What happened?”

There was no answer from Madame Ayaka. As she lay there with eyes half-open, her consciousness seemed to return abruptly. Her eyes filled with anguish, she tried to move her neck. When the two of them moved closer and lifted her up, they noticed blood flowing from her mouth and displayed desperate horror; but after making her rinse and treating the injury, they found she had merely bitten her tongue—it was no major wound.

Madame Ayaka had completely regained her senses and adjusted her collar, but upon noticing Kazuma’s corpse laid to the side, she let out a small, despairing scream.

“What has happened?” “Please try to remember.” Inspector Kanguri stared sharply at Madame, waiting for her response, but for a while, she merely returned his gaze with equal intensity. “When did you all arrive?”

“We just arrived now,” said Inspector Kanguri. “Hearing noises from inside the room, we set up a ladder outside, smashed through the window, removed the lock, and jumped in. What happened?” Madame Ayaka lifted Kazuma’s corpse onto her lap, but finding no response, looked up at them as if in prayer. Inspector Kanguri shook his head. Her vacant eyes returned their emptiness. After lowering the corpse from her lap, she braced against the bed to stand, lingered pensively, then walked from bed to desk to chair—leaning against each—until reaching the window. A cool wind blew through the shattered pane. She seemed to settle into calm.

Dawn was creeping in. Madame Ayaka returned and sat down on the bed.

“Were the lights on?” “No, we turned them on when we jumped in.” Madame Ayaka nodded.

“My husband remained awake until late at night. Whenever I awoke, the lights were still on, and he would be sitting at his desk engaged in some task. Then when I suddenly came to again, the room had gone dark. Someone was pressing down on my neck. When I startled and tried to rise, my husband’s voice said ‘It’s me,’ and his grip loosened slightly—though not with enough force to feel truly murderous at that moment—leaving me in such utter confusion that I only managed to push myself halfway up in shock. He gently tried to draw me closer then, saying ‘I’m going to die. Die with me. There’s no hope left for me now.’”

Inspector Kanguri nodded and urged her to continue.

“I was stunned and asked, ‘What do you mean, you’re done for?’ Instead of an answer came a low ‘Ugh’—a guttural groan. Suddenly I felt violent force seize me, my head jerked backward. I fought back frantically. Then I tumbled down... after that, I remember nothing.” Inspector Kanguri nodded.

“Please try to think more carefully. Did your husband say anything else?” Madame Ayaka was thinking but shook her head. “I see. ‘Die with me. I’m done for.’ I see. Because the police have gotten involved, it’s no good—that’s how he put it, I suppose?” “No, that’s incorrect.” Madame Ayaka said decisively. “He didn’t say it like that. He only said, ‘I’m done for.’ My husband had become pitifully haggard after coming to the bedroom last night. He was irritable and couldn’t stay still for a moment—utterly terrified. This was because he’d seen that threatening poster on the entrance pillar, and I knew exactly why. My husband had believed Dr. Ebizuka was the culprit, so he’d been feeling relieved ever since that man’s arrest. That’s why the shock of that poster was too much for him. Anxiety and terror made even sleeping first seem daunting, but whenever I awoke, my husband remained at his desk, lost in thought.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded. And he began examining Kazuma’s corpse anew. There were wounds on his face and hands where Madame Ayaka had scratched him in her resistance, his pajamas were torn, and the buttons on his chest had flown off.

“That was close.”

Having finished his examination, Inspector Kanguri said.

“It’s fortunate you lost consciousness. If you’d kept resisting, you wouldn’t have survived. Assuming you were dead, your husband resolved to commit suicide.” “Why is that?” “I regret to inform you that your husband was responsible for all these tragedies. We knew it. However, we couldn’t make an arrest due to lack of physical evidence.”

“That’s incorrect.”

Madame Ayaka shouted. "I know perfectly well. "When we went to the dining room last night, there was no threatening poster on the pillar. "I distinctly remember glancing at it casually at the time, so there can be no mistake. "And my husband entered the dining room with me, never once leaving his seat until the meal ended." "Quite right." Inspector Kanguri nodded with an expression that mingled discomfort and awkwardness, but—

“Actually, we were the ones who placed that threatening poster.” “August 9th, the fated day.” “In other words, the fated day for the culprit.” “This irony should have gotten through to none but the culprit.” With a somewhat triumphant look as he disregarded the stunned Madame Ayaka, Inspector Kanguri then ordered Hatcho-bana to open the door for the first time.

The forensic team from the main police station arrived around 10:30, having hurried by car. A little past eleven o'clock, Dr. Kosei returned.

As I stood dazedly in the hall, overwhelmed by the unexpected outcome of the Utagawa family's demise, Dr. Kosei came rushing in from the dining room entrance.

“A police car went and overtook me on the road, so I recklessly started running, but I’ve been out of shape lately.”

Just as he was catching his breath, Inspector Kanguri and his group descended from the second floor.

“Oh, Dr.osei, have you returned?” “You were a step too late.” “While you were away, the tragedy has finally reached its conclusion.”

“Has it ended? Then was Mr. Utagawa killed?” “No—Mr. Utagawa Kazuma committed suicide.” Dr. Kosei’s complexion changed. His face bore an expression of anguish bordering on collapse and utter dejection. “Damn! I was too late! I am an idiot. No sleep, no rest. But, ah—what a blunder of a lifetime!”

The agonizing pain of despairing regret was etched into him.

Inspector Kanguri began to laugh, “You seem to have been terribly busy.” “No sleep, no rest?” “How tragic for you.” “However, we too had a sleepless night last night.” “But in any case, it seems things have settled where they should.” A terrible anger filled Dr. Kosei’s entire body. “You damn beast! I won’t let you escape now.” “Ah, but I was too late!” But there was no helping it. “I have no face left to save now, but I’ll at least strip off the mask.”

“Whose mask do you plan to strip off?” “The culprit’s.” “Mr. Utagawa Kazuma committed suicide.” Inspector Kanguri answered calmly, but Dr. Kosei paid it no heed.

“Did Mr. Utagawa die from poison?” “Correct—potassium cyanide.” “Is there a suicide note?” “No. However, we found something he wrote and erased repeatedly throughout the night.” “The erasures are so thorough it’s illegible, but he may have intended to compose a suicide note.” “It’s currently undergoing forensic analysis.”

Dr. Kosei nodded. "I had thought at least a suicide note would have been prepared." "I had anticipated this murder." "I knew it had already been arranged to be carried out as a suicide." "At the time of the first murder—the killing of Mr. Mochizuki Ouni—preparations had already been made for Mr. Utagawa to be killed in the guise of suicide." Dr. Kosei's resolute manner of assertion left even Inspector Kanguri looking utterly dumbfounded.

“Anyway, let us adjourn to another room.” “I shall elucidate the techniques of this abominable killer.” Dr. Kosei motioned for Inspector Kanguri and the detectives to follow him. The officers trailed after him with evident reluctance, departing the scene.

24. The Culprit Appears?

At lunchtime, Dr. Kosei and the police officers did not appear in the dining room. Around the time lunch ended, Ms. Atapin arrived and commanded everyone to remain where they were. When the dishes were cleared away, the Nagumo elderly couple, Ms. Shitae, even the Tsubohei couple—all parties involved filed in and took their seats. The police officers and Dr. Kosei’s group followed suit, and about a dozen uniformed and plainclothes officers took up positions along the walls, forming a full perimeter. Dr. Kosei took the seat at the head of the table.

Dr. Kosei wore a somewhat somber, resigned expression and quietly began to speak. “Since this culprit fancies themselves a refined tea connoisseur, I’d vainly hoped they might delay their final crime until my return.” “Unlike urgent murders like Chigusa’s or Utsumi’s that demanded immediate action, this last act had been fully prepared during Ouni’s killing—the first murder—ready for execution at any moment.” “There’s no undoing it now.” “I’d counted on the killer’s confidence, but when August ninth—that fated day—dawned with those posters appearing, they seized the chance to stage their grand finale spectacularly.”

Kamiyama Toyo interjected. "We of the Canned Crew have been greatly troubled by rampant rumors since earlier, but about Kazuma-san—suicide or murder—please make it clear, one way or the other."

“That goes without saying—it’s murder.” “Ha.” “How strange.” “And the culprit?”

Dr. Kosei did not answer that. He then stared at Kamiyama Toyo for a while before speaking. "Mr. Kamiyama. With your keen observational skills, you deduced the culprit's possible methods the other day. Could you please review the circumstances of that fourth instance - Utsumi's murder - once more?" "I see." "That night - correct - Painter Doi was shouting in front of Madame Akiko's door. Are we discussing possibilities arising from that incident?"

“No—before that—first we had finished our meal and were in the hall.” “Around nine-something? Madam Oyuya arrived with Nurse Moroi and reported Ms. Chigusa’s disappearance.” Then Nurse Moroi made an unexpected statement. “She claimed Ms. Chigusa had gone to Aibiki.” “The reason she knew this was because Ms. Chigusa had shown her a note from a man summoning her to Aibiki—a note Madame Akiko had been requested by that man to deliver—and she had read the man’s name written there.” “When asked ‘Who is this man?’, she replied it could not be disclosed.” “And then…”

Dr. Kosei said up to that point and then urged Kamiyama to continue. “Indeed, my notes should have been quite accurately entered, but...”

Then, after Kamiyama checked his notes, “Immediately after that, first, Dr. Ebizuka suddenly shouted ‘You bastard!’ and stormed off, whereupon Painter Doi and Madame Akiko’s fierce struggle commenced.” “What was the cause of that deadly fight?” “Since that isn’t clear—and thus not in my notes—in short, it was probably over some trivial reason.”

Dr. Kosei nodded.

“That’s precisely what’s crucial here.” “In other words, the fight started from such a trivial pretext—one with no clear reason, so insignificant that it wasn’t even noted in your memo.” “It all began when Dr. Ebizuka shouted ‘You bastard!’ and stormed off; then Painter Doi burst into raucous laughter and declared, ‘This place is a nest of sex-crazed lunatics—a veritable brothel!’” Upon hearing this, Madame Akiko flared up in indignation and shouted, “You rogue! You’re the one who should go back to Tokyo!” This marked the beginning of their brawl. “And then…”

Dr. Kosei urged Kamiyama once more. Kamiyama nodded,

“Indeed, that’s exactly how it was.” “Is it due to Painter Doi’s foul mood? Mr. Doi does show some signs of drunken violence.” He suddenly pounced on Madame Akiko and flailed about. Madame Akiko’s clothes were torn to shreds. Finally, we broke in and separated them. Then, even as they were being pulled apart, the two continued shouting at each other. In the blink of an eye, Painter Doi had already begun fiercely pursuing Madame Akiko, chasing her from the dining room into the dark garden. We gave chase again, seized Painter Doi—who was beating Madame Akiko beneath a pine tree—and managed to separate them, but no sooner had we thought this settled than Madame Akiko bolted furiously once more, this time fortunately escaping into her bedroom and locking the door. Then, grabbing at anyone who approached, Painter Doi kept shouting in front of Madame Akiko’s bedroom until past twelve-thirty. It was during that time that Utsumi’s murder was committed, and alibis held for the second-floor residents—starting with Painter Doi, who had continued shouting—since one couldn’t descend downstairs without evading his notice. “However, since Painter Doi was thoroughly drunk and reportedly has no memory of this commotion, someone might have gone downstairs and killed Ms. Utsumi.” “This is where things become extremely delicate.”

“Who are those who absolutely could not have committed the crime?” “That would unquestionably be Madame Akiko and Painter Doi—those two.”

Dr. Kosei nodded. And his eyes, sweeping over the assembled group, blazed with fierce intensity.

“Ladies and gentlemen. “This murder case was likely planned more than ten months ago. “Undoubtedly, one of the culprits disguised themselves and traveled to this area, thoroughly investigating even the backroads leading to Miwa Mountain, thereby devising an extremely meticulous plan. “The culprit apparently grew a beard temporarily around this spring, and it is believed that during that period, they traveled to this area and thoroughly familiarized themselves with the local geography. “While they had planned with such meticulousness, unavoidable circumstances forced them to carry out murders that deviated from their original design. “The murders of Chigusa and Utsumi were those instances. “Given that the culprit was meticulous from the start, they had anticipated emergencies deviating from their plan and made preparations for such occasions, so the murder of Chigusa was carried out without difficulty. “Then they noticed an unforeseen blunder. “And so, no matter what, the necessity arose to kill Ms. Utsumi that very night. “From the beginning, they had anticipated such situations arising and had undoubtedly arranged methods to handle emergencies. “And just as planned, they managed to execute this method quite skillfully and complete their arrangement; however, desk-bound plans often have oversights somewhere, and this time the culprit left behind not a physical tool but a psychological footprint. “However, given that this was a plan devised by a truly ingenious culprit, even though Japan’s foremost psychologists were gathered here, masters of your caliber have still failed to notice this footprint. “I too was only able to notice this footprint considerably later.”

Dr. Kosei let out a chagrined sigh. "This psychological footprint was likely the sole trace left by the culprit in this case. For them, Utsumi's murder represented both a life-or-death crisis and what might be called the decisive moment - the single critical point." "Then what exactly is this sole footprint left by the culprit?" "This I shall explain naturally by following the sequence of the crime, beginning first with stating the culprit's name."

The group's tense agitation quickly subsided as Dr. Kosei remained utterly nonchalant, as though it were nothing. Dr. Kosei turned toward Kamiyama,

“As I’ve already heard earlier, who are the individuals for whom Utsumi’s murder was most impossible?”

“Madame Akiko and Painter Doi.” Dr. Kosei nodded,

“Precisely. Painter Doi is first and foremost the most impossible.” “Because he had been continuously shouting from the same position.” “And that position was also an ideal vantage point that commanded a view of all your doors and monitored comings and goings.” “If any of you had shown your face at the door, Mr. Doi would have surely lunged at you while shouting.” “Because by doing so, they needed to confine all of you to your rooms and during that time have someone else kill Ms. Utsumi.” “In other words, while creating his own alibi, Painter Doi was simultaneously fulfilling an even more critical role—that of a lookout.” And under the cover of Painter Doi’s ingenious surveillance, Madame Akiko slipped out of her room, descended to the lower floor, stabbed Ms. Utsumi to death in a frenzied attack, and returned. With the cover of Painter Doi’s surveillance, Madame Akiko remained perfectly composed—washing and disposing of the dagger, cleansing her bloodied limbs, and leisurely returning to her room. However, fearing what might happen, they went to Ms. Utsumi’s bedroom the next morning to wake her, and the incident was discovered. In other words, at that time, such a convenience had been arranged that even if fingerprints had been left somewhere, they could have been explained away. Prior to the discovery of the incident, Madame Akiko could have hidden her bloodstained clothes anywhere outside the Western-style residence’s living quarters; alternatively, she might have gone to kill Ms. Utsumi wearing nothing but her drawers; or perhaps she ventured out entirely naked, not a stitch of clothing on her body. “It was a life-or-death moment of desperate gamble, and there they had staked their entire intellect and daring.”

Pikā's derisive laughter erupted.

“Oh Great Detective. What’s this ‘psychological footprint’ nonsense instead of an actual pry bar? Hey now, Mr. Bigshot Detective—we’re talking about the killer behind eight murders here. At least pretend to take it seriously. This ain’t some cheap farce or rakugo comedy act. You can’t wrap this up with your half-baked guesswork. How about showing us some real evidence for once?”

Dr. Kosei’s expression did not change in the slightest. And then, quietly, he nodded.

“As for the footprint—not a pry bar—I will explain it in due course by following the sequence of events. First, I will begin by explaining from the first instance of the crime in sequence. It is likely that Painter Doi and Madame Akiko, upon learning that Mr. Kazuma Utagawa had developed an intense infatuation after reuniting with Madame Akiko and that the Utagawa family was an exceptional asset holder of their era, planned their divorce with calculated intent to have Madame Akiko marry Mr. Kazuma—in other words, their murder scheme had been predetermined even before the marriage. Painter Doi deliberately had a falling-out with Madame Akiko and even obstinately extorted a severance payment from her. Creating such bitter seeds of discord was indeed one of the most essential preparations required for executing this plan.”

“Ridiculous.” “So when it’s in the Great Detective’s hands, even our bad blood becomes proof we’re accomplices?” “Let’s hear some concrete evidence, shall we?” Dr. Kosei remained composed and did not respond. “When Madame Akiko married Mr. Kazuma last autumn, she exhaustively investigated and reported on every detail of the Utagawa family’s circumstances—the rumors of O-Kaji’s unnatural death, the circumstances surrounding Kayoko’s mother’s death, Tamaki’s pregnancy—all were reported, there the materials were compiled, Painter Doi disguised himself and traveled to this area to meticulously survey the geography, and thus their preparations were complete.” “Madame Akiko skillfully incited Ms. Tamaki to first invite Mr. Mochizuki Ouni, Mr. Tango Yumihiko, and Mr. Utsumi Akira.” “Since the three guests had accepted their invitations, they sent Mr. Kazuma something resembling a threatening letter that went on about who had killed O-Kaji-sama, and invited Mr. Miyake and Mr. and Mrs. Yashiro as guests.” “At this time, as per the longstanding plan, four uninvited guests—Mr. Doi, Mr. and Mrs. Kamiyama, and myself—were summoned and assembled accordingly.” “The mechanism lay hidden in this: by having Mr. Kamiyama—a disliked individual—appear alongside another disliked individual, Painter Doi, an unexpected naturalness was given to the notion of ‘uninvited guests’; meanwhile, by nominating an amateur detective like myself, a criminal implication was infused into the proceedings, thereby engineering Painter Doi’s incongruous presence to seem anything but unnatural.” “Moreover, both Painter Doi and Madame Akiko were complete strangers to me.” “Probably, Madame Akiko became aware of my existence through dinner table conversations at the Utagawa household, but in summoning an unknown amateur detective like myself lay the ingenuity of their scheme.” “Thus, with all the intended members assembled, the first crime was carried out as planned that very day.”

From my seat, I couldn’t get a clear view of Madame Akiko’s face, but the glimpse I caught of her in that moment showed an expression of earnest attention to some grave, substantive conversation—innocent as a young girl’s, appearing utterly devoid of ulterior meaning.

Twenty-Five: Fatal Mistake Dr. Kosei continued speaking. "We must not forget that crimes being committed starting on the very day of Painter Doi’s arrival constituted the most advantageous condition for him as the sole newcomer to this household." Not only that, but Painter Doi alone—due to Madame Akiko’s rancor-filled directive—had been refused residence on the same upper floor and was instead assigned a room in the Japanese-style quarters downstairs. "This too was one of their meticulously planned stratagems." "When first intending to kill Mr. Ouni, they adopted the method of administering a sleeping draught before stabbing him to death. As Mr. Ouni was a powerfully built giant who frequently interacted with women, rendering him unconscious first was necessary to prevent resistance. However, relying solely on the sleeping draught risked casting suspicion upon Madame Akiko. For these reasons, they employed this elaborate method of drugging followed by stabbing." "Now, when it came time to add the sleeping draught to the geranium root decoction, a single miscalculation occurred." "This miscalculation ultimately proved fatal, necessitating Chigusa’s murder and subsequently Utsumi’s murder—thereby forcing you both into an unintended predicament."

Painter Doi appeared as though he had washed his hands of the matter. "Now, while the geranium root was being decocted, soba noodles were being prepared in the kitchen—a time when Mr. and Mrs. Tsubodaira, observer Ms. Utsugi Akiko, along with Chigusa-san and Madame Akiko were present." Madame Akiko alone was making meat pies in a separate area—near where the geranium root was being decocted—while the other group of people were gathered in a distant spot on the opposite side. At that moment, as per their prearranged plan, Painter Doi made a boisterous entrance—dangling a six-foot blue serpent beneath the dining room windows, declaring he would subdue the chicken-swallowing giant snake, slice open its belly, and provide supper’s side dish. The plan succeeded perfectly—everyone leaned out the windows to watch as Mr. Tsubodaira, the snake enthusiast, cooperatively jumped down from his window. This created the opportunity for Madame Akiko to administer the sleeping drug. But there existed one contrarian: Ms. Chigusa, a young lady who turned up her nose in disdain at Painter Doi’s passionate performance. Her appearance brought about the plan’s catastrophic collapse. "In other words, they were forced to continue their desperate spree of crimes—first Chigusa’s murder, followed by Utsumi’s."

“So I take it Chigusa-san had witnessed the scene where the sleeping drug was administered.”

Kamiyama Toyo inquired in a rather disinterested voice. “She hadn’t actually witnessed the scene,” Dr. Kosei replied. “Chigusa-san believed the culprit was Tamaki-san. Since Tamaki-san had transferred the decoction into the flask and cooled it, she remained convinced of this.” He adjusted his glasses, the lamplight catching their lenses. “However, we discovered the sleeping drug hadn’t been added to the flask—it had been administered earlier to the decoction kettle. Moreover, Tamaki-san herself was killed.” At this, Chigusa-san suddenly noticed. Having ignored Painter Doi’s serpent theatrics while positioned directly across from Madame Akiko, she realized the only person who had approached the decoction—aside from Tamaki-san—was Madame Akiko herself. “When I informed everyone of Tamaki-san’s strangulation,” Dr. Kosei continued, “Chigusa-san—who had been absolutely certain of Tamaki’s guilt—startled and cried out, ‘Something’s wrong! Then who…?’ before falling into deep thought.” His voice lowered fractionally. “This created an absolute necessity for Chigusa-san’s elimination.”

Dr. Kosei continued speaking with perfect composure.

“Regarding Chigusa’s murder, I will explain that in due course by following the sequence of events—let us return now to Ouni’s murder. At around 1:00 a.m. that night, when Ms. Utsugi visited Mr. Ouni’s bedroom, the door was locked. That key was one Ms. Utsugi had coincidentally received from Mr. Ouni and was supposed to have placed in her own room. Needless to say, Painter Doi was present in Mr. Ouni’s bedroom at that time. Madame Akiko had likely obtained it through methods such as stealing the duplicate key as planned and placing it in Painter Doi’s room; having locked the door from the inside, they were just about to begin their work when Ms. Utsugi arrived. In his panic, he hid under the bed. When Ms. Utsugi came and then returned again, he struck at Mr. Ouni’s heart, killing him in a single blow. The reason someone wiped fingerprints from the dagger and cleaned under the bed with Mr. Ouni’s jacket was likely because traces left in the dust might have revealed details such as height. After wiping it clean, they deliberately left behind one of Madame Akiko’s bedroom slipper bells. This was precisely the criminal’s exceptionally cunning method—within this single left-behind bell lay all the preparations for killing Mr. Utagawa Kazuma under the guise of suicide.”

Even the ever-calm Dr. Kosei now showed, for the first time, a flicker of emotion on his face—an awe resembling that of an art connoisseur, though its meaning differed entirely. “As you know,” he continued, “Madame Akiko slept in the same room as Mr. Kazuma that night. Moreover, Mr. Kazuma remained at his desk until approximately three o’clock in the morning. Throughout this period, his beloved wife lay sleeping directly before his eyes—making Madame Akiko the sole individual with an alibi that night.” “Naturally,” he conceded, “this alibi relies on spousal testimony, which police authorities might question. In that sense, it cannot be considered definitive proof.” His voice sharpened as he leaned forward: “Yet for Mr. Kazuma alone in all creation, Madame Akiko’s alibi stood beyond reproach.” “Consider further,” he pressed, “the discovery of Madame Akiko’s bell in Mr. Ouni’s room—placed deliberately upon a meticulously cleaned surface.” The detective’s fingers tapped an invisible keyboard as he reconstructed the scene: “This could not have been incidental debris but rather planted evidence through criminal design.” “Someone sought to cast suspicion upon Madame Akiko,” he declared, “while exploiting Mr. Kazuma’s unshakable faith in her innocence—a faith so absolute that even when suspecting all others, he would drink whatever she offered without hesitation.” Dr. Kosei’s gaze hardened: “Potassium cyanide disguised as sleeping medication—consumed precisely as planned.”

"Why didn't you warn Mr. Kazuma about it?"

Kamiyama Toyo asked. Dr. Kosei contorted his face.

“I was the greatest fool of all,” “I had anticipated that Mr. Kazuma would likely not suspect Madame Akiko even with my warnings, but I had overestimated the criminal beyond measure.” “I believed the culprit would refrain from committing this crime until my return.” “However, perhaps the criminal, upon seeing last night’s poster declaring August ninth as the ‘fated day,’ took it as my handiwork and trusted I had returned to the mansion.” “That poster had been posted by Inspector Hirano.” “This is no complaint.” “It was not Inspector Hirano’s oversight.” “Everything was my own grave miscalculation.”

Dr. Kosei also lowered his face darkly for a while.

26: Desperate Predicament—A Fierce Struggle Dr. Kosei raised his face and continued speaking. “Now, regarding Tamaki’s second murder—this was exceedingly straightforward.” “Tamaki-san had been utterly intoxicated that day; after retching violently, she sank into profound slumber.” “Her bedroom’s isolated location practically invited murder—a perfect setting for Painter Doi to slip inside unnoticed. He strangled her with an iron’s power cord found in the room, switched off the lights, and withdrew.” As for scattering morphine powder—perhaps noticing morally ambiguous figures like Ebizuka and Nurse Moroi nearby—he likely planted this red herring to expand the suspect pool. “Though I must confess, even I cannot fully decipher this particular stratagem.” “Up to this point, their scheme progressed smoothly.” “But when Tamaki’s corpse was discovered, Chigusa-san grew visibly shaken—she’d apparently begun suspecting Madame Akiko regarding the sedative incident—forcing them to expedite Chigusa’s elimination without delay.” “It became an emergency permitting zero hesitation.”

Dr. Kosei’s face flushed with fervor. This was clearly where the case would reach its climax. Pikā maintained his composure, lips sealed tight. Madame Akiko too sat like a schoolgirl, all ears. "That afternoon marked the scheduled day to eliminate Mr. Ouni." "Through some means, Painter Doi and Madame Akiko must have coordinated their plans for Chigusa’s murder." "First, Madame Akiko forged Mr. Utsumi Akira’s Ibiki letter and delivered it to Chigusa-san under the pretext of it being entrusted by Mr. Utsumi." To lend authenticity, when the coffin was carried out, Madame Akiko accompanied Mr. Utsumi all the way to the gate during the send-off. Not even Madame Akiko could have dreamed that Chigusa-san would show this letter to others. "Naturally." "In matters of love, beautiful women typically guard their secrets." "But homely women flaunt their affections by nature—even the seasoned Madame Akiko, blinded by her own disposition, failed to perceive Chigusa-san’s peculiar character." "She never imagined anyone would brazenly display that Ibiki letter to others."

The half-believed truth was, for me, gradually solidifying into something I could no longer doubt. However, even now, I could not bring myself to believe Madame Akiko was the culprit; everything seemed like Dr. Kosei’s prank, and I found myself unable to shake the notion that he would suddenly name a different true criminal at any moment. Dr. Kosei continued speaking. “When they finished reciting sutras at the crematorium, set the fire, and were about to leave at 6:06, the forged Ibiki letter stated that [the meeting would be] behind Miwa Shrine from 6:30 PM to around 7:00 PM.” At that time, Painter Doi had likely prepared various methods; however, upon noticing an empty corpse cart returning after delivering its load, he quickly seized the opportunity. With clever persuasion, he had Mr. Utsumi board the cart and pushed from behind himself. Since it was three people—the two young men and Mr. Doi—they charged up the valley path with such ferocious speed that they swiftly vanished from our sight. When they reached the top of the valley, Painter Doi stopped pushing the corpse cart. Then, after waiting briefly, they slipped onto a shortcut, ran at full desperate speed to emerge behind Miwa Shrine where Chigusa-san had been waiting there, and addressed her—“Dr. Utsumi will come plodding along later—how about we play hide-and-seek?” Though I don’t know exactly how he phrased the proposal, they threw a furoshiki cloth over her head and effortlessly strangled her. They immediately rummaged through the handbag and seized the forged Ibiki letter. They likely took no more than five minutes to complete this task. They immediately ran ahead, overtook the cart, and managed to return just a step before Mr. Utsumi. Mr. Utsumi had gotten off the cart before reaching the steep slope covered in stones and, with unsteady footing, descended step by step—pausing to rest each time—spending considerable time navigating the rocky incline. During this interval, Painter Doi effortlessly overtook him and arrived first at the Utagawa residence. Painter Doi was ostensibly visiting this area for the first time, and having arrived at the Utagawa residence just three days prior, he was naturally excluded from consideration as someone who would utilize shortcuts—since he was perceived as unfamiliar with the terrain. This too must have been part of their meticulous plan. “Thus, Chigusa’s murder was easily concluded, and the two esteemed culprits should have escaped their crisis—but lo and behold, the greatest crisis of all, what one might call a bolt from the blue, lay in wait.” “That is to say—needless to elaborate—it was because the unforeseen fact had come to light that Chigusa-san had shown the Ibiki letter to Nurse Moroi.”

At last, it was Dr. Kosei’s so-called crucial point of the case. I looked at Pikā again, but he already appeared completely detached—utterly indifferent as if this were someone else's affair, his demeanor screaming "Do what you want" and "How absurd." "That night—around nine-something?—when Oyuya Babasama and Nurse Moroi entered the hall, revealing that Chigusa-san had left for Ibiki around six o'clock, that the letter had been shown to Nurse Moroi, that she knew the man's name... When this became clear, how great was the shock and dismay of Painter Doi and Madame Akiko? There was no longer any room for calculation or deliberation." "Unaware that Chigusa-san had been killed, Nurse Moroi refrained from disclosing the name of the man from Ibiki, but once the crime was discovered, she would have been unable to keep silent about it." "In that case, the forgery of the letter would be discovered." "Moreover, since Madame Akiko had personally handed the forged letter to Chigusa-san, the forger would naturally be discovered as well." "And thus, the full scope of the incident would inevitably come to light." "To prevent this, they had no choice but to either kill Dr. Utsumi or kill Nurse Moroi." "As a condition, killing Utsumi was straightforward. Moreover, though Nurse Moroi refrained from stating the man's name in the hall, she might have leaked it to someone in the main house or recorded it in her diary." “Therefore, they had no path to escape the crisis other than killing Dr. Utsumi that very night.” "There was no longer a moment’s delay—no room for deliberation." "They had to immediately coordinate plans for Utsumi’s murder." "As for their method of coordination—likely a contingency plan these meticulous two had prearranged for emergencies—it manifested as that infamous scuffle: grappling, pummeling, wild swings, culminating in Madame Akiko fleeing to the deserted outdoors, with Painter Doi giving chase and apprehending her." “Before the others could catch up, they pretended to fight and finalized their coordination—in other words, that desperate, gruesome struggle must have been an even more frantic, life-and-death battle for you two than what we witnessed and perceived at the time.”

I too—and many others—had been swayed. So Madame Akiko was the true culprit after all? It now seemed impossible that Dr. Kosei would suddenly declare this all a joke and name another criminal. Yet how utterly inconceivable it remained to accept Madame Akiko as the murderer. This same disbelief seemed to grip the others. Dr. Kosei pressed on with his explanation, indifferent to our turmoil.

“The two of you performed a masterful struggle according to the script—Madame Akiko fled outdoors like a startled hare, Painter Doi pursued and cornered her—thereby completing your coordination for Dr. Utsumi’s murder before we could rush to the scene.” “The method was, as I previously explained, that Painter Doi kept shouting at Madame Akiko’s door, confronting anyone who showed their face—thereby creating his own alibi while serving as lookout.” Under this surveillance cover, Madame Akiko descended downstairs, retrieved a dagger from the parlor, and killed Dr. Utsumi. “A truly ingenious method indeed.” To us—who never imagined you two apparent mortal enemies could collaborate thus—Madame Akiko as the actual culprit remained furthest beyond suspicion. Even Mr. Kamiyama’s reasoning had concluded you two alone could absolutely not be the perpetrators. The cunning and meticulous Madame Akiko had long cultivated the habit of leaving her room door unlocked from within during ordinary times—making people accept this as her routine—while meticulously preparing so fleeing to her room in crisis would seem natural. That is—since Painter Doi’s arrival, Madame Akiko had been residing in Kazuma-sensei’s bedroom—she couldn’t have justified fleeing to her own room in this emergency without those preparations. “Initially, I found it suspiciously convenient how perfectly the key had been left in her door’s inner lock—the story seemed too neat. Yet even after inquiring with Professor Yashiro and others—who attested Madame Akiko was careless and habitually left her room unlocked—this only made the tale seem all the more flawless, convincing me further of an intricately planned crime spanning months.” “However, even this meticulously prepared crime faced a crisis too sudden—a veritable bolt from the blue—and too grave for deliberation. Thus even you two were compelled to leave inadvertent psychological footprints here.”

27. Psychological Footprints

Dr. Kosei had been going on and on about these psychological footprints—though we literary men consider psychology our stock-in-trade—but I still couldn’t make heads or tails of what he meant. As if responding to this unspoken doubt, Dr. Kosei swept his gaze across us. "Those gathered here today could be considered Japan's foremost authorities on human psychology—seasoned experts of the highest caliber." "And yet even you distinguished individuals failed to notice these psychological footprints." "This wasn't due to any oversight on your part, but rather because our two culprits staged their performance with such conviction that it precluded any room for doubt." "Yet if I might append one impertinent observation of my own—it stems from how you all placed excessive faith in surface appearances exactly as the criminals intended. That is to say, you blindly accepted the animosity between Painter Doi and Madame Akiko as absolute truth, neglecting to question it. I believe this very blind spot became the foundation for missing those psychological footprints."

Dr. Kosei, a timid urbanite who detested boasting, appeared somewhat bashful and abashed at his own bold declaration. "And so, facing this bolt-from-the-blue crisis, you two esteemed culprits allowed yourselves not a moment's respite—seizing upon each other's verbal provocations to start quarreling, then suddenly erupting into a ferocious struggle: pummeling, grappling and swinging about, hurling one another down, until finally Madame Akiko broke away and ran toward the outdoors." "The performance was utterly convincing." “However, ladies and gentlemen, I would ask you all to once more reconstruct in your minds the circumstances of that night.” “To clarify—in this room were gathered Mr. Hitomi, Mr. Yashiro, Mr. Miyake, Kazuma-sensei, Mr. Kamiyama, and myself—all men who were Madame Akiko’s allies, people who would unquestionably have protected her and fought against Painter Doi’s violence.” "Indeed, on the previous night as well, when Painter Doi directed violence toward Madame Akiko, did not Mr. Hitomi, Mr. Yashiro, Mr. Kamiyama, and others resolutely confront Painter Doi and save Madame Akiko?" "That night as well, yes." "The situation was too abrupt—beyond our anticipation—and in the blink of an eye—Ah!—Madame Akiko was struck, swung about, and hurled to the ground." "However, once we regained our senses, we naturally leaped at Painter Doi, restrained him, and kept him at bay." "And so we thought that settled the matter." Then again, while still kept restrained, they exchanged two or three heated words—and before we could anticipate it, Painter Doi suddenly lunged at Madame Akiko once more, whereupon she twisted away and fled toward the outdoors like a startled hare. "That is to say, everyone—what I term psychological footprints exist precisely here." "Because the majority of Madame Akiko’s staunchest allies were present at the scene." "There was nothing outdoors." "There were no allies out there." “Even were one to circle around outside and flee to the main house, the men there would be none other than an aged invalid and an aged servant.” "The village houses lie over one ri away, and the police substation too stands a full ri distant." "If we—unfamiliar with the land—were to encounter a highwayman late at night on some country road, it might seem natural for us to flee blindly into the darkness to escape him." "However, on that night—when most of her allies were actually present at the scene—would it be natural for her to flee into the dark outdoors where no allies should be, rather than taking refuge among them?" "Would that not amount to marching willingly into certain death?"

“Even before our very eyes—where she was being flung about, thrown down, and subjected to such violence that her clothes tore and blood flowed from her knees—for her to flee into the dark outdoors rather than taking refuge among her allies constitutes a psychological aberration utterly inconceivable in human nature.” “In other words, there absolutely had to exist an unavoidable necessity driving her toward that unpopulated outdoors.” “There must have been a reason forcing her to act thus.”

Dr. Kosei stopped speaking. However, perhaps embarrassed by his own impassioned delivery, he immediately resumed speaking. “I too was deceived by the brilliance of the performance and could not notice that unnaturalness that day. It was on the night a week later—when Professor Tanmon Utagawa and Ms. Kayoko were poisoned—that I was finally able to harbor doubts about it upon discovering Mr. Utsumi’s brutal murder the following morning. I’m sure you all still remember that day clearly—when Inspector Hirano promptly conducted his interrogation—Madame Akiko pointed at Painter Doi and denounced him as the culprit, calling him ‘the Finger Magician’.” Thereupon, Painter Doi calmly picked up nearby Go stones and—with a theatrical “Behold! The Scroll of Monochrome Phantom Love!”—leisurely demonstrated his finger magic to the assembly, chanting “East, west, east, west” all the while. Not only that—even after this concluded, they continued arguing—and when Painter Doi declared, “I don’t know when I’ll be poisoned next either! I refuse to stay in this house any longer!”, Madame Akiko shouted back: “You’re the culprit! Who else but you would be lacing poison?” It was at that moment that I thought, Huh? Something felt off—that was what concerned me. Then I realized. That’s right—on the night of Utsumi’s murder, a completely trivial matter had sparked that ferocious brawl. However, on this day, in terms of the intensity of overt hostility in their words—and moreover, the ferocity of malice contained within those words—there was none that surpassed this day. Despite this, Painter Doi remained composed and did not lunge at Madame Akiko. Why on earth was this happening? When I thought this, the strangeness of that brawl’s ferocity finally resurfaced in my consciousness as something truly perplexing, and following that, the psychological footprint—the utter unnaturalness of Madame Akiko fleeing into the outdoor darkness—at last came into view. It was finally at that moment that I was able to see through your exceedingly meticulous scheme. It was far too late. “But then again—what an excessively skillful performance! What an excessively cunning plan—don’t you agree?”

Pikā remained as calm and silent as ever. That silence was not necessarily unnatural. Even if it was a psychological footprint, there still remained something lacking in its decisive persuasiveness. Our collective bewilderment and Pikā’s unflappable countenance formed a bizarre harmony—in short, coalescing into an unnervingly vacant, demented tableau. Dr. Kosei continued speaking.

“Now, let us proceed to the fifth Tanmon and Kayoko poisoning case. “In Professor Tanmon’s case, Madame Akiko had mixed morphine into his private sugar jar and laced the pudding with morphine; however, had she merely poisoned the pudding directly, she would have immediately fallen under suspicion. Therefore, she first adulterated the sugar jar to create the appearance of accidental contamination—this was her meticulous preparation.” “This task required no particular ingenuity—Madame Akiko likely encountered little difficulty.” “The true challenge lay in Kayoko’s murder.” “Fortunately, through Painter Doi’s nightly revelries over a dozen coffee cups had been shattered until only mismatched vessels remained—including one conspicuously chipped specimen. They exploited this circumstance to devise their scheme, synchronizing Kayoko’s murder with Professor Tanmon’s poisoning during Kazuma-sensei’s birthday celebration.” “As Ms. Kayoko seldom frequented the dining hall, her assigned cup naturally bore more damage than even Painter Doi’s.” “Given her nominal status as household staff inferior to visiting guests, this disparity in tableware proved instrumental—enabling Painter Doi to switch cups through his ‘finger magic’ sleight-of-hand while administering poison.” “To legitimize this deception required creating plausible opportunities for multiple suspects—Madame Akiko’s crucial role.” “Specifically—after confirming coffee service preparations—she lured Mrs. Yashiro to accompany her to the lavatory under pretext of glimpsing a prowler through its window, thereby drawing Kazuma-sensei, Mr. Yashiro and myself into corroborating her false alarm.” “The subsequent exodus triggered natural chain reactions—as occurs when meals conclude—with Mr. Kamiyama, Mr. Miyake and others inevitably following suit.” “Thus five or six individuals gained apparent means to tamper with cups arrayed upon the hall table.” “With this supporting cast established, Painter Doi’s virtuoso performance could proceed unimpeded.” Having deftly poisoned the drink and switched cups through arcane methods, their theatrical climax unfolded—the painter glaring furiously at his accomplice while denouncing “That woman tried to kill me!”, countered by Madame Akiko’s shrill “Lies! He’s the culprit—a maestro of finger tricks!”—thus reprising their prearranged comedic duel. “Having thus achieved their primary objectives save Kazuma-sensei’s elimination, they required interim disruption—sacrificing Ms. Utsugi Akiko as discontinuity’s offering by drowning her in the waterfall basin.” “As previously stated, only after solving Tanmon and Kayoko’s murders did I discern the truth through psychological footprints alone—without physical evidence.” “This left no recourse but awaiting their next crime—thus I resolved to shadow Painter Doi through his daily ‘tamatsuki’ gambling sessions with Mr. Kamiyama, joining their dice games myself.” “Once again—this proved my error.” “I had miscalculated.” “The Utsumi murder constituted desperate improvisation—Madame Akiko gambling everything by brandishing that dagger—an extraordinary exception I wrongly presumed would not recur before Kazuma-sensei’s final elimination.” “Thus convinced Madame Akiko’s role concluded, I fixated upon Painter Doi—certain his surveillance would unveil their next discontinuous crime.”

"This reckless assumption was masterfully circumvented." "In other words, Painter Doi had secretly made an 'Ibiki' arrangement with Ms. Utsugi at Mt. Miwa's waterfall basin." Meanwhile, Madame Akiko had gone to visit the hot spring inn that day, and on her return journey—using the same mountain path Painter Doi had taken during the Chigusa murder—she raced through to appear at the waterfall basin. There, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Ms. Utsugi who had been anxiously awaiting Painter Doi's arrival, all while maintaining a facade of innocence as they strolled along the basin's edge, she abruptly pushed Ms. Utsugi over the brink. "And then once more, she hurried back through the shortcut she had just taken, emerged onto the main road, and from the direction of the beech forest—appearing as though nothing had occurred, as if she had directly returned from the hot spring—she made her composed return to the inn."

28. Inescapable Physical Evidence It was a brilliant deduction. The full scope of the discontinuous murder incidents had now been laid utterly bare, their truths exposed without omission. I could not help but be convinced. Yet Pikā's face remained calm and indifferent, and Madame Akiko's face listened with the innocent attentiveness of a young girl—nowhere could one detect any trace of rebellious boldness. And we, while being convinced by Dr. Kosei's deductions, could not help but simultaneously be swayed by the unaffected innocence of the man and woman who were the culprits.

And the two persuasions maintained a strange equilibrium—meaning that both lacked the final, decisive persuasiveness. And the final element lacking for Dr. Kosei was, needless to say, nothing other than irrefutable physical evidence.

However, Dr. Kosei seemed entirely unperturbed by this equilibrium of persuasiveness and resumed speaking in his usual composed manner. "Now, let us proceed to the final act of the crime. Had Dr. Ebizuka and Nurse Moroi not ended up in that situation, these two would have been precisely the individuals you culprits should have utilized most effectively." "Dr. Ebizuka and Nurse Moroi were persons even meticulous criminals could not have anticipated." "That was unavoidable." "Even Professor Kazuma, master of this household, remained unaware that Dr. Ebizuka was Professor Tanmon's grandson until after his father's tragic death and hearing old man Katakura's confession." "Therefore, since even you culprits lacked this knowledge, the emergence of these unforeseen individuals held immense utility. Had Dr. Ebizuka not succumbed to madness, he would undoubtedly have been cast as the prime suspect for Kazuma's murder in your final act." "Whether fortunately or otherwise, Dr. Ebizuka's derangement and subsequent detention forced you to revert to your original plan - carrying out Kazuma-sensei's murder under the guise of suicide as scheduled." "I have not personally inspected Kazuma-sensei's poisoning scene." "My information comes solely from police reports, but having anticipated this incident over ten days prior, my current deduction should prove as accurate as previous ones." "I imagine Professor Kazuma spent the predawn hours restlessly agonizing without sleep, consumed by anxiety." "This stemmed from discovering a threatening note on the hall pillar the previous night. Having believed Dr. Ebizuka responsible for the crimes and feeling reassured by his arrest, the professor's subsequent shock and distress were truly pitiable." "To this sleep-deprived man gripped by anxiety, Madame Akiko likely proffered sleeping pills." "While Kazuma-sensei's cyanide ingestion alone might have passed as suicide, the lack of evidence implicating him as perpetrator compelled Madame Akiko to stage signs of struggle for a forced double suicide. To propagate his final 'It's over' confession, she performed that desperate farce - biting through her own tongue and feigning unconsciousness." "Thus concluded your meticulously planned ten-month crime with its final flourish."

Pikā remained composed, not attempting to ask a single question. He appeared unwilling to entertain foolish matters. Of course, here there had to be Dr. Kosei’s final touches—challenge and attack—had to be present. And indeed, Dr. Kosei launched his final challenge in that same unvarying voice, speaking with dispassionate clarity.

“I went to Tokyo.” “After her marriage, Madame Akiko made it her custom to visit Tokyo once or twice every month without fail.” “When traveling to Tokyo, Professor Kazuma always accompanied her, but their activities during these trips were not necessarily conducted together.” “Since exchanging documents would have been too risky for Painter Doi and Madame Akiko, they must have met somewhere in person.” To carry out such a meticulously planned crime, it was necessary to thoroughly familiarize themselves with all circumstances beforehand and use that foundation for detailed coordination; multiple meetings and discussions needed to be conducted. Therefore, every time Madame Akiko visited Tokyo, the two must have met somewhere. Since Professor Kazuma and his wife stayed at the Tsubodairas’ residence during their Tokyo visits, I discreetly inquired with the Tsubodairas and learned that even when Madame Akiko went out alone, she invariably returned by nightfall—never once staying overnight elsewhere. Considering this, their meeting place could not have been far from Tokyo or its surrounding cities. “I returned to Tokyo clutching photographs of Painter Doi and Madame Akiko, had them enlarged, enlisted thirty acquaintances’ help, and combed through every meeting place, inn, and restaurant—not just in Tokyo but extending to Yokohama, Urawa, Ōmiya, Chiba, and Hachiōji—with meticulous thoroughness.” As a result, we discovered the pair’s nest in a surviving meeting place near the city center that had escaped wartime fires. “The two would meet there once or twice monthly without fail, enjoying quiet half-days together.” “The landlady and maid from that meeting place were escorted by my colleagues and departed the Eastern Capital on this morning’s first train.” “They should arrive here by five o’clock this evening at the latest.”

Dr. Kosei took out a piece of paper from his pocket. “This is a telegram that has just now arrived for me from a friend.” “In other words, it’s to inform us of their departure this morning.” Dr. Kosei opened the telegram, placed it on the desk, and quietly began to read it. “Semimaru’s landlady and maid departed on the first train as scheduled.”

Dr. Kosei muttered. “Semimaru, Semimaru. This is the name of the meeting place.” Pikā remained perfectly composed, not a single change in expression.

At that moment, a sound came from one side of the wall. Several detectives hurriedly rushed forward. Madame Akiko’s chair toppled over, and as she rose to her feet, she clawed at her chest as if clutching it before staggering and collapsing. The detectives’ grasping hands were too late—Madame Akiko collapsed downward, crawled forward two or three times as if clawing at the floorboards, and finally crumbled, motionless. The doctor who had been among the detectives stepped forward to examine her, and several of them performed something resembling artificial respiration, but they soon gave up and stood up.

When I suddenly noticed and looked at Pikā, five detectives had gathered around him—to his left and right and behind—firmly gripping both his arms. Pikā was standing. He was staring at Madame Akiko’s collapsed form across the table, though it seemed he could likely see only a fraction of it. Pikā directed a sharp gaze at Inspector Kanguri,

“Let me go to her.” “Her—Ayaka.” Inspector Kanguri, at a loss for judgment, remained silent with his eyes bulging.

“Inspector Kanguri, you understand.” “I’m saying I want to go to her—to Ayaka.” “I’m no mere dog and monkey—I’m Pikā.” “Doesn’t that make it perfectly clear?” “In other words, I’m now generously making public acknowledgment that Ayaka and I were the culprits.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded, expressing his consent. “Then let go of my arm—grant me this final freedom.”

And then, Pikā shook off the detectives' arms and walked alone around the table with heavy, deliberate steps. As he passed behind Dr. Kosei at the head of the table, he lightly stroked the doctor's head, "Well done." "Mr. Detective Brat." "You deserve praise," he declared pompously, then knelt before Madame Akiko's corpse.

He took Madame Akiko’s hand and gazed at her lifeless face for several minutes, but then raised his head and, without addressing anyone in particular,

“She was a fool.” “There was no need to die.” “What difference would it make if some innkeeper and maids showed up?” “I could’ve swept that evidence aside—if only you’d trusted my cunning.” “You acted too hastily.” “No changing it now. This suicide—another criminal’s confession, I suppose.” “Very well. Out of devotion to my beloved, I, her husband Mr. Pikā, shall join her in confession.” “Amen.”

Pikā reverently took Madame Akiko’s hand and kissed it for a long, long time. It was an unbearably long time. And yet, even as the villainous Pikā, this sight conveyed a sorrow that seeped into people’s hearts.

Pikā released Madame Akiko’s hand, staggered, and fell forward. That was Pikā’s end.

“Culprit-Hunting Contest” Correct Answerers Announced

First Prize: Perfect Correct Answer (95 Points) – ¥10,000 Award 5-2559 Kamimeguro, Meguro Ward, Tokyo Mr. Kataoka Teruo

Second Prize: Correct Answer (90 Points) – ¥5,000 Award Each Higashijo, Wakatsuki Village, Kamiminochi District, Nagano Prefecture Mr. Akimoto Shusaku Nakamura Town, Hata District, Kochi Prefecture Mr. Shōji Kimihiko 1-1 Kawara-cho, Higashi Ward, Osaka City Mr. Sakai Jun Third Prize: Close to Correct Answer (70 Points) – ¥2,000 Award 1-no-795 Nogata-cho, Nakano Ward, Tokyo Mr. Tanaka Minoru Fourth Prize: Partial Correct Answer (50 Points) – ¥1,000 Award 1-no-369 Shimookubo, Shinjuku Ward, Tokyo Ms. Murata Motoko 4-no-758 Totsuka-cho, Shinjuku Ward, Tokyo Mr. Arai Kan 1463 Senzoku, Meguro Ward, Tokyo Mr. Oi Hirokazu

Post-Contest Reflections

The answers that presumed Pikā and Ayaka as accomplices totaled eight in all. Of these, the four individuals—Mr. Kataoka, Mr. Akimoto, Mr. Shōji, and Mr. Sakai—perfectly matched Dr. Kosei’s deductions down to the last detail: why Chigusa and Utsumi had to be killed, and the methods used in each murder. As for why a brawl was necessary prior to Utsumi’s murder, they had deduced that point with complete accuracy. The only shortcomings in their deductions were their oversight of two points: that the bell on the shoe was part of the preparations for Kazuma’s murder, and the unnaturalness of Ayaka fleeing into the outdoor darkness.

In particular, Mr. Kataoka had achieved meticulous precision across every other detail without a single discrepancy, slightly surpassing the other three individuals, and was therefore placed in the highest position. The three proved difficult to distinguish between. The prize had originally been promised solely to the top-ranking individual, but with four correct answerers emerging, the author found himself unable to exclude the other three. As a token of his own defeat, he decided to pay ¥5,000 to each of them. Yet this payment brought him genuine satisfaction. To have every detail guessed with such exactness—it was truly delightful.

Third-prize winner Mr. Tanaka had accurately deduced the necessity behind the Chigusa and Utsumi murders along with their methods; however, he failed to correctly identify all murder techniques in their entirety—there were discrepancies in certain portions—placing him far below the aforementioned four individuals. His examination of details also proved insufficient. Nevertheless, this too warranted the author paying a concession fee of sorts. The fourth-prize winners—Murata, Arai, and one of my challengers, Detective Oi Hirokazu of Hatcho-bana—had correctly identified the culprit, but their details deviated so wildly that they failed to make the author feel defeated. Still, I resolved to acknowledge their success in pinpointing the criminal.

As for the likes of Detective Oi Hirokazu, he started from the abstract premise that committing such murders required inheritance issues as the sole motive; this was merely an application of a formulaic interpretation typical of detective novels and not something logically inferred from each concrete fact. Therefore, his interpretation of details reached utter incoherence, and apart from correctly naming the culprit, it had no redeeming qualities. I believe that the fact there were as many as four individuals who deduced every single detail in perfect alignment with Dr. Kosei’s reasoning is something I should rather take pride in. In other words, it was crafted to fit perfectly. The traditional formulas of detective novels are not the issue. Detective novels must be logical.

It was impossible to demand rational solutions for crimes born from distorting human nature through unreasonable injustice and materializing implausible actions. I believed that not only in Japan but throughout the world, about ninety-nine percent—no, ninety-nine point nine-nine percent—of detective novels were irrational. Many of the culprits' incorrect answers employed the elimination method, but indeed, in detective novels—unlike real crimes—if there were thirty characters, the culprit must necessarily be among those thirty; thus, at first glance, the elimination method seemed the most convenient and effective approach. However, as long as one relied on the elimination method, the culprit would never be correctly identified.

In other words, the tricks of detective novels were crafted to pit themselves against the elimination method—they would inevitably lead to failure when relied upon. According to the elimination method, therein lay both the trick and the quintessential appeal of detective novels: that the very person who should first be dismissed as the culprit due to possessing a perfect alibi was in fact guilty. However, most traditional detective novels strained this trick, distorting humanity in the process, forcibly fabricating implausible actions and psychological states, while both authors and readers blindly accepted that detective novel tricks were simply meant to be this way.

When I was around middle school age, I was impressed by a short detective story by Mr. Sato Haruo. Though I’ve forgotten the title by now, it was about a man who lost a book. It’s a story where a psychologically astute friend searches for the book—in short, the person who had lost it, upon standing up with the book in hand, felt the urge to go to the bathroom and casually placed it on something like a ledge in a dimly lit area partway down the second-floor stairs. And once they finish urinating, people often completely forget what they were doing when they defecate; by the time they suddenly remembered about the book, it had become impossible to find no matter what.

What I mean by the rationality of criminal psychology is something rooted in this kind of precise sketch of human nature. Each time my love for detective novels was betrayed in terms of humanity and rationality, I found myself wanting to develop a grand murder case on my own—deducing the culprit while striving to write a detective novel that was fully rational in human terms. It was the short story by Mr. Sato Haruo, which I mentioned earlier, that taught me about this human rationality inherent in detective novels.

In that sense, I consider the presence of four perfect solutions to be a testament to my achieved purpose, and it pleases me greatly. To begin with—of all possible scenarios—the first submission I retrieved from the mountain of entries was Mr. Akimoto of Nagano’s flawless solution. This abrupt perfection made me jolt upright—This won’t do! I thought. After reviewing three more submissions, the third proved to be Mr. Shōji of Kōchi’s correct answer. Disaster! I realized—if fifty or sixty people had solved this correctly, what a predicament that would create! Unfortunately, all correct answers lay within the first third I examined. As they surfaced one after another, I grew increasingly alarmed.

The most masterful answer came from actor Mr. Kida Michio of the Morikawa Shin Troupe—a work that, through an unprecedented line of reasoning, sliced through the author’s defenses from a perspective never before considered in modern mystery fiction,

It began with an article stating that Shitae was to serve in the Utagawa household—that is, Shitae, an exceptionally beautiful young woman, came to be employed by the Utagawa family. While serving as Tanmon Utagawa's personal maid, she idly took out detective novels from his bookshelves spanning all eras and regions to read during her idle hours. In doing so, the murderous poison blood she had been born with surged within her here, and obsessing day and night over bloody tragedies, she constructed fantasies of discontinuous murder incidents here, ultimately shaping this culmination of execution into an old-fashioned, elegant tale.

This was a masterful work that struck at the author’s blind spot. I extend my deepest gratitude to all those who so earnestly submitted their answers and to everyone who graced this work with their readership.

Sakaguchi Ango