Pathway to Japanese Literature

I: A Web of Utterly Base Human Connections

It was the end of June 1947. I met up with Utagawa Kazuma at a small restaurant called Tsubohei in Nihonbashi, having received his summons. Tsubohei’s owner, Tsubota Heikichi, had previously been the Utagawa family’s cook, and his wife Teruyo had been a maid there. Utagawa Tamon, Kazuma’s father, was an utterly self-indulgent lecher—he kept a mistress, frequented geisha parties, and still couldn’t keep his hands off the housemaids. Teruyo-san—having shed her youthful awkwardness to reveal delicate features—was naturally no exception; when Tamon permitted her marriage to Tsubohei, he even provided capital for their restaurant. Kazuma’s Tokyo residence had been destroyed in the air raids, so he stayed at Tsubohei whenever visiting the capital.

“To tell you the truth, this is rather sudden and quite an eccentric request, but I’d like you to spend the summer at my place.”

Kazuma’s house was located in such an inconveniently remote mountainous area that one had to get off the train, travel by bus along mountain roads for about six ri, and even after disembarking from the bus, walk nearly another ri. Because it was such a place, several of us literary colleagues had evacuated to his house during the war. One reason was that his house was a sake brewery, and there was also the added motive of being able to drink alcohol there.

“I need to explain the circumstances for you to understand, 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 another.” “That sister of mine, Tamao, sent out invitation letters—they’d be staying at my place for the summer.” “Since it’s you, I’ll speak frankly about this shameful matter—that sister of mine had an abortion this spring.” “She refuses to say who the man was—we still don’t know—but she’d been casually heading up to Tokyo about half of each month, staying who knows where, and it had become impossible to handle.” “As you know, that Mochizuki Ouni is a crude, insolent, insufferable bastard—but then Tango Yumihiko here puts on this proper British-style gentleman act, yet he’s just as arrogant and self-important, a downright sinister schemer.” “Utsumi Akira alone has a refreshingly straightforward disposition, but with that hunchback making his appearance grotesque, it cancels out any advantage.” “Having three of them around just leads to constant fighting.” “That sister of mine sent out those invitations thinking it’d be fun—it’s all part of her little scheme.” “We can’t take it anymore.” “They bicker, glare at each other—that hunchback fellow even slams dinner plates on the floor when he flies into a rage—and whenever someone appears, another flounces off. The irritation and discomfort this causes us... Well, I tell you, we can’t find a moment’s peace of mind to read a book properly.” “So, without anyone in particular suggesting it, someone proposed gathering the old crowd—the faces from during the war evacuation—to spend the summer together. With Tokyo’s eateries being closed, it seemed just the right time, and that’s how it came about.” “They want it too, but truth be told, it’s actually a relief for us.” “They may think they’re just staving off boredom, but for us, having only them around is suffocating. Having others we can relax with—whether it’s Kohee or Koroku—is a relief.” “They’ll help distract us.” “But above all, I especially want you to come.” “Kohee and Koroku are also coming, and we’re actually all set to depart together the day after tomorrow, you see.”

“Is Ms. Utsugi coming too?” “Of course she is. Ms. Kocho will also come—she’s even decided to take the whole summer off from the stage because of it.”

The female writer Utsugi Akiko was now with Miyake Kohee, a French literature scholar, but had originally been Kazuma’s wife. Since they had parted ways through mutual agreement—being fellow literati, their separation remained amicable—but the real issue wasn’t Kazuma; it was Mochizuki Ouni. During the evacuation period, Utsugi Akiko—then still Kazuma’s wife—had grown close to Kohee, and when the time came to return to Tokyo after the war’s end, Kazuma had consented to the divorce through mutual discussion. Kazuma had originally found Akiko difficult to handle and retained almost no lingering attachment.

Akiko was an exceedingly fickle woman. During the evacuation, she had been more deeply involved with Ouni than with Kohei, but Ouni—a man utterly devoid of fidelity who'd had relations with Tamao and entangled himself with maids and village girls in all directions—clearly considered her no more than a post-meal fruit or light snack, driving her to give up and settle for Kohei. Yet deep down, she remained hung up on Ouni. As a bestselling author whose insolent crudeness and wild nature held undeniable allure for a sensualist like Akiko, Ouni embodied everything she instinctively craved. Akiko herself was like a puppet of primal urges, her deranged inability to exercise restraint meaning that at the mountain villa, matters with Ouni could never stay settled—yet there stood Kohei, for all his intellectual brilliance and scholarly refinement, hopelessly infatuated with this worthless woman, dragged about in meek compliance while spouting jealousy that threatened to tear his chest apart. That such a man would accept Kazuma’s invitation was utterly idiotic.

However, while I thought this invitation was indeed motivated by the reasons Kazuma had stated, I suspected his own greatest reason for embracing this plan lay hidden elsewhere. The true aim was rather Ms. Kocho, I supposed. It was Ms. Kocho he wanted to invite—that was what I thought.

Akashi Kocho was the wife of playwright Hitoemi Koroku and an actress. Ms. Kocho radiated sensuality from every pore, her voluptuous figure exuding carnal allure—yet she disdained brutish wild types like Ouni and favored intellectual men of frail constitution. Take Hitoemi Koroku: persistently clingy yet indecisive, timid at heart—a fundamentally kind and affable man whose company nonetheless proved trying. Ms. Kocho was fond of Kazuma and harbored feelings strong enough that, had Kazuma been more proactive, she would have abandoned Koroku and run to him.

At that time, however, Kazuma was timid. Utsugi Akiko left together with Miyake Kohee. Though the woman had no lingering attachment to begin with, being abandoned left him despondent; the evacuees abruptly departed with war’s end, and Koroku and Ms. Kocho too were gone. He seemed to see off the group with stern courage then—as if loneliness were his most desired lover—before withdrawing into solitude.

Each time he went up to Tokyo—about once every month or two—the shifts in society profoundly affected him, and around last spring, he met his current wife, Ms. Ayaka. It seems Ms. Ayaka used to write poems when she was a schoolgirl, and Utagawa Kazuma—an intellectual prodigy of the Shuchi school—being quite an attractive mid-career poet to literary girls, she had visited him three or four times with friends around that period. However, poetry had been but a superficial pursuit for Ms. Ayaka—in truth, she was someone with neither connection nor relation to verse. Thus after graduating from girls' school, she never visited Kazuma again.

When they reunited last year, Ms. Ayaka was living with a painter named Doi Koichi. His paintings were said to be the most unique and hailed as works of a prodigy, but I did not think so. The key lay in his Surrealist-style compositions that slathered purely sensual provocation to ignite passion—at first glance, they exuded both sensuality and a certain gloomy poetic sentiment. However, in reality, they lacked any trace of loneliness’s severity or nihilism’s harshness; he was merely a cunning merchant, a master at daubing colors to match the tastes of the times and concocting facsimiles of authenticity. Thus, his approach to painting itself was commercial in nature, and he was a master at promotion. Though the post-war period had been a time of hardship for painters, he cultivated connections with magazine publishers and writers, raked in money through illustration work, 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 had been suppressing; adopting a defiant stance as if to say, "Even I’ve had my wife stolen," he pursued her with single-minded tenacity that utterly disregarded her marital status, clinging on with dogged persistence.

Admittedly, Ms. Ayaka was beautiful. She had an air of exceptionality. Ayaka was aptly named—playful and unburdened. Yet she seemed to detest clinginess; there were glimpses of her hardening her expression at Kazuma’s tenacity and his uncharacteristically defiant posture—though one might call such a woman a heaven-sent courtesan type, for she abhorred poverty above all else. Doi Koichi counted among painters who earned through illustrations, but in these inflationary times, his modest income couldn’t even secure him a single pair of silk socks. Kazuma, born the scion of a wealthy sake-brewing dynasty flush with wartime gains, owned hundreds of thousands of chōbu of mountain forests—assets that funneled illicit fortunes into his coffers regardless of his will. Each Tokyo visit saw him casually pluck a fistful of bills from the vault; the loss of one handful would never be noticed. To commoners who could scarcely fathom bundles of seventy or eighty thousand yen being handled like tissue paper, this extravagance defied reason—and Ms. Ayaka, who reveled in luxury, fine dining, exquisite kimonos, and merrymaking, fell hopelessly in love with his wealth. She coolly handed Doi Koichi his dismissal and formally wed Kazuma. That had been around late autumn last year.

Given that Doi Koichi—never one to lack business acumen—immediately cornered Kazuma for close negotiations ("Even consolation money for a prostitute costs thirty or fifty thousand these days, so pay me two hundred thousand!"), I mediated and bargained it down to one hundred thousand, finally settling at one hundred fifty thousand yen.

“C’mon, that woman can’t do without me!” “It’s gotta be my body.” “My body’s so good it’d make even European prostitutes faint with delight, y’know.” “He’s just some third-rate poet who’d blow away with a puff of wind, isn’t he?” “Before long, she’ll come crawling back to me in tears, apologizing.”

Doi Koichi said this to me. However, even the self-styled Japanese Don Juan, brimming with confidence, must have realized this one’s a lost cause. Ms. Ayaka was the type who couldn’t care less about a single man—in fact, I suspected she was such a carefree optimist that all the men in the world must have seemed like items she could pick and choose as she pleased. When Doi Koichi demanded ¥200,000 under the pretense of “consolation money,” Ayaka—though this carefree beauty treated men as insignificant—found her pride grievously wounded by such a petty matter. She flew into an incandescent rage, quivering with fury. Though she never exacted revenge, their parting quarrel turned vicious—or so the story went.

When I mentioned that, Doi Koichi roared with laughter. “Don’t be stupid! A fight between guys is just a chance to make up in the end! And a man and woman fighting? If they’re strangers, they wouldn’t even brawl to begin with!” “The fact that they had a terrible breakup means there’s a condition for them to become extremely close.” “Get it?” He was confidence incarnate—the very embodiment of arrogance.

Naturally, Doi Koichi’s prediction had missed the mark—Ms. Ayaka no longer spared him so much as a glance—but Kazuma’s marriage was hardly a happy one either. Admittedly, it wasn’t as if he was having an affair. Ms. Ayaka was akin to Princess Sotoori of legend, whose radiance shone through her robes—possessing a luminous beauty and dewy freshness that enveloped her entire being. Yet despite appearing so alluringly beautiful and sensual, she herself proved surprisingly indifferent to carnal matters—coldly disinterested—and showed little inclination toward infidelity. Each time she visited Tokyo, she would indulge in the most extravagant shopping sprees, delighting to her heart’s content—and whenever she acquired a new favorite dress or pair of shoes, her joy would reach such heights that on the very first night, she would sleep still wearing the dress and shoes—such was her unrestrained extravagance, a person utterly devoid of any predictable pattern.

In all matters, she was utterly endearing—though she possessed not a shred of queenly hauteur like Cleopatra—she remained capricious and gave no thought to others’ feelings. Since she gave no thought to wifely duties—having never once considered providing services to her husband—she stayed utterly unperturbed no matter what he did, leaving Kazuma unsatisfied. Since there was no indication that she viewed him alone as a special man—leaving him unfulfilled, anxious, and resentful like losing an arm-wrestling match against a noren—yet when he voiced his grievances, he was the one who ended up being rebuked; Mr. Kazuma had lost his composure and found himself utterly overwhelmed lately. As a man, he now harbored a deepening anguish and rebelliousness over his own clumsiness and slovenliness.

In truth, this stemmed from him being excessively infatuated with Ms. Ayaka—but once matters reached this point, he began feeling a desire to engage in something like an affair. As for my inviting that troupe of evacuation fools for the summer, I suspected this might very well be a scheme targeting Ms. Kocho. A young master like him delighted in being liked by others yet feigned ignorance of it—he enjoyed putting on such airs. He particularly relished confirming that another man’s wife secretly harbored feelings for him over her husband—taking subtle pleasure in toying with that affection while feigning ignorance—for this was a matter of refined taste rather than mere philandering; he could never bring himself to actively pursue and woo someone. He had no intention of doing so. He wasn’t nearly infatuated enough to act.

Given Kazuma’s disposition, he had unwittingly fallen for Ms. Ayaka and found himself whipped around by her—this very state of being controlled struck him as regretful and vexing on a sensory level, and I understood his psychology all too well. Therefore, to compensate for this lack, he invited Madame Kocho, secretly basking in her affection—or rather, toying with and abusing her pure love—and precisely because he harbored such feelings, he was truly in love with Ms. Ayaka. A single misstep could lead to irreparable consequences. I had thought in that manner.

However, even if one called him a young master, Kazuma was forty years old—an accomplished literary scholar and poet. Whatever he undertook, even if demons possessed him, was a cross this gentleman ought to have borne himself; there existed no cause for me to fret over it.

However, as a matter of my own private affairs, there was a reason I could not accept this invitation. Indeed, Mochizuki Ouni—that lawless man—had already inserted himself into the gathering. With Tango Yumihiko—that fastidious contrarian—and Utsumi Akira—that cheerful parasite—having wormed their way in and begun entwining, glaring, and sulking at one another, one might reasonably want to summon a phantom battalion from beyond; but to assemble these men and women tangled like some ancient rotting spiderweb—their gloomy, wretched connections oozing with entanglement—even the thought of it felt repulsive, vulgar, utterly loathsome. There remained an even graver reason why my participation would prove inadvisable.

My wife Kyoko had been the mistress of Kazuma’s father, Utagawa Tamon. Among his numerous mistresses and kept women, she alone received special favor; thus during the war—since he could not possibly install her in his main household (Madame Kashiko being still alive at the time)—he had her evacuated to a borrowed house in his village. I fell in love with Kyoko and, upon war’s end, wrested her away by force to return to Tokyo.

Tamon’s rage was a violent thing—not even rumors on the wind could dissipate his lingering resentment. Unfortunately, he was also a politician of ministerial rank who had held great hopes that his reign was just beginning, only to be unceremoniously expelled. Left thoroughly vexed, I ended up shouldering even his share of resentment as the object of hatred. However, last summer when Madame Kashiko died, he soon took notice of a girl named Shitae from a respectable village family—forcibly making her his maid, or rather servant-mistress—and thus his mood reportedly improved. Now in his idle post-expulsion life, he dotes on this nineteen-year-old girl, his infatuation knowing no bounds.

“Unlike Mokubee or Koroku, there’s no way I could possibly go to your house. Even if my esteemed father’s displeasure has somewhat subsided, I have no desire to willingly subject myself to even a fraction of that unpleasantness. For me it’s one thing, but Kyoko would shudder. That’s simply out of the question.” “But look—just bear with me a little longer and listen. I mean to confide everything in you alone. There’s a spiritual tale of sorts steeped in atmosphere... and then a rather sensational true crime story as well.”

He took out a single sealed letter from his pocket.

“Look.” “There’s actually someone who’d pull such a malicious trick!”

On utterly ordinary letter paper, the following was written.

Who killed Madame Okaji?

Everything shall come to an end with the first death anniversary. Hatred, curses, sorrow, and anger. The handwriting wasn’t skilled. However, the characters had likely been written to disguise their true hand. Cheap ink had been used, leaving numerous stains. The postmark originated from a nearby town—the same station where one would disembark when traveling from Tokyo. His house lay seventeen miles further along a mountain path by bus. Yet this rural town remained the closest urban center to his village, where villagers did most of their shopping and made do with what it offered.

“This, however, is quite a stylish piece of writing, isn’t it?” “More than stylish—it’s downright literary, isn’t it?”

“This letter is addressed to me—it doesn’t name any culprit—but considering it was sent to me personally, they might be implying I’m the culprit.” “As you know, my current mother was my second one—she came as a bride after my biological mother died—so she was only three years older than me. She passed away last August ninth at forty-two.” “But what possible reason could I have to kill this mother?” “This mother had always been asthmatic.” “It’s what’s called cardiac asthma.” “Because that condition was so terrifying, we had provided tuition to a lame doctor named Ebizuka—a distant relative’s descendant who had fallen on hard times—to study internal medicine, and about five years ago gave him a residence in the village to establish his practice.” “In a mountain village without doctors, establishing a practice required handling not just internal medicine but also surgery, otolaryngology, ophthalmology—even dentistry all by oneself. My father opposed summoning him too soon, arguing that giving time to properly learn all these fields would better serve the village. But I countered, ‘No—this doctor is being called for my sake,’ and forcibly brought him here after just a year in post-graduate research.” “The doctor himself had a scholarly disposition and was deeply dissatisfied with this arrangement; after coming here, he was superficially obedient, but we never saw eye to eye.” “Mother would get angry at the doctor, saying he was ungrateful and unkind, but since it would be troublesome if he fled, she seemed to endure having complaints.” “Asthma is such a terrible way to suffer that she would lie prone and tear at the tatami mats.” “Mother truly died in agony, tearing at the tatami mats all the while—no matter how many injections they gave her, it was no use.” “This is a common occurrence with cardiac asthma; there’s nothing particularly unusual about it.” “However, since this was likely the most extreme manifestation of her agonized state, even if an external method such as poisoning had been introduced here, it would have been indistinguishable.” “Setting aside external factors like bleeding or lividity, it’s solely about the manifestation of agony, you see.” “However, there was no particular bleeding or lividity; after death, her face was peaceful, and naturally, not a single person considered it a poisoning—so we buried her.” “Such rumors first reached our ears around this year.” “At the time of her death, everyone from the maids to the visitors had gathered; so they witnessed her agonized state.” “The idle villagers in the mountains must have embellished the story with their exaggerated tales, but I couldn’t let it slide, so when I confronted Dr. Ebizuka about it, he just glared at me with those big eyes and didn’t say a word.” “He’s that sort of man—the type who doesn’t bother responding to what’s already obvious.” “He’s lame, with a crotchety disposition that seems born of resentment over his disability—a man who dislikes chatter and keeps poor company.”

“Then one day during a family meal, that brat Tamao suddenly turned to me and loudly declared, ‘Lately there’s been a rumor in the village that you poisoned our mother!’ “Of course, this was a joke. “That one’s the sort who relishes such mean-spirited mischief. “She does exactly what people hate most, you know. “That girl—despite being Madame Okaji’s one and only biological child—when her mother died, far from grieving, didn’t shed a single tear. “With no one left to scold her, she’s now all fired up to play around to her heart’s content—that’s the state of things. “However, even that one—being, after all, a murderer—wouldn’t make such idiotic jokes, so in truth, at the time there were already quite plausible rumors circulating that the culprit was someone else entirely. “You all know the nurse named Moroi—that’s the one. “She’s a weirdly garish woman, you see. “She certainly had a relationship with Father. “After you became involved with Madame Okā, it’s also true that Moroi subsequently developed considerable intimacy with someone, I suppose. “‘So they killed Mother to take her place’—isn’t this exactly the sort of convenient Shinpa tragedy-style human relationship that village rumors thrive on? “Village rumors are all this trite, you know. “Because these rumors exist, that damn sister of mine felt safe enough to make such a terrible joke. “Of course, no one shuddered. “There’s no terrifying effect, you see.” Everyone burst into uproarious laughter. “However, I myself still wake up feeling unwell.”

The nurse named Moroi Kotoro was likely around thirty at the time. Generally speaking, women—young women—tended to be hero-worshippers; when war broke out, even ordinary girls would dream of becoming nurses and enlisting. While most nurses would have eagerly volunteered for the front lines with militant fervor, this Moroi woman was different—a cold creature with little capacity for such fanciful dreams. She never indulged men’s jokes. Standing five feet five inches tall—an unusually statuesque and well-proportioned physique for a Japanese woman—her features could hardly be called plain. The libertine Mochizuki Ouni insisted such women were repressed lechers—all icy composure on the surface yet lascivious beneath, unexpectedly naive but harboring peculiar passions ideal for a single night’s diversion—and vigorously pressed his suit, yet received no response whatsoever.

When the war broke out and nurses were being mobilized to the front lines—becoming critically scarce resources—this nurse at his regular Tokyo hospital had grumbled about not wanting to be conscripted. Using the noble pretext of needing medical staff for a doctorless village, he obtained permission to bring her here. Rather than stationing her at Ebizuka Hospital, he gave her a room in his own residence and made her commute to the hospital only during daylight hours. While personal motives played a role, he also had an official justification—there were indeed two groups of patients outside this house.

The first was an elderly man named Nangumo Ichimatsu who had been evacuated here and subsequently became bedridden with a stroke. Ichimatsu’s wife was called Madame O-Yura and was Utagawa Tamon’s biological younger sister. This person was also a semi-invalid, prone to hysteria stemming from congenital frailty, and maintained an especially poor relationship with Madame Okaji.

Tamon was not particularly passionate about family ties, but he had a disposition to handle any conventional matter unquestioningly—so when his sister’s family evacuated ("Fine, look after them"), or fell ill ("Fine, provide treatment"), that was all there was to it. With the large house’s ample funds and supplies causing him no inconvenience whatsoever, he paid it no mind at all. He had even forgotten about those people living off him. But the women would not have it so. Madame Okaji being his second wife—nearly the same age as his own children—and having long been at odds with them, their cohabitation proved far from smooth.

Madame O-Yura had one son and four daughters. The son was a technician who had gone abroad and was said to have died in a submarine during the war; of the daughters, two had died, one had married and was with the South Manchuria Railway. Only the youngest daughter remained unmarried and had evacuated with them, but Ms. Tamao—Madame Okaji’s daughter—and this Ms. Chigusa were on notoriously bad terms. Ms. Tamao was a beauty, but Ms. Chigusa was extraordinarily unattractive—with bulging eyes, a face full of freckles, and a body as fat as a pig. Despite being overweight, she was neurotic, mean-spirited, and twisted, and due to her intense envy, she even resented Ms. Tamao’s carefree and meaningless actions with malice. Therefore, Ms. Tamao—being not one to bottle things up—would harshly rebuke her. This, in turn, became another source of contention between their mothers. Madame Okaji was the sort who composed waka poetry and submitted to tanka magazines, giving her the dignified air of a proper mistress, but she harbored pathologically fastidious nerves—once she took a dislike to something, her hatred would grow a hundredfold.

The other patient was Kayoko-san. This was the one who posed a significant problem. Her mother was dead. Her grandfather and grandmother were a live-in servant and head maid of the Utagawa family—Grandpa Kisaku and Grandma Oden—both kind-hearted, always smiling, and very pleasant servants. Needless to say, Kayoko-san was the granddaughter of these two elderly people, but in truth, she was Tamon’s illegitimate child—a daughter conceived and born by a maid in his service. So she stayed in one of the servants’ rooms, but she didn’t assist with the maids’ work; her clothing, while not opulent, consisted of neat, metropolitan-style garments provided for her. This girl was truly beautiful. Her beauty was modest, chaste—a crystal-clear radiance.

However, from age seventeen she had suffered from tuberculosis—it developed during her fourth year at girls' school while in the dormitory, leading to brief hospitalization. After being discharged, she spent her days in a servants' quarters room alternating between lying down and sitting up, generally reading. Tamao-san was two years her senior; if Tamao-san was twenty-two then Kayoko-san would be twenty-four, and Chigusa-san—two years older than that—would be twenty-six.

The existence of this illegitimate child had apparently caused Madame Okaji considerable anguish; however, the fact that it predated her own marriage seems to have ultimately served as a plausible pretext for acceptance. I don’t know the details, but apparently after incidents like the maid—her mother—hanging herself following Madame Okaji’s arrival, Madame Okaji’s resentment toward Kayoko-san began to subside. Since food was crucial for this illness, she took care to provide special nourishments and selected clothing that wouldn’t embarrass Kayoko in public; it’s said she also instructed Nurse Moroi to look after her.

Therefore, whenever Kayoko-san had a slight fever, they would not send the nurse to the hospital but have her stay by her side. "Even if Old Mr. Nangumo Ichimatsu or Madame Oyura take a serious turn, just go to the hospital." "You must be busy," she said.

Nurse Moroi was a cold woman, lacking in vulgar affections, and thus disliked the whiny, sniveling, hysterical Nangumo clan, rarely tending to them properly. The curse had instead converged and concentrated upon Madame Okaji.

When Madame Okaji lay dying—at that final moment when even the strength to tear at the tatami mats in her death throes had nearly left her—they say everyone was gathered there. Though those words were nearly impossible to decipher, it seemed members of the Nangumo family had uttered something meaning "Get away from here." Yet since this couldn't be clearly heard, even Ms. Tamao—who sat closest to Madame Okaji's pillow—reportedly said she truly didn't know what had actually been spoken.

“This threatening letter is utterly absurd.” “Since I have no recollection of such matters, I’m not concerned about its contents.” “Probably some bored evacuee from the village—a warped bastard’s prank.” “The reason I’m relying on you—though this is inexcusably selfish—is that truthfully, I need Okō-san far more than I need you.”

As though sobering from drink, his complexion grew pale.

“Spare the lengthy explanations—I’ll just come out and say it. I’ve passionately loved Kayoko since long ago.” “But given that we are brother and sister after all, I transformed those carnal desires into something purely spiritual—nurturing a gentle heart akin to revering the Virgin Mary.” “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, her brother, as a lover. Even if you tell us brothers and sisters shouldn’t fall in love—why?” “Even if the world is like that, why must we be the same?” “It’s reckless.” “We don’t want society in our sights anymore.” “Since she had resolved herself with a pure, unyielding passion, I was overwhelmed.” “I thought I wouldn’t mind dying.” “It’s the very essence of the sublime.” “You don’t believe me?” “There is nothing more sublime than this.” “No matter what you say, Kayoko has abandoned society.” “It’s not that she is unaware of sin.” “Kayoko is the very essence of wisdom.” “She knows everything.” “She knows like a god.” “She sees through everything.” “She even sees through her own destiny.” “I staggered.” “You see, that’s how it is, right?”

"If someone were gently held by God and had evil deeds whispered to them—what do you think would happen?" However,I stopped myself at the brink.I must not touch her body.Even were I to die.I cannot violate God.No,yet I feel unable to refrain from violating her.Kayoko gripped my hand.We kissed.A cold,sorrowful kiss,yet one might say we merged like water.It was sanctity incarnate.Grief made manifest.Kayoko spoke:"Let us wed.""God will absolve us.""Then—let us perish.""Yet I cannot die.""Mine nature resists simplicity.""I am villainy embodied."

Kazuma’s words became a spasmodic scream. However, since I was born an Acharaka Boy who’s never moved, I gradually grew quiet like a zoo beast, “However, I am indeed a villain.”

“I’m well aware of that.” “At your age, anyone would be a villain.” “You’re also head over heels for Madame Ayaka.” “You’d probably want to try flirting with Ms. Kocho sometimes too, you know.” “Ms. Kayoko doesn’t give a damn about any man but you.” “However, that’s neither sublime nor anything of the sort—not even incest, surprisingly. It’s all an atmosphere you’re hallucinating yourself, rooted in nothing but the charm and sorcery of virginity.” “When you get to the root of it, it’s actually surprisingly paper-thin.” “Angry now?” “Isn’t that right?” “In reality, you’re so overwhelmed by Madame Ayaka’s non-virginity that you’re in a state of total surrender, which is why you want to assert some semblance of virility.” “Brother and sister. Romance. Splendid indeed.” “You should show at least some semblance of virility.” “If you vent, that’s all that matters.” “But to be honest, when I thought you might’ve really gone all the way, I was on edge there for a moment during your story.”

“When you put it that way, I do feel somewhat relieved.” “I don’t think your words quite hit the mark, but let’s drop the logic.” “Logic is something I alone need to believe in.” “If I can receive such consideration from you, then that alone would fulfill my heart’s desire.” “The reason I’m asking is this—Kayoko doesn’t have a single friend.” “Only one person besides Okkyo-san.” “Kayoko thinks of Okkyo-san every day and misses her dearly.” “Even knowing it worsened her illness, she’d walk four kilometers through mountain paths just to visit Okkyo-san.” “Even when scolded, she’d go again.” “Even if fever confined her to bed, she’d leave the moment she could rise.” “She’d escape to go there—that’s how determined she was.” “Back then, Okkyo-san seemed to me a witch who’d kill Kayoko through sheer proximity—I despised her for it.” “So could you have Okkyo-san come soothe Kayoko’s heart?” “When it comes to someone who can play that role, there’s no one but Okkyo-san—though I’m spineless to ask this—I want her guided toward distractions beyond me.” “Of course, I’ll steer matters too from my side.” “But even my full efforts won’t suffice—that’s why I must beg Okkyo-san’s aid.”

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

When I went back and told Kyoko, she flatly refused. Since they say love’s sickness cannot be cured even by Kusatsu’s hot springs, no one’s careful handling would suffice—it must be left to the parties themselves and to the course of events. If Ms. Kayoko were to commit suicide, it would only leave us with a rude awakening. Moreover, from Kyoko’s standpoint, it was only natural that she didn’t want to show her face at that mountain villa again.

Because Kyoko’s resolve was as firm as stone, Kazuma also gave up and returned to the mountains three days later, accompanied by both couples—Mokubee and Koroku.

II: Nothing But Unexpected Characters

It was the morning of July 10th when a letter arrived from Kazuma containing the following message. I will have the Tourist Bureau deliver the tickets on July 15th, so come on that day’s last train. I implore you. Additionally, one of the three tickets is for Dr. Kose, so persuade him by any means necessary and bring him along. I beseech you.

A terrible crime is about to be committed. The blood of many people. You and Dr. Kose are my only hope. And, Okkyo-san. Okkyo-san! 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 indeed brought three tickets and stated that the last train bound for N-town would depart at 23:35, arriving in N-town around seven o’clock the following morning, allowing connection to the first bus. Kazuma was a commissioned officer of the Tourist Bureau. He is said to participate in planning promotional cultural projects.

Kazuma would sometimes fixate with single-minded intensity and grow intimidating, making him rather difficult to handle. Yet being exceedingly obliging by nature, I invariably found myself getting roped into things—a hopeless disposition indeed. Kyoko had initially resisted, but the letter’s contents proved too alarming. More fundamentally though, women are ultimately Violet Poets at heart—enthralled by notions of sublime incest and such—and in the end, that’s where their resolve dissolves into sentimental tears. When she finally declared, “Very well, I’ll go boldly,” I called upon Dr. Kose as the letter instructed.

To call him Dr. Kose was stretching it—he wasn’t actually any kind of doctor at all. What’s more, compared to me or Kazuma, he was eleven years younger—still just a twenty-nine-year-old youngster.

He was seventeen and still a middle school student when he came to me, declaring his desire to become a literary man and asking to become my disciple. When I said, "There’s no point apprenticing yourself to a greenhorn like me—go study under a proper master," the young man retorted with some nonsense about "young folks sticking together." However, before long he became obsessed with detective work, though at university he studied something as refined as aesthetics—which was ultimately the result of him realizing his academic limitations made other departments inaccessible due to his scholarly negligence.

However, his detective talent was astonishing. He was indeed a genius. We were shown so many examples to the point of nausea, and there were truly times when the precision of his observations—his ability to minutely pinpoint and discern the nuances of human psychology—proved terrifying. When he took on a case, the human psychology surrounding crime would be delineated with unmistakable clarity. Everything was clearly dissected, calculated until an answer emerged—but as for what formula this followed, ever-shifting as it was, the equations he employed remained beyond our grasp.

For us literary scholars, humans are inscrutable beings; the labyrinth of human psychology is meant to remain eternally and infinitely complex—it is why literature can exist. But for him, the human heart was always clearly dissected. “Even though you understand humans that well, why are your novels so terrible?” I teased, “Ah ha ha. “Because my novels are terrible, I understand crime, you see.”

This was neither a joke nor false modesty. This statement was also an insightful theory that pierced the truth; his observations of human nature appeared structured to halt at the baseline of criminal psychology and never wander beyond that line into the infinite maze. Such things are what make a genius.

That’s why he couldn’t write literature. Because literature has no fixed boundaries in human observation, he was a genius detective yet utterly inept at literature. Yet we absolutely acknowledged his detective prowess—which was why we grandly addressed this lazy, unscholarly man as “Doctor.” But while the wretch knew nothing of stuffy academic disciplines, he’d devour through the night any triviality from highbrow works like storytelling manuals and rakugo anthologies down to lowbrow materials: smutty novels, movie magazines, sumo rankings—there being no trifle he didn’t know inside out.

When I went over, showed him the letter, and asked for his assistance,

“I see. A summer retreat sounds nice. The food’s decent and the liquor’s drinkable. But tonight’s out of the question.”

“Why?” “This is rough—switching to defiance now? Lend me your ear a moment. A-I-BI-KI. Understood?”

“So you’re no different either, Doctor? After all, your companion must be a pan-pan girl.” “Come now—that’s meddlesome of you... Professor.” “I’ll take tomorrow’s night train.” “I’ll be going on ahead.” “I’d like to take that kid along too.”

“Bring them along—don’t hold back.” “No, no. I cannot take a sacred virgin into a den of tigers and wolves.”

“Doctor, do you have a penchant for juvenile tastes?” “Good grief.” “I’m saddled with someone who has such idiotic preferences.”

I departed as specified in the letter.

The train journey was, for this season, as stately as a daimyo’s procession—meaning one couldn’t sit down, sleep, or even relieve oneself—a moderately tranquil trip by such measures.

When we got off at N Town, an unexpected person had boarded the same train. I was startled when someone called out to me—it was Kamiyama Toyo and his wife, Ms. Kisano. During the war, the Kamiyama couple had briefly shown their faces at the mountain villa—the husband being a lawyer who had served as Utagawa Tamon’s secretary until eight or nine years prior. Kisano was originally a geisha in Shinbashi who had been bought out and made Tamon’s mistress, but after having an affair with Toyo—around when he quit his position as secretary—it’s said she still visits from time to time. Far from being the cerebral professional one expects of a lawyer, he was a hulking man whose burly wrists and joints gave him the look of a yakuza enforcer.At the Utagawa estate, everyone loathed him,treating him like an outcast to be driven away.No matter where he turned，even the maids scowled at him，and no matter whom he addressed，no one would answer.

“This goes for you too, Kyō-san. “Ah yes—I had heard about your marriage to Professor Yashiro.” “You’re not what you appear to be either, Professor.” “So it’s true then? Literary types—they look meek enough, but that world’s crawling with hardened veterans after all.” “Most impressive.” “I’ll be counting on your continued guidance.” I made no reply, “You’re a Mr. Utagawa too, aren’t you, Professor Yashiro?” “Allow me to accompany you.” “Are you also a Mr. Utagawa?” “Haah—well now. An invitation letter came my way, you see. “What an extraordinary turn of events!”

But when I boarded the bus, I was completely appalled and disgusted. Nothing but disagreeable, unexpected people kept crossing my path. Doi Koichi was on board. “Hey.” He jerked his head in greeting—not bowing forward but tilting it back—as if this were perfectly natural, which made him a contemptible jerk.

“Hey, where are you off to?” “Where do you think? After coming to this backwater that’s barely a step up from Adachigahara, there’s nowhere else to go.” “Obviously we’re going to Utagawa Kazuma’s place.” “Aren’t you?”

But what business does this guy have going there?

“Do you have some business here?” “Don’t fuck with me.” “What business would I have with that lousy poet?” “I’ve already properly received and drunk up all the settlement money, but I won’t fall into ruin as badly as Nedaru afterward.” “That guy kept insisting I should graciously accept his invitation to spend the whole summer there—said there’d be plenty of booze and food. I thought he was some kind of idiot spouting nonsense, but hey, if there’s alcohol involved, might as well humor him, right?”

He looked at Kyoko, snorted derisively, and—

“So you’re Miss Kyoko?” “Well now, you are a beauty.” “You’re quite the looker.” “Virtuous and noble, yet also deeply flirtatious.” “That’s quite the allure.” “What a waste.” “I’m too late by a couple steps, huh?” “If I’d evacuated to this village during the war, I’d have had Kyoko for myself.” “But for all of us to boldly barge into the Utagawa house together—Writer Yashiro’s got some nerve, hasn’t he?” “Your novels are so juvenile they’re unreadable.”

What on earth was Kazuma thinking, and what scheme was he concocting? From his letter I'd mainly sensed nonsense, but now I too had grown terribly uneasy.

Something is going to happen. At the very least, it was now certain 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 a journey of nearly one ri (about four kilometers) along mountain paths that climbed and descended—utterly unbearable when exhausted.

When we finally drew near the Utagawa residence and were passing beneath the tutelary shrine, two women emerged from the tree shade and began walking toward us. They were Ms. Ayaka and Utsugi Akiko. They seemed to have come out to greet us.

However, when Mrs. Ayaka approached us, she straightened up rigidly like a rod. With a face that seemed utterly bewildered—as if doubting her own eyes—she stood frozen, but when Doi Koichi saw this, he was the first to speak. “Hey there, Mrs. Tycoon. “Thanks for coming all the way out to greet me. Must’ve been a real chore.” “Well then, as a little reward, maybe I’ll show you some long-overdue affection.”

He strode briskly toward Ms. Ayaka. He looked every bit ready to embrace her and plant a kiss right then and there.

“What are you doing here?” “And you?” Ms. Ayaka edged backward behind Ms. Utsugi as if to hide herself, but Koichi paid this no heed—carrying himself with such bravado that he might’ve swept both women into his arms then and there, “Well, well. “Who might *you* be?” “Huh?” “Ms. Utsugi Akiko.” “Ah, the renowned female writer—my apologies for not recognizing you sooner.” “Still young, aren’t you? And this—quite beautiful.” “I’ll pay my proper respects in due time.” "My old flame’s been waiting impatiently for me, you know.”

Koichi grabbed Ms. Ayaka’s arm. Ms. Ayaka violently shook him off and staggered back five or six steps,

“You villain! “You good-for-nothing! “This is no place for the likes of you! “Get out! “Hey, someone…” She glanced around at us restlessly, but as Koichi made another clumsy grab for her, she had no chance to finish speaking—her face went pale, and she bolted. Without sparing a glance at her retreating figure, Koichi took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead,

“When a girl runs into someone she loves, she gets all flustered. “Why can’t women ever just come out and tell the person they’ve been longing for that they’ve been longing for him?” “Hey Ms. Utsugi, Japanese women lack training in every aspect of femininity, don’t you think?”

When we arrived at the Utagawa residence, it turned out that all the guests had gone out to Taktubo for bathing, leaving only Kazuma and Utsumi the servant waiting for our arrival.

I had no strength left to speak. After taking a bath, I had a light meal of beer and sandwiches until my eyes grew too heavy to stay open. I had a bed laid out for me in the room and fell fast asleep. For a body gasping under the city's sweltering heat, the mountain's cool air was a comfort. When I awoke, dusk had already fallen. There was one thing missing from my expectations. The evening cicadas had yet to begin singing. By month's end, they would begin singing. As I was washing my face, a maid came to fetch me. Just then, Kyoko also came to greet me,

“Finally, you’re awake. Everyone’s already been drinking, you know.”

“I really slept soundly.”

I let out a big yawn and went downstairs.

III. The Uninvited Guests

I greatly disliked Mochizuki Ouni. However, those in the literary world who claimed to like Mochizuki Ouni were few and far between. Flaunting his literary brilliance, he looked down on everyone else. He had no grasp of manners or decorum—a man who wouldn’t hesitate to kiss a woman in public, let alone commit assault or rape—which was why he remained unmarried, yet boasted that every woman under heaven might as well be his. However, he was well-regarded among journalists. This was because he was generous with money and journalism valued writing skill over ideological substance, leaving them dazzled by his literary brilliance. Moreover, journalism judges matters not by their historical essence but through their immediate sensational appeal. Since he was a first-rate popular writer, his arrogance came to be accepted as natural—even recast as confidence or artistic conviction ("You can't make art without that much belief!"). In the end, his arrogance was evaluated as if it were a virtue, while his philandering tendencies were celebrated as proof of genius—evidence that his sensibilities were indeed wired differently from ordinary men.

I, however, thought this was a spectacle. This was because Doi Koichi had joined the gathering—pitting the literary world’s and art world’s most notorious beasts against each other. Now this was a clever ploy. For Kazuma, this was a remarkably well-executed scheme—one that made me realize my own carelessness. I had always let those men provoke my anger, yet never once considered turning them into drinking companions.

However, my expectations were betrayed. They were indeed veteran schemers who'd weathered every storm—seemingly crude yet finely attuned to that peculiar honor among thieves, so they never came to blows.

“Hey Pika-ichi, aren’t you drinking?” Ouni said, but Koichi just grinned slyly. He didn’t drink much. A man who could brazenly flirt with women in public without getting plastered like that fellow probably had no need for liquor in the first place. Perhaps it worked like this—if one got drunk, it would induce drowsiness and dull one’s reflexes. As for Ouni, whether drunk or sober, he would persistently hit on women and guzzle alcohol as if pouring it straight down his gullet.

Suddenly, Koichi stood up and went to stand before Ms. Kocho. Abruptly grabbing her hand,

“Let’s dance.” “Ms. Kocho.” “Having long secretly yearned after glimpsing your visage on stage, I see you truly merit being called a paragon of beauty in both countenance and form.” “There’s Charmante, Délicat, and Orgueilleuse—this particular vice is what I adore.” “Now then, let us dance.”

Ms. Kocho quietly withdrew her hand, coldly,

“No.” Ouni guffawed. “Well done, Pika-ichi! Ah ha ha! That you chose to hit on this third-rate Louis XIV-style courtesan first reveals your profound lack of refinement. For all your French training, you clearly don’t grasp European learning. You mustn’t court a courtesan in public. They put on ladylike airs—hypocritical arrogance through and through! When pursuing someone publicly, a courtesan’s imitation works best. Observe—like this.”

He stood up, pulled Tamao-san’s hand to start dancing, immediately embraced her, dropped heavily onto the sofa, and kissed her. Tamao-san was unfazed. After kissing her to his heart’s content, he raised his face, “Well? “Mr. Pika-ichi. “Tomorrow night I’ll do this for you. “Don’t you dare tremble then. “I can’t stand trembling men. “Hey, Tango-san, let’s dance the tango.”

Tango shook his head. However, just as he began to shake his head, Tamao-san—paying him no mind—had already started walking toward Uchiumi, making Tango’s feignedly composed head-shaking resemble that of a toy doll.

“Come on, Mr. Uchiumi. You too need to bathe in footlights once in a while. Withdraw to a corner, don’t sulk, and boldly overwhelm them!” Uchiumi wore a good-natured smile, “The only time I bathe in footlights is when I star in Notre Dame. I’ll be counting on you to co-star with me then!”

“Oh, really? “How splendid.” “Let’s put it on here this summer.” “Mr. Hitomi, do write us a suitable script.”

“Fine.” “I’ll handle the stage design.” “We’ll put on a show for the villagers and shake those peasant bastards down for their new yen.”

“With Pika-ichi’s stage design, the peasant audience’ll bolt.” “That play should just stop.” “With this many actresses gathered, what’s better than an erotic dance?” “Like this—quick and dirty!”

Ouni suddenly scooped Tamao up and wrenched off her two-piece as if stripping loot. Clad only in a chemise, she rolled free from his arms without flinching. Her face showed no trace of mockery. Silently meeting Ouni’s gaze, she calmly shed the chemise. Now she stood in nothing but panties.

“Are you done?” “Another piece?”

Kazuma irritably grabbed his sister’s arm. “You need to withdraw now.” “It’s not like it’s any trouble. Saves me the trouble—perfect timing.” When Ouni picked up Tamao,

“Hey, cut it out!” Kazuma snapped at Ouni. “That’s crossing a line!” Tamao met her brother’s glare unflinching. “Don’t get worked up, Brother. Even a demon wouldn’t actually strip someone bare in public.” Her lips curved in mock innocence as she added, “But since this saves us both the trouble—and the timing’s just right—I’ll be borrowing him briefly.” She gestured dismissively toward the room. “The performance is over anyway. What comes next belongs to love’s private theater—no audience allowed.”

He picked her up with a heave-ho—there we go, sorry!—and headed off to his own bedroom.

Five minutes, ten minutes—the two did not return.

In some corner of the city there might have existed shady old women and sham cabarets, but even there such a spectacle would rarely have been witnessed.

Even Mr. Pika-ichi looked utterly exasperated,

“Well now, this hellion surpasses even the rumors!” “The Utagawa household, however, makes for a first-rate brothel.” “Had I not been wandering the hinterlands of France, I might’ve nurtured a mountaineering hobby from my tender years.”

“Who will be my esteemed partner tonight? A Keishū writer? A Seitō poet? How about one of you?”

Ms. Akiko forced a smile. “Yes, I’ll handle it in due course. I have a prior engagement tonight.” Taking her husband Miyake Kohee’s arm, she said, “Well then, I’ll take my leave.” “Ha, is that so,” he said. “There we go.”

Pika-ichi nimbly stood up, strode ahead, opened the door connecting the hall to the corridor, and—with the efficiency of a hotel bellboy or palace attendant—bowed with exaggerated courtesy to usher them through.

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

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

“Honestly—what a disgraceful spectacle.” What would it take to quell this fury? To strangle them all—the thought burned through him. I found myself without words to offer solace.

“I haven’t had time to speak with you properly. But this—what on earth is going on? I can’t make sense of it. You did pick up the Tourist Bureau tickets, I suppose?” “That’s right.” “Did my letter arrive?” “Of course I saw it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come. Dr. Kose couldn’t come with us, but since he’s departing tonight, he should arrive tomorrow.”

“Dr. Kose?”

“What is it?”

“What happened to Dr. Kose?” “Has someone been here saying such things?” I couldn’t make sense of it. “Because your letter said to bring Dr. Kose along.”

“In my letter?” He stared at me, utterly dumbfounded.

“I wouldn’t write such a thing. I should have written for just you two to come. No, I know. I see through the scheme. It’s not just the letter addressed to you, you know. Listen. Truly, what on earth is this? Which one of them—who the hell—I’m already in a raging fury. But truly, whose mischief is this? I have no earthly reason to send invitations to people like the Kamiyama Toyo couple, let alone Doi Koichi and those others! And what’s more—they’ve received invitations. What’s worse—just like you—a Tourist Bureau messenger has duly delivered their tickets. I have indeed sent a letter arranging for the Tourist Bureau to deliver the tickets. But that was only for you two as a couple. And I certainly never asked Dr. Kose either.”

This time, it was my turn to be dumbfounded. I hadn’t doubted his letter in the slightest. It was indeed his familiar handwriting. However, fortunately, when I had visited Dr. Kose, I had put the letter in my pocket to show him and still had it here with me. I took it out and showed it. He was glaring at it, but— “The person who opened my letter rewrote it and sent it.” “Because my text has been used verbatim.” “You see?”

“I will have the Tourist Bureau deliver the tickets on July 15th, so please come on that day’s last train. I must insist. ‘Furthermore, one of the three tickets is for Dr. Kose,’ (Okyo-san) so please coax her into coming along by any means necessary—even if you have to force her. I beg you.”

"A terrible crime is about to be committed. The blood of many people... You and Dr. Kose are my only hope." And, Okyo-san. Okyo-san! I beg of you. I’m waiting. I see a dark sea of blood.

“In other words,” he said, “the parts in double brackets are someone’s additions, while the parentheses have been omitted. ‘A terrible crime’? There’s no such thing here! The closing line about ‘seeing a dark sea of blood’ is indeed my writing. At that time I was tormented by dark fantasies about the sinful blood between brother and sister. But honestly, it was an exaggeration. I wrote that shameful passage—‘Okyo-san! Okyo-san! I see a dark sea of blood’—casting aside all literary pride because I needed you all to come, especially to appeal to Okyo-san’s innocence. Forgive me, Okyo-san. But what could this forger be plotting? Maybe there really is a crime brewing here. Honestly! Even I—right now—want to kill someone! Every last one of them! Damn them all! I want to wring their necks! Anyone living in this house couldn’t last without killing two or three people!”

However, the handwriting was undoubtedly his. However, upon closer inspection, traces of meticulous imitation could be perceived.

“What about this paper?”

“Our stationery.”

“Where is it kept?”

“This, along with ink and pen, is always kept on the desk in the corner of the hall we were just in. Of course envelopes are kept there as well.”

“Who posted the letter?” “During your evacuation period, the post office was short-staffed—and given wartime conditions—we had to walk a ri ourselves just to mail letters. Now they come collect them instead—an old custom that’s persisted.” “Naturally, they take outgoing mail when delivering incoming.” “Only when there’s nothing to deliver here do they still make special collection trips at regular hours.” “Outgoing mail goes into a paulownia box we keep in the entrance hall—people just toss their letters in themselves.” “So anyone could’ve swapped them.”

“Well… fine.” “Fortunately, Dr. Kose is coming tomorrow—isn’t this perfectly timed?” “Of course, the letter’s culprit has named themself.” “Why the hell did they call Dr. Kose?” “This bastard culprit—if they’re underestimating Dr. Kose, it’ll be their downfall.” “That guy’s an absolute genius in that field, you know.” “In other words, he’s got a perfectly mediocre mind.” “Perfectly suited for finding culprits but utterly useless beyond that—and the fact that it’s structured not to go any further is probably what makes it such an exceptional talent.”

“Well then, see you tomorrow.”

“Proceed as you will.” “Even if we chase crimes, we’ll just wander through a maze, manufacturing culprits at every turn.” “After all, for novelists, there’s no such thing as a person who isn’t a culprit—so pondering it is utterly futile.”

Kazuma returned to his room.

Not a sound could be heard from any of the rooms now.

“It feels so eerie.” “I’m getting scared.” “I wonder if something truly terrifying is about to happen.”

“What kind of terrifying thing?” “What kind? How should I know? But don’t you feel like something’s really about to happen?”

“Is that so? A crime at a brothel? You Pika-Ichi! A brothel, huh? But really, what an outrageous story, I tell you.”

“I spoke with Kayoko-san today, you know.” “It was still just a brief greeting-level chat.” “She’s probably more than I expected.” “She seems truly obsessed with her brother.” “She said sin is something humans created.” “It’s a concept humans have arbitrarily fabricated,” she added. “She told me, ‘In their natural state, humans have no reason to bear sin anywhere,’ or something like that.” “Because there’s shame, there must be sin.”

“Your sophistry is like the grime clinging to Kayoko-san’s anguish.”

“Alright, alright. ‘The young ladies’ worries are profoundly deep.’ ‘C’mon, let’s hit the sack.’ ‘But will I even be able to sleep?’”

I had overslept during my nap. But I was growing drowsy again.

At that moment, along the hallway, Ms. Tamao passed by humming what sounded like a French chanson I didn’t recognize. When she reached the stairs, her voice gradually grew louder as she clattered down.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the grand return of Tayu Tamao.”

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

Postscript: I am offering a prize for this detective novel. To the most outstanding answer deducing the culprit, I shall present the manuscript fee for this novel’s solution chapter. The details will be announced in the magazine in due course, but it’s roughly planned for nine or ten installments—let’s have a grand battle of wits with all of you! If you don't guess correctly, I won't be paying the manuscript fee, you know. In most cases, I probably won't have to give it out at all. Sakaguchi Ango

Four: The First Murder

The next morning, July 17th at 6:30 a.m., we went out for a walk.

In Mount Miwa—a mountain remote from human habitation—there stood a small shrine known as Miwa Shrine, said to be an ancient guardian deity dating back to the Nara period. Now all that remained of its former grandeur was a dense forest of towering trees; the shrine itself stood as small as a child’s toy. Within Mount Miwa, surrounded by dense beech forests, lay a pond approximately three chō in circumference. The water’s deep azure hue bore an unearthly color tinged with something supernatural—a guardian spirit said to dwell within, tied to legends of the Miwa deity. They said its waters never ran dry.

The scenery around here possessed an intensity of colors, a depth of solitude, and a stillness that seeped into my chest—for me, this was the village’s greatest charm. After walking around this area and returning in time for the 7:30 breakfast, when I passed through the back gate and tried to circle toward the front gate along the sake storehouse, there was Dr. Ebizuka—that Sarumatagi fellow—rubbing his body against the clear stream in the rear garden while doing calisthenics.

“Oh, did you stay over last night?” I called out, but he merely glared and offered no reply. He was truly an eccentric, a twisted soul. Afflicted with a limp from childhood polio, when naked, the stark difference in the thinness of his legs became unmistakably clear. He seemed to harbor hostility toward all of us, barely giving proper replies when addressed, yet despite this—ever since the literati began staying at the mountain villa—he had reportedly been coming every night to linger at the edges of their drinking gatherings, holding his breath. His face bore an expression of utter anger, yet perhaps the man himself found considerable enjoyment in this arrangement.

When I went to the hall and found everyone assembled—since they said the meal was ready—we entered the dining room. Dr.Ebizuka arrived late. Next, Utsugi Akiko appeared with a sluggish demeanor, “Somehow my head is aching. I don’t want any food really, but when it’s the fixed gathering time, somehow I just can’t stay in bed.” “Did you stay up all night?” asked Ms.Kocho. “No. I overslept too much—I’m still sleepy even now. Maybe the mountain air makes one drowsy? Since my usual life is so irregular, when I occasionally live by a regular schedule, it feels healthily peculiar yet somehow reassuring...”

"A lady steeped in vice adores virtuous deeds—such is the way of things." Pika-ichi declared loudly.

“I’ll just have some water.” “Are you unwell?” asked Ms. Ayaka.

"Yeah." "A talentless glutton like me losing my appetite—maybe I am sick after all." "Could it be morning sickness?" said Pika-ichi. "You should have Dr.Ebizuka examine you." With that,Kazuma showed concern for his former wife. Her current husband Mokubee is sullenly displeased,but they'll likely part ways before long.

“Oh dear. I’d hate to actually be made sick.” “It’s what they call wisdom fever, Ms. Utsugi. Lately, aren’t you in your intellectual prime? Her Excellency’s development has grown remarkably vigorous,” teased Utsumi, the parasite poet.

This was because Ms. Akiko had become postwar Japan's most celebrated female literary sensation—Her Excellency having been writing with such indecent prolificacy.

“Life’s delightful.” “Parting’s pleasurable too.” “When someone like Ms. Utsugi rides such waves of success, even divine punishment would stop at loss of appetite.” “God’s reach has its limits, you see.” “Could our Ms. Utsugi be blossoming into genius?” Tango Yumihiko pricked her with his barbed wit.

“Ah ha ha! A lady steeped in vice losing her appetite—how concerning.” “It must be because her other appetites are far from lacking—if anything, they’re too voracious.”

Pika-ichi's remarks were always vulgar.

As the meal was nearing its end, Ms. Tamao arrived.

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

“Obviously. The reason you’re sleepy is…” Once again, Pika-ichi was first to interject.

“I don’t want to eat anything. “Mr. Ouni’s still in bed, huh?”

Ouni alone had yet to show his face. Pika-ichi contorted his face, “There, there! So men really gotta sleep even more, do they? Even with Ouni’s considerable build, could his exhaustion possibly surpass yours, Ms. Tamao? That’s Ms. Utsugi’s novel for you.” “In painting, such vulgar matters don’t make proper subjects—that’s why art’s noble. Literature’s filthy, I tell you.” “I’ll go wake him.” Ms. Tamao declared flatly, then ran up the stairs singing a chanson before leaving, only to return moments later without a sound. Her face was deathly pale. Her eyes had lost their focus. For a moment, she seemed incapable of speech.

“Mr. Ouni is dead.” Kazuma jerked his face up— “What?”

“Mr. Ouni has been murdered.”

She staggered to one of the empty chairs and sank into it, petrified like a fossil.

Kazuma sluggishly stood up and, while intently surveying the people around him,

“Sunpei.” “Just you,” he called out to me, “Everyone—please wait here.” “I’ll go check.” “Sunpei alone, with me.” “And Dr. Ebizuka.”

The gathering was utterly silent. Dr. Ebizuka and I stood up. And only the three of us walked out from the utterly silent room without a stir.

Ouni had indeed been murdered. He lay completely naked. He had been stabbed once through the heart. The dagger remained thrust into him, as if pinning his body in place. Strangely, almost no blood was visible. The notion that this bastard—a man who killed others rather than being killed—could end up murdered was too absurd to believe. It felt utterly unreal, as though we were trapped in some fictional crime plot. Whoever did it—this bastard had it coming. I felt such intense perverse satisfaction that it unnerved me—his death seemed so utterly devoid of drama, I half-suspected he might still be alive, as though we were being tricked into believing a lie.

Dr. Ebizuka took his pulse, flipped up his eyelids, and... “He’s been dead for a while.” "Serves him right." Those words had naturally slipped from my lips. Kazuma had been silently staring, but finally seemed to regain his composure,

“Well, regardless—let’s leave this room.” “We’ll leave everything as it stands.” “There’s no alternative.” “Can’t we conceal this from the police—manage it discreetly?”

We exited into the corridor. At that moment, I noticed and glanced at my wristwatch—it was eight twenty-two. I called the village police outpost. Then we returned to the dining hall. Though the silent gathering hungered for explanation, neither Kazuma nor Ebizuka spoke—so I, “Ouni is dead. “He’s been murdered.” “So it’s definitely murder?” “Can you tell?” said Pika-ichi.

“Clearly murder.” “Ouni may be as much of a monster as you are, but he probably couldn’t pull off the trick of plunging a dagger into his own heart.” I didn’t miss how Ms. Akiko’s expression shifted at that moment. Had she been startled? By what? When she noticed my gaze fixed on her, she suddenly stared sharply back—but there had been another observer besides myself. Tamao-san. She pointed at Ms. Akiko and screamed hysterically.

“I know who the killer is! The woman writer, Ms. Utsugi Akiko. As expected of someone so accomplished—aren’t you? Since you’re capable of murder and all.”

Tamao-san stood up and, as if revealing a magic trick’s secret, pinched between her fingertips some small object she had been gripping tightly and showed it to the people. “This lighter is your trusty Dunhill, isn’t it, Ms. Utsugi Akiko? Because aside from Ms. Utsugi Akiko, there’s no handsome boy around here using a Dunhill. It was on Mr. Ouni’s bedside desk. On the desk’s ashtray, there are also lipstick-stained cigarette stubs. Until I left that room last night, there were no such things. End of the entire volume.” Tamao-san tossed the lighter onto the dining table and sank into her chair as if yawning. Ms. Akiko wore the face of a condemned criminal who had just received her sentence. She lowered her face as if drained of strength, but then raised her trembling visage—

“That I killed him—it’s a lie! A dagger—such a thing—I don’t know anything about it!” “Let’s stop this. Labeling someone the culprit… It’s true someone killed him, but really—anyone here would’ve carried the same murderous impulse toward that bastard. The title of culprit hardly suits such an admirable standard-bearer. Rather than squabbling over finding the killer, wouldn’t discussing an innocence petition better reflect our genuine sentiments?”

When I said that, Dr. Ebizuka, “Night Parade of One Hundred Demons—obviously.”

Having muttered that, Dr. Ebizuka stood up. Because I was standing beside him, his muttering reached my ears. As he rose and moved to leave,

“Dr. Ebizuka. We shouldn’t move until the investigation is finished, should we?”

“I’m not part of your idle class. Patients are swarming in. Carried on backs, walking eleven miles of mountain trails since before dawn. Murder? Just the end result of a game. Peasants’ lives—bugs with a few extra hairs—still outrank mere insects. A vermin slaughter. Farewell. Everyone.”

“Poseur, dandy, oh great doctor sir!” Pika-ichi bellowed at the retreating figure.

“You’re really putting your all into killing patients, huh? The look in your eyes—I’ve seen that in a psychiatric hospital, you know.” “Having a madman take their pulses—you mountain folks are sure carefree, huh?”

The local police officer rushed to the scene. This Officer Minamikawa Yuichiro—an avid reader of detective novels but facing his first real case—threw himself into the task with his entire body tensed up, ceremoniously plastering a seal across the crime scene door. He solemnly instructed everyone not to disturb the site and contacted headquarters by telephone.

“A major incident has occurred. Hmm, can you hear me? Mr. Mochizuki Ouni—a popular literary figure in Tokyo, a fashionable writer, a trending author… Don’t you get it? The very opposite of some penny-a-line hack! Ugh, this is troublesome—doesn’t the main station have any literature-savvy officers?”

Five: The Cat's Bell

It would take over five hours for the group from the prefectural main station to arrive. However, Officer Minamikawa Yuichiro was so excessively fussy that he confined everyone to the dining room and wouldn’t even let them out for a walk.

“Oh no, this is bad—the footprints will disappear! You mustn’t loiter in the corridors either. In criminal cases, you see—a single strand of hair, a grain of sand fallen from a shoe—mark my words, these become the keys. It’s a subtle thing indeed. Through your cooperation and several hours of patience, the grand machinery of forensic science will yield results.”

He would only permit them to walk along a single designated path to the restroom.

At around 11:30, Dr. Kose arrived. I had been eagerly waiting to present his arrival to everyone, but here he stood—a man just over five feet tall with a perfectly round, cherubic face, appearing no more than an amiable lad of twenty-three or twenty-four. While he seemed quick enough in a scuffle, there was not a trace of the great detective about him. Kazuma and I explained the situation while he listened deferentially—panting "Haa, haa" as though he himself were being interrogated.

“This is the forged letter in question. With your discernment, uncovering the truth should be child’s play.” “Don’t be absurd!” “I’m utterly useless at this sort of thing.” “Ah—so this is Mr. Utagawa’s genuine handwriting?” “Hah! They’re identical, aren’t they?” “Brilliant work!” “You can’t distinguish this from the real article—truly masterful.”

Therefore, Dr. Kose had an absolutely terrible reputation. Instead, he was amiable with a cherubic, round face, polite to the ladies, and entirely lacking in intimidation—which made him wildly popular among them.

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

“She’s rather shy, you see—since she’s a delicate seventeen-year-old girl.” “My, my! So you still haven’t even kissed her yet?” “Well... just once.” He fumbled with his collar. “She turned bright red, but... she didn’t get angry.” “Haa.” “Then you could go on a honeymoon now! Let’s call her over right away, shall we?” “Ah, but there’s a problem with her coming here. She doesn’t know how to eat Western food—had never held a knife and fork before. She’s still practicing, you see.”

Because they were being confined by Officer Yuichiro, they were venting their frustration by amusing themselves with Dr. Kose.

At 2:30 PM, a delegation comprising a preliminary judge, prosecutor, and police officers arrived via official government vehicle. Through Kazuma’s entreaties, Dr. Kose was granted crime scene access privileges equivalent to those of the police officers.

The police doctor’s examination concluded, and a considerable number of fingerprints were collected from the scene.

Inspector Hirao Yutaka, head of the investigation division, possessed the spiritual insight to grasp any intellectual crime at a single glance; when he glared sharply a second, third, or fourth time, he would inevitably see through it. A top detective too illustrious for the countryside, known nationwide in his field as "Inspector Grasper". He scrutinized every inch of the crime scene with piercing intensity, then issued meticulous instructions for the investigation. "There must be a special reason for the lack of bleeding. Like he was already dead or something." "Like he was already dead or something."

“I cannot state definitively without performing an autopsy, but in this case—what is commonly called a cardiac tamponade—when a weapon is driven perpendicularly into the heart, it can rarely result in internal bleeding alone.” “However, without performing an autopsy, I cannot make a definitive determination.”

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

“Huh? What’s this?” One of the detectives picked up a small brass bell from under the bed. This detective was Superintendent Arahira Hiroshi, the prefecture’s top investigator. With a keen sixth sense that could sniff out any criminal method and track down perpetrators, he was a master detective known among colleagues as “Hachōbana”—held in awe for his prowess.

“What’s that?” “It’s a bell.” At a glance, it was an extremely cheap-looking item—the kind of bell you’d hang around a cat’s neck. “Under the bed—isn’t there anything else? Hey Yomisugi—you’re a shrimp. Crawl under there.”

Hachōbana put on his boss act. The detective called Yomisugi—whose real name was Nagahata Chifuyu—possessed incongruous knowledge whose origins no one could quite place. He had dabbled in German and possessed medical knowledge, but when it came to detective work, he could hardly be called competent. He had acquired the nickname “Yomisugi” because he tended to overcomplicate straightforward crimes with convoluted thinking, interpreting them as preposterously difficult mysteries and getting utterly absorbed in them alone. Since this case appeared to be a complex crime committed by Tokyo intellectuals, Inspector Grasper had thought that Yomisugi might actually be a good match for this particular case—which was why he had brought him as Hachōbana’s partner. Though Hachōbana possessed sharp detective skills that could sniff out crimes eight blocks away, he remained at heart a hotheaded lone wolf prone to snap judgments—his instincts proved reliable for rural crimes, but left him woefully unequipped to unravel the calculated schemes of intellectuals.

Yomisugi got down on all fours to crawl under the bed. “Well now, this is strange,” he said. “There’s a jacket under here.” When he pulled out the jacket, a thick layer of dust clung to one spot—leaving marks like those from wiping something with a rag. “Hmm, I wonder where they wiped,” he mused. “This table... or maybe the desk?” “The hell would that much dust gather in a spot like this?” Hachōbana snapped. “It’s obvious.” “Where the jacket was lying.”

“You mean under the bed?” “Take a look.” “Hmm, I see. There are indeed traces of someone having wiped around here. But why the hell did someone wipe under the bed? There’s not a single drop of blood or water spilled anywhere.”

The jacket belonged to the victim. They completed their meticulous search of the crime scene by evening; the murder weapon bore no fingerprints, but several fingerprints had been lifted from the flask and glass on the bedside table. When they took fingerprints from everyone and compared them, aside from the victim’s, Ms. Tamao’s and Ms. Akiko’s matched perfectly. Ms. Akiko’s fingerprints clearly showed she had gripped the flask and poured into the glass. A very small amount of dark brown liquid remained in the flask.

“Was the window open from the beginning?” “The window at the foot of the bed had been left wide open. However, the culprit didn’t enter through there.” “There are no traces of a ladder being placed here or anyone having climbed up,” Officer Yuichiro declared, demonstrating that his time standing guard hadn’t been wasted—his investigative skills were indeed properly honed.

“There aren’t any mosquitoes around here?”

“Not at all! This place is notorious for bush mosquitoes. See that tiered shelf? There’s a ceramic pot burning mosquito-repellent incense right there.”

“I know that much. But I asked because there’s no incense ash left inside.” On the desk lay about fifty pages of written manuscript and roughly five hundred sheets of blank manuscript paper, neatly arranged with no signs of having been disturbed. The room showed no signs of having been ransacked.

Awaiting the autopsy results, they decided to commence formal interrogations, and leaving a few members to stay overnight at the police station, the forensic team withdrew.

At that moment, Inspector Kanguri—who had come out to bid farewell to the departing group—turned to one person and

“Oi, send Atapin over here tomorrow. “These highbrow intellectual ladies getting tangled up with Manji Tamao—I’m no good with that sort. “Atapin’s our only bet.”

Because I had caught wind of this—I was startled—

“What’s this ‘Atapin’ you’re referring to?”

“Ha ha ha!

“Did you catch that? She’s our main station’s celebrated female detective! A gem too good for a rural police department—goes by Fumiko Iizuka. Cheeky little beauty with allure that makes you want to tease her. But beware! Once you carelessly take that bait, she’ll start lording it over you—scheming to scatter every last man with a snort and trample ’em underfoot! Even Hachōbana—that ten-time murderer who makes this whole prefecture cower—gets flicked off her nose like a booger! Yet with genius intuition, everything clicks into her head. What she sees? Click. What she hears? Click. Sit silent? Still click-clicking away! Sure she’s wrong eighty percent of the time—but when she nails it? Gold! A leapfrog approach sans reasoning—hits just enough to count! That noggin’s always bustling with clicks galore. Dunno what kinda Clicker fuels your hunches, but Atapin’s runs like a high-speed streamlined plunge—downright magnificent!”

Inspector Kanguri’s group also sat down together at the dinner table. Hachōbana and Yomisugi raised their cups. Inspector Kanguri had a sweet tooth.

“If you would kindly lower your guard with us like this, it would be our honor.” “What pains us is how people instinctively meet ‘the police’ with prejudiced hostility—we’re no criminal manufacturing plant.” “Now, I know this makes poor dinner conversation—but in such situations, rather than avoiding case talk, it’s better we address it frankly and share unreservedly. This helps order our minds and benefits all.” “What say you?” “Might we speak freely in this informal symposium atmosphere—sharing what comfortably can be shared?” “This detached building makes an odd Western-style house for mountains—but it’s reinforced concrete, you’ll note.”

“That’s correct.” “It’s what they call Wright-style architecture.” “It’s been about fifteen years since it was built.” “The main house has stood for about 150 years.”

“So the entrance lock appears quite sophisticated.” “No one here in these mountain depths bothers locking their doors. The very concept of burglars doesn’t exist here. Though we do get nighttime intruders—what we call ‘night crawlers.’” “Inspector. Let’s drop this idle chatter. The killer didn’t come from outside—that much is plain. When you humor us like this, it stings our pride just as much as mockery would.”

I said, somewhat offended.

“Please say exactly what you think—bluntly and without reserve. Literary work operates that way, and we’re accustomed to such directness. When someone speaks in such needlessly convoluted circles, we grow contrary and lose all inclination to respond.”

“No, Mr. Yashiro—you people do know something about this case at any rate.” “However, we’re starting with a completely blank slate and must learn everything from this point onward.” “Therefore, what is perfectly clear to you all remains unclear to us.” “That is precisely what we must ask you to explain.” “Now, Mr. Yashiro—why do you say the culprit isn’t from outside? What’s your reasoning?”

“Because this wasn’t a burglar’s work.” “Would someone come all the way here from outside just to kill him?” “What makes you certain no one but residents of this house could have killed Mr. Ouni?” “I wouldn’t know about that.” “But if you mean the people living here—most of them wanted Mochizuki dead anyway.” “No need for outsiders when we’ve got willing killers right here.”

“I see. However, your theory’s content alone doesn’t suffice as grounds to conclude the culprit came from outside.” “Suppose someone enters through the corridor entrance, climbs the stairs—since Mr. Mochizuki’s room lies at the top—goes inside first, then kills him when he wakes up.” “Given that the murder weapon—the dagger—was displayed on the parlor shelf, the culprit must be someone privy to internal affairs.” “They must have taken it from there with murderous intent from the very beginning.”

“I see. However, that too isn’t something we can definitively conclude as necessarily being the case.” “Was the dagger also displayed there that day?” No one answered. “It should have been displayed,” Kazuma answered. “Last night, you all were seated at the dinner table like this as well.” “And then…” “And then? You…” “Usually after meals everyone would go their separate ways, but last night with Yashiro and the new guests having arrived, we stayed up late drinking, talking, and dancing in the adjacent hall.”

“Brother, stop it.” “What exactly do you want to know, Inspector?” “When was he killed—and who did it?” “That’s all there is to it.” “I’ll tell you.” “Mr. Ouni and I retired to his bedroom a little earlier.” “I don’t remember exactly what time it was.” “When I left Mr. Ouni’s room, he was already asleep.” “And at that time, neither this lighter nor any lipstick-stained cigarette butts were on the desk.” “I don’t smoke, you see.” “I turned off the light and left the room.” “From this point onward, it’s now the turn of this lighter’s owner, Ms. Utsugi Akiko, to give her account.” “Ms. Utsugi, please go ahead.”

Ms. Akiko seemed to have already steeled herself.

“I went to Mr. Ouni’s room around one o’clock,” she said decisively.

“Mr. Ouni was sleeping.” “He was snoring, so there’s no mistake.” “Since even shaking him showed no sign of waking him up, I sat down in a chair and smoked a cigarette.” “Did you drink from the flask at that time?”

“Yes, I drank.” “There wasn’t much left, you see.”

“What is that drink?”

“Geranium thunbergii infusion.” “Though Mr. Ouni appeared robust, he suffered from stomach ailments.” “He made a habit of guzzling that geranium infusion daily instead of tea.” “Pardon my asking, but do you carry your lighter even when briefly visiting another room?”

“I don’t always do that.” “But Mr. Ouni doesn’t smoke.” “I went out last night without bringing my lighter too.” “Then I found the door was locked.” “So I went back once—but when I thought about it properly—it seemed strange.” “That’s when I realized by chance that I had Mr. Ouni’s key with me.” “I looked for it and there it was.” “So I took my lighter and cigarettes along with me—then boldly went back out again.”

“That’s a lie! I didn’t lock any damn door!”

Ms. Tamao shouted. "But the door was locked," Ms. Utsugi Akiko countered. "Ha ha." "How peculiar." "And what did you do with that key?"

“Again, I took 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 someone had locked the door.” “I came too, but someone else who could lock the door also came besides me.” “As for who that was, only Mr. Ouni would know.” “My Dunhill was left behind to voice that protest.”

“That’s a lie!” “A huge lie!” “When I discovered Mr. Ouni’s body this morning, the door wasn’t locked.” “As it stands, didn’t I—who don’t have the key—enter that room and discover the body?”

“Well now,” said Ms. Utsugi Akiko. “This has gotten rather complicated. To begin with, are all the room keys in this house identical?” “No, each one is different,” replied Tamao. “However, they’re single keys that work both from inside and outside.” “So Mr. Ouni’s key was in your possession,” Ms. Akiko pressed on. “Who else could have locked or unlocked that room? Does anyone else have a copy of that key?” “Let me explain,” Tamao responded. “We had three duplicate sets made for every key. One set was distributed to all guests, another was thrown into the desk drawer in the adjacent hall, and the third should definitely be in the safe.”

“That desk drawer.” “Hey, Hatchobana, go check this out for me.”

Kazuma and Hatchobana left to verify, but the entire set of keys from the desk drawer was missing. The desk drawer in the hall contained stationery items such as letter paper and manuscript envelopes bearing the Utagawa family name, arranged so that guests could freely take them as needed.

“Does anyone recall seeing the set of keys from the desk drawer?” “I saw them,” *Semushi* Utsumi Akira said calmly.

“When was that?”

“Let me think. I didn’t bring any manuscript paper with me, so when I heard there was some, I rummaged through—but there were only stationery sheets and envelopes. No manuscript paper to be found.” “Since I only arrived recently, this is 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 the key for that door?” “The door between the rooms remained locked, and that key was not provided to any of the guests. However, that key was naturally also among the stolen set of keys.” “Who was in that adjacent room?” Inspector Kanguri asked as he spread out a diagram where everyone’s room locations were marked. “Ah, Mr. Tango Yumihiko.” “I have had the honor of reading your works in magazines for some time.” “Last night, did you happen to hear any unusual sounds from the adjacent room?”

“Since I hear nothing but strange noises every night, I can’t possibly bother with each one.” “With Ouni dead, I might finally get some peaceful sleep starting tonight.” “Is there any real distinction between the sounds of carnal desire and the sounds of murder?” After the meal, amid the noisy stream of people flowing into the adjacent hall, Hatchobana abruptly called out to Ms. Ayaka.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Those slippers—” “Huh—what’s this? These embroidered slippers?” Tango interjected. “Ah! These aren’t mere slippers—they’re proper shoes,” Hatchobana corrected. “Do you always wear those?” “You must think they’re terribly vulgar,” Ayaka replied. “Everyone teases me about them. But I adore such gaudy, toy-like things. There are seven pairs of equally tacky house shoes out there. I choose which to wear based on my mood each day.”

“Do they all have bells?” “Only this pair has bells.”

“Did you wear those yesterday as well?”

“Yesterday.” “Yesterday. Yesterday, you see...” “Yes.” “I wore them yesterday too.” “But I wore the others outside too.” “Why?” “One of the bells has come off—do you recall when it went missing?” “Yes.” “I noticed one of these bells was missing this morning when I put them on, you know.” “Jumping, running, tripping—because I’m always scurrying about.” “But I’m especially fond of these slippers, you know.” “They’re cute, you know.” “Right? Don’t you think so?” “You must think so too.”

“Haah, no, really. We’ve never seen anything like them in our town, you see.”

After the police withdrew, we drank again. Mokubee, who wasn’t much of a drinker, indulged heavily and sat in sullen silence, while Utsugi Akiko occasionally gulped down mouthfuls of beer she couldn’t handle.

“Even before coming here, we were already something like no longer husband and wife.”

Mokubee said in a low voice. Unaccustomed to heavy drinking, he had turned pale, his eyes crazed. However, the timid man could not bring himself to look at Ms. Akiko and instead turned his gaze in the opposite direction, "However—regardless of everything—carrying on with another man under the same roof... Isn't this a matter of character?" "Though she left Utagawa to be with me—something I never felt ashamed of—now I've grown ashamed of it." "When it comes to that affair, we ourselves become dogs." "We feel a dog's shame." "Yet she still considers herself fully human—how laughable."

Ms. Akiko remained silent. Then Pika-ichi interjected,

“In this day and age, let’s drop the Hamlet impersonations, shall we? If it began here and ends here, the karma’s flawless—everything’s consistent. What a blessed turn of events!” “Shut your mouth, you ruffian! Only speak to your own friends! None of your friends are here!” “What’s this ‘ruffian’ nonsense? Calling your own wife a dog—your gentlemanly act is revolting. I’ve always loathed male friends anyway. Ms. Utsugi here truly shines by comparison. There’s no Hamlet who goes around calling women dogs, you know. If you’re going to label women dogs, you’d better have a lion’s fortitude. It’s because of half-wits like you—with your ideals and lifestyles at odds—peddling foreign literature that Japan remains a cultural backwater. Don’t you agree, Ms. Utsugi? Let’s become the dearest of friends. Frankly, living with this wretch, you’ll never capture a real man in your writing. Shall we not make today our anniversary?”

“Which anniversary number would this be for you?” “Then you ought to consult the Catholic calendar,” Pika-ichi replied. “There’s not a day that isn’t commemorative. We too must emulate Catholicism and make all three hundred sixty-five days commemorative.” He rose without hesitation and seized Ms. Akiko’s hand, but she withdrew. “You’re truly wicked,” she said. “To mock someone suspected of murder—” “My, how antiquated of you! To think our kiss offered in Ouni’s memory could be called sacred and pure aspiration.” His voice swelled theatrically. “Since life’s truth lies in perpetual flux, we must flow ceaselessly from the very day your lover was slain. It simply must be so!”

“I have a headache tonight.”

Ms. Akiko turned around and attempted to leave. As Pika-ichi tried to pursue her, several golf balls came flying—one struck his head, then another hit his shoulder. Since Mrs. Ayaka had been idly juggling the golf balls for some time, when Pika-ichi turned around, she leaned back in her chair and gazed elsewhere, feigning ignorance. “You bastard!” Pika-ichi was about to lunge at Ms. Ayaka, strangling her and knocking over the chair along with her, when I stood up—simultaneously, Hitomi Koroku stood up gripping an empty beer bottle. I shoved Pika-ichi away; Hitomi Koroku’s fearsome demeanor loomed—he was a man once rumored to be a leftist fighter and a renowned brawler in his younger days. What gave me even greater reassurance, however, was Dr. Kose’s presence—for he had been a backstreets enforcer since his student days, one who would rain blood upon about ten hoodlums all by himself and never once back down. Dr. Kose paid no attention to our scuffle, smirking as he enjoyed his drink, but since I was certain he’d back me up if things turned serious, I felt thoroughly emboldened.

“Tch. Playing knight, bastard? If you want European-style duels, I’ll take you one by one. Won’t do shit unless you swarm me. Fools!” Pika-ichi wrenched open two beer bottles from the table, gripped one in each fist, and stormed into the garden while chugging them like a brass instrument.

“It’s necessary we have one drink first, I suppose. How about encircling them for a bit of fist-based discipline?”

Kamiyama Toyo said.

The couple usually went off to mingle with the servants, where they would chatter away nonstop, but whenever they joined our group, they hardly ever spoke.

“You look like you’ve got some muscle. Isn’t being a gangster your trade?”

The Semushi Poet remarked with unflinching intuition. Yet he always smiled harmlessly, so no one ever grew angry. "You flatter me," said the unnamed man. "Do I truly appear so? In truth, I'm rather timid—this show of arm strength is mere pretense." "I suppose lacking the mettle to throw punches for ladies' sake disqualifies one from love," Kazuma mused. "This age increasingly demands we keep iron fists at the ready for beauties. Tell me, Mokubee—does France boast any Semushi swordsmen?"

“Ms. Utsumi is making a poetry collection for me, you know.” “For the Troubled Homely Woman—that’s the title, apparently.” “That’s acceptable.” “You must praise me lavishly.” “Then there’d be no need for iron fists, you see.” “Because I’ve never been teased.” “In return, I’ll shower praise upon the jovial Semushi, you know.”

Ms. Chigusa said.

I simply couldn't bring myself to like this ugly young lady. Her heart was twisted. She appeared honest and straightforward, yet everything she said was contradictory. Though she called herself an ugly woman, there was hidden vanity beneath—this very act of self-deprecation only revealed how servilely twisted she was.

“It only causes unnecessary heartache.” “Mine merely states I can compose poetry for an ugly woman’s sake.”

“My, how unlike you to act shy.” “When we’re alone, you say all sorts of things.” “An ugly woman shouldn’t court an ugly man.” “The true essence lies in ugly women secretly pining for handsome men, while ugly men agonize to death over beauties.” “Compared to me, Cyrano de Bergerac doesn’t even qualify as an ugly man.” “His poetry’s likely more skilled than mine.” “I have no redeeming qualities at all.”

Utsumi held his head in both hands. His fingers were slender, long, and gnarled. When he covered his head with both hands, his entire face fit within them—so small was his face. The Semushi Poet stood up.

“Well then—I’ll take my leave and compose some poetry tonight.” “For the ugly woman.”

“Wait.” “Let’s take a short walk.” “No?” “You don’t mind, do you?” “It’s not as if I was hoping for it.” “This garden won’t do.” “Mr. Pika-ichi must be chugging beer somewhere.” “Let’s go out through this side toward the beech forest.” With that, Ms. Chigusa took a flashlight from the cupboard drawer, imperiously urged the Semushi Poet along, and disappeared outside through the dining area entrance. “How revolting,” Ms. Tamao spat out.

“Isn’t she rather charming?”

“Isn’t she rather charming?” said Kamiyama Toyo. Were it not for him, no one would have interjected with such words at a time when the unpleasant implications hung palpably in the air. “You call that charming? What exactly do you mean by ‘charming’? Ms. Chigusa wants to manipulate men as if she were some beauty. With the Semushi Poet, she probably thinks she can actually pull it off. The way she fancies herself a queen through that act—how utterly repulsive! Even a crow decked in peacock feathers would be more tolerable than that.”

Women, as a species, are geniuses when it comes to malicious observation. Rather than beautiful things, unsightly ones seem to catch the eye far more distinctly. Ms. Tamao had been drinking quite heavily since earlier. Moreover, today she had been drinking sullenly and silently chugging away, so her eyes had grown quite wild. “Today I’m going to drink my fill.” “You should stop now, Ms. Tamao. You’ll just end up vomiting and suffering later.”

“You should stop now, Ms. Tamao,” said Ms. Ayaka. Ms. Kocho also chimed in, “It’s true, Ms. Tamao. That much drinking is poison. That’s enough now.” “Yes, but... Just let me have a little more. You see... When I drink like this quietly, visions appear. A vision of Mr. Ouni being killed... So clearly. I can even see the woman’s expression as she swings down the dagger—vividly. Truly a demon’s face. The face of a jealous demon.”

“Let’s stop this talk. Let’s rest for today.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Ms. Tamao took Ms. Ayaka’s hand and soon began to sob quietly. It seemed this sister-in-law and Ms. Tamao got along well enough now, but when Ms. Akiko had been the sister-in-law, they had clashed over every little thing and remained sworn enemies ever since. Embracing Ms. Tamao as she wept, Ms. Ayaka led her away. When she returned some ten minutes later, the maid came hurrying after her, “Madam, the Young Mistress is throwing up and in distress—shall I call Dr. Ebizuka?” Dr. Ebizuka looked up with a scowl,

“Nonsense! For a doctor to make a house call to tend to a drunkard—Her Majesty the Queen herself wouldn’t get that treatment. Scram.” He was in a terrifyingly furious state.

“Ask Kotoro.” “Yes.” Kotoro was the name of the nurse. About thirty minutes later, the maid came again and reported that the Young Mistress had fallen peacefully asleep.

At that moment, 10:05. Just then, Pikaichi returned, and with that as their cue, everyone stood up, saying, "Alright, let's hit the hay."

“What’s this? No need to scram just ’cause I showed up. “Go on, get out! Get out!” “I’ll pour myself a quiet drink alone. “Perfect timing.” We ignored him and retreated to our rooms when a violent crash echoed—ceramics or a liquor bottle shattering. Opening my door to check downstairs, I saw Ms. Ayaka fleeing upstairs in panic. “What happened?” “Well—when I was cleaning up after him, he suddenly—”

She stopped, staggered, regained her composure, then hurried down the corridor to her room. At that moment, the jingling of her slipper bells struck my ear. I recalled Detective Hatchobana’s words and felt vaguely uneasy.

I knocked on Dr. Kose's door.

“How’s it going? Got any leads yet?” “Don’t overestimate me. I’m not Mr. Holmes, you know. I’m completely in the dark. First of all, I find the erotic stimulation here far more overwhelming than the crimes. Struggling against this stimulation alone takes all my energy—it’s like whenever I recall that woman in Tokyo, I’m barely managing not to faint.”

“By the way, could it be that one of the bells from Mrs. Ayaka’s embroidered slippers was left at the scene where Ouni was killed?”

“As you’ve guessed—under the bed.” “Good grief. What a disaster. Is Ms. Ayaka the prime suspect?” “No way. Even a cat wouldn’t go mousing with a bell tied to it. By the way, regarding this floor plan—the arrangement of the guests’ rooms—whose decision was it? And why is only Utsumi-san on the lower floor?”

“Well now.” “That I don’t know.” “Why don’t we ask Kazuma?” We went to Kazuma’s room. Since Mrs. Ayaka was changing clothes, we were kept waiting outside briefly. “Come in.” “Ayaka’s been staying in my room since last night.” “Doi Koichi showed up and has been terrifying her, you see.” “But this isn’t normal!” “It’s obvious someone’s scheming something!” “If today’s incident is part of their plot too—what on earth will happen on Mother’s death anniversary?” “Someone has a key—listen, you must tie the door with rope.” “No, it has to be wire.”

“There’s no need to be so on edge. Now that Dr. Kose has come, the culprit’s days can’t be long.” “Dr. Kose wishes to know whose decision dictated the guests’ room assignments.” “And why is Utsumi alone on the lower floor?”

“In Utsumi’s case, it was his own decision,” “He said climbing stairs would tire him out.” “And the toilet’s right nearby.” “For the others, I just assigned rooms at random—nothing particular about their arrangements. But Ayaka insisted she couldn’t bear having Doi Koichi on the same floor. Even though there were vacant rooms upstairs still, that’s why we lodged him in the Japanese-style room downstairs.”

“When we don’t have guests, we don’t use this Western wing, you know.” “The annex behind the main house—the three rooms on the second floor directly above Ms. Tamao’s bedroom—are our rooms.”

“Does Mr. Kamiyama Toyo have any conflicting interests with your household?” Kazuma hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Kamiyama used to be my father’s secretary. Even after leaving that position, he kept visiting—I suspect Father must have some vulnerability he’s exploiting, likely being blackmailed. But whenever I ask Father about it, he refuses to explain properly, so I don’t know the full story.” "My mother, who passed away last year, loathed Kamiyama like he was a maggot." "Her hatred was so intense that I even wondered if there might be some secret involving Mother—but that was just my speculation. At any rate, my father lived a highly scheming political life, so it’s only natural he’d have plenty of weaknesses to exploit. As a child, I couldn’t exactly interrogate him about it, so I never pressed the matter."

“Does he come here often?” “He probably comes four or five times a year. The current wife—who was once my father’s mistress—used to be a geisha in Shinbashi. He always brings her along unashamedly and stays here for several days as if it were his own home. Now that you mention it, last year he came again two or three days before my mother passed away—coinciding with her final moments. I’ve heard that on the day before her death, he had everyone leave her sickbed and argued with her. So I’ve sometimes imagined that the blackmail material might not just involve my father alone—that perhaps there’s something through my mother affecting him too—but again, this is purely my own speculation.”

I was stunned by how excessively opulent Mrs. Ayaka’s pajamas were. It was one of the most elaborate garments—a Chinese-style robe modified with Western influences, its color combinations adorned with delicate artistry.

“Isn’t your nightwear more like formal attire?” When I teased her a bit， Kazuma gave a bitter smile， “There must be fourteen or fifteen of these nightgowns that look like formal attire.” “I wonder just how many dozens she’ll have by this time next year.” “She finds it regrettable to wear the same nightgown two nights in a row， so right now she’s muttering curses at Doi Koichi while changing into a fresh one， you see.” “Because there are no kimonos of hers in this room.” “Morning， noon， and night， without fail， she changes her kimono.” “Changes her hairstyle.” “Changes her necklace.” “Her persistence is truly astonishing.”

Ms. Ayaka merely smiled faintly and did not respond. No matter how she might be discussed through various expressions, she remained ultimately convinced of being profoundly loved. How endearing must this person’s love have been? She was entirely a woman born for the night. Though Ms. Ayaka feared the murderer, such fear should not have mattered much in reality. She was simply cute and beautiful, innately possessing an instinct that revolved solely around such things.

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

Not exactly welcome news.

Utagawa Tamon had caught a cold, then drunk too much beer and upset his stomach, having been bedridden since the very morning we arrived. Having retired from politics, he spent his days merely inviting village Go players for matches to stave off boredom, and though he had apparently attended dinners in the Western-style building occasionally, we had yet to see his face. In fact, we had even been privately wishing his illness might persist throughout our stay.

“Ms. Shimotsugu, the maid, is such a cute girl.” “She’s eighteen, they say.” “Do you think she’s getting along with Kotomi-san?”

“Stop it already. Stories about people’s connections—I’ve had my fill of those.”

I’d had a bit too much to drink and was thoroughly worn out. Then I fell asleep straight away.

VI The Second Crime

The next morning, the group of police officers arrived before six o'clock and were already at work.

It was reported that an autopsy had been conducted from last night through the late hours, and new facts appeared to have emerged from its results, prompting the forensic team to race down the highway at full speed and arrive before dawn. Those coming to collect Ouni's remains—whether his disciple or a president or employee from the affiliated publishing company—were scheduled to arrive around noon on that night train. After completing post-autopsy procedures for Ouni's body—which was also due to arrive around noon—they would promptly cremate it and hold a vigil with the remains that night.

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

“I regret troubling your ears so early, but as the autopsy has revealed an unexpected fact, I wish to report this candidly while also seeking your collective counsel.” “Before Mr. Mochizuki was stabbed with the dagger, he had been administered a considerable quantity of hypnotics.” “However, our investigation found no hypnotics among Mr. Mochizuki’s belongings. Furthermore, through our inquiries, it has become nearly certain that they were likely administered by others.”

“Ah!” Ms. Akiko uttered a small cry. “Could it be that the sleeping drug was 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 thought it was strange.” “And…” “And?” “What could it be?” Ms. Akiko glanced around the group but, “It seems Ms. Tamao also mentioned feeling sleepy or having a heavy head.” “It just suddenly occurred to me now—in that way—that Ms. Tamao must have drunk it too, though.”

Ms. Tamao was the only one who had yet to appear in the dining room. Due to her heavy drinking, she had been vomiting and suffering, and the very sight of the morning meal must have been loathsome. "Who was in the habit of preparing the geranium thunbergii?" “Since Mr. Ouni was a guest invited by Ms. Tamao, she would either prepare it herself or order a maid to make it—but since Mr. Tsubohei began working as the dedicated cook for guests at the end of last month, handling all matters, it seems Mrs. Tsubohei occasionally prepared it as well.” "It was customary to brew it twice daily—morning and evening." “Mr. Ouni did not drink any tea or water at all; aside from alcohol, geranium thunbergii was his sole liquid intake.”

As Ms. Ayaka offered this explanation, Ms. Chigusa— “Last night—no, wait—the evening before last, it was Ms. Tamao herself who prepared the geranium thunbergii.” “I was helping with the cooking too.” “Because there weren’t enough stoves, Mrs. Tsubohei went to ask Ms. Tamao if she could take the geranium thunbergii off the heat.” “Her Ladyship becomes quite cross if anyone presumes to interfere with what she’s handling herself, so we had to go seek her permission each time.” “Then Ms. Tamao came with Mrs. Tsubohei, took it off the heat, cooled it, and transferred it to a flask.” “At that time, Lady Ayaka was also present, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, I was preparing meat pies.” “Because it’s my one and only pride.” “Next up would be grilled eel, I suppose.” “Oh no, really—for us humble folk down here, just hearing these accounts leaves us battling to keep our drool in check.” With that, Inspector Kanguri affected an uncharacteristically crude laugh. “Apart from the five of you—the two young ladies, Madam, and Mr. and Mrs. Tsubohei—did anyone else enter the kitchen while the medicine was being brewed?”

“I don’t remember every single detail,” “But gentlemen do come and go through that kitchen quite frequently.” “As for Mr. Utsui—doesn’t he ask for snow?” “Every day.” “He cools his feet with snow.” “What a strange person.” “Mr. Tango would come for cold water—the kitchen has cold spring water flowing through it.” “Mr. Hitomi and Mr. Ouni come to get beer, and even Brother Kazuma drops by sometimes for this or that.” “Ms. Utsugi was also there that day.” “Yes, I was there the whole time.” “That day we made soba noodles.” “I watched that being done, then helped out with various tasks.” “I was also present when Ms. Tamao came to take the geranium thunbergii off the stove.”

"So, the geranium thunbergii remained in the kitchen the entire time?" "Ms. Tamao cooled it at the spring water outlet, transferred it to the flask, and carried it to Mr. Ouni's room." "No one besides Ms. Tamao could have touched it."

Ms. Chigusa declared, looking around as if seeking approval. "So Ms. Tamao was the one who put the geranium thunbergii from the bag into the pot and placed it on the stove, then after brewing it took it off the stove, transferred it to a flask, and carried it away—correct?"

“Yes, exactly,” said Ms. Chigusa with prim formality.

“Did Ouni die from the sleeping drug?” I asked. “No—someone likely made him sleep with a sleeping drug and then stabbed him with a dagger,” she replied. “If you were to drink all of the sleeping drug mixed into that geranium thunbergii at once, it would likely be lethal—but since Ms. Utsugi drank some too and it seems the young lady also had some, the amount Mr. Mochizuki consumed was about two-thirds of the total. That quantity wouldn’t have been enough to kill him.”

“If they wanted to kill him with sleeping drugs, that would have sufficed—so why go through this double process?” “Doesn’t that suggest some deeper significance?” “Moreover, Inspector—while you assert someone drugged him to sleep before stabbing him—can you definitively rule out that the drugging and stabbing weren’t separate acts by different individuals?” “Or do you possess conclusive evidence proving it was a single perpetrator’s work?”

“That’s an entirely reasonable question.” “Whether it was the work of the same person or not, and why they didn’t kill him with the sleeping drug—these points remain unclear even to us.” “The only established facts are these two: that Mr. Mochizuki was made to drink geranium thunbergii into which someone had mixed a sleeping drug, and that he was stabbed to death while asleep. Furthermore, if these two acts were indeed committed by the same person, it suggests either that the perpetrator did not know the lethal dosage of the sleeping drug, or—if they did know—that they used the drug not to kill but merely to induce sleep, given that the quantity administered was slightly too small to be fatal.”

“Couldn’t this just be some petty prank?” “That person’s exactly the type who’d pull such a stunt.”

“To keep him from cheating by making him sleep like a log—just tampering with his flask for kicks,” said the Semushi Poet with a smirk. The Inspector had been thinking for a moment, but—

“Well, it might possibly have been a prank in a lighthearted sense. However, the sleeping drug wasn’t introduced into the flask, but into the pot while it was being brewed—a fact that became clear this morning when we examined the brewed leaf dregs left in the residue.” “That day’s kitchen was bustling with soba-making and such.”

As Ms. Akiko began to speak, Ms. Chigusa cut in,

“That’s right, it was such a commotion. But the electric stove for the geranium thunbergii was in a corner near the door, and where we were making all the noise was over by the window—quite far away. Since there was no reason to go to that corner, no one went near it. Over in that area, Madam Ayaka was only making meat pies, but since she detested the smell of the geranium thunbergii, she kept muttering and spilling it, you know.” “Yes, I absolutely detest old-fashioned remedies like herbal concoctions and decoctions—they have such a nasty, musty smell.”

“Wasn’t that the day Mr. Pika-ichi caught a giant snake outside the window?” “A giant snake?” “Just a Japanese rat snake—about six feet long. ‘It’s swallowing a chicken! Bring me a kitchen knife—I’ll gut it and take out the innards for dinner!’ Can you believe Ms. Utsugi actually went to watch such nonsense? I can’t stand snakes—I won’t even look at them.” “I’m terrified of snakes too, but there’s something fascinating about them—that morbid curiosity.”

“Mr. Tsubodaira and the others ran out too.” “Even the old man jumped down from the window.” “Ms. Tamao calmly grabs snakes and dangles them around, doesn’t she?” When the Semushi Poet said this, Ms. Chigusa’s face twisted in displeasure,

“Oh, you like that sort of thing? You can’t even lift a single trunk, Mr. Semushi. We hate even looking at snakes. Madam Ayaka—the two of us didn’t even turn to look at someone like Mr. Pika-ichi. Like Susanoo-no-Mikoto or something—how vulgar.” “Susanoo-no-Mikoto, huh? I see. Madam might be Amaterasu Omikami, but what would Ms. Chigusa be?” “A clownish buffoon!”

Ms. Chigusa had become genuinely furious, so even Cyrano II conceded defeat, “Mr. Pika-ichi, you’re always so eager to blabber away, but now you won’t speak up at a time like this? When you’re playing Susanoo-no-Mikoto, you can’t be bothered talking to us folks down below anymore?” “I’m a proper gentleman who follows the sacred rule of only talking to beauties.”

At that moment, someone opened the door.

As the door opened, a young woman appeared falteringly. It was Yae, the maid. She clutched at the doorframe and turned toward the crowd, then collapsed heavily into a sitting position. At first, they wondered why she had sat down—it later became apparent her legs had simply given out. "Young Mistress—" Her voice failed. "Huh? What?" "...Murdered..."

Inspector Kanguri turned toward us,

“Everyone, please remain here without moving for a while.”

Leaving resident officer Yuichiro on watch, he departed for the scene. Only Dr. Kose and Kazuma were permitted to accompany him.

After about forty-five minutes had passed, Dr. Kose returned alone,

“Ms. Tamao died?” “Huh?” “Yes, she has been killed.”

“Was she poisoned?”

“Well... She may have been given a sleeping drug again—I can’t say for certain—but she has been strangled with an electrical cord.”

“Ah…” Two or three women let out sighs simultaneously - Ms. Kocho, Ms. Ayaka, Ms. Akiko too. Probably. “It’s not suicide, Dr. Kose? A premeditated suicide?” asked Ms. Chigusa.

“That’s right. There are suicides that appear at first glance to be strangulations, you know. However, in Ms. Tamao’s case, there seems to be no room for doubt that it was murder. It appears she was killed without difficulty while drunk and in a deep sleep.”

“Do you have any clues about the culprit?” I promptly asked, “There’s not a single clue.” “However, as usual, it’s not the work of a burglar.”

The gathering fell into a deep silence. "This feels off... What on earth—"

Ms. Chigusa blurted out suspiciously and sank into deep thought.

Postscript: It’s impossible to identify the culprit now. More murders will occur one after another. However, I must assert that readers have been provided with all information, and that within the facts presented to them lies clear, irrefutable evidence enabling deduction of the criminal. Dr. Kose will never attempt to deduce the culprit using anything beyond what is already known to you.

It was said that both Mr. Hatchōhana and Inspector Kanguri intended to participate in this bounty by identifying the culprit themselves—but given their line of work and suspicious natures, they would likely fabricate a culprit only after reading our deductions, making these utterly outrageous claims. Truly, with them being perpetually prone to such groundless suspicions, there had been simply no reason for the culprit to ever be caught. Now, being fair and square above all, even the editor of this magazine was to contribute their solution as one of the readers for this bounty. In other words, I would seal the manuscript of the solution chapter securely and hand it over to the editor before the submission deadline for contest entries. After the submission deadline had passed, we would open the seal and send the manuscript to be printed. There was no room for groundless suspicion.

Regarding forensic matters, I had intended to consult my friend Dr. Nagahata Kazumasa, but he happens to be one of my most inept rivals over the years when it comes to solving detective novel culprits—and thus someone with whom I’ve harbored deep resentment. Since he’d undoubtedly scheme to uncover secrets by gleaning hints from my questions, this posed quite a dilemma. Through Kouriyama Chiho’s arrangements, I received a kind offer from Dr. Asada Hajime of Tokyo Medical University—“I’ll teach you anytime, so come by”—and thus was able to receive various valuable instructions there. I offer my deepest gratitude. By invoking the name of such a great authority in forensic medicine like this, it’s actually a calculated ploy to throw dust in your eyes. When it comes to detective novels, one must employ all sorts of stratagems. There’s no need for me to go to such lengths with you all, you know.

Now, finally, the challenge.

Those Esteemed Contributors Who Dare Challenge My Solution

Mr. Edogawa Ranpo. Mr. Kigi Takatarō. Mr. Inspector Kanguri. Mr. Hatchōhana. Mr. Yomisugi. Mr. Atapin.

End (August 7)

Sakaguchi Ango

Seven: The Old Politician Obsessed with Detective Novels

Ms. Tamao’s neck had been wrapped double with an iron cord, which had been placed on the shelf in her bedroom.

The crime was estimated to have occurred between roughly twelve and two o'clock, but since she had been attacked while in a drunken stupor and deep sleep, there were absolutely no signs of resistance. There were no signs of assault; the futon remained neatly covering her from the chest down without any disarray, and the mosquito net still hung in place. However, according to the maid's testimony, though she should have fallen asleep with the red-lacquered andon-style lamp by her pillow still lit, its light had been turned off. No signs were seen that the room had been ransacked.

There was only one thing that had changed.

Since Ms. Tamao had become so heavily intoxicated that she vomited and suffered, by her pillow were placed a washbasin lined with newspaper and, on a tray, a kettle and cup—but morphine powder had been mixed into the water in both the kettle and the cup. A small amount of white powder had spilled onto the tray. Hatchōhana picked up the cup and held it up to the light, where a faint white sediment could be seen. This was discovered by Hatchōhana, who then summoned Tomigaoka Yae—a twenty-six-year-old, plump, somewhat cute country girl who worked as the maid and had been reprimanded the previous night—

“Is this cup saltwater?” “Ah... No, it’s plain water.” According to the maid’s account, when Ms. Tamao felt nauseous, she first rushed over with a basin, then prepared saltwater in a metal kettle and brought it to her; but after gargling once, Ms. Tamao said she disliked the saltwater and asked to have it changed to plain water.

So she took back the kettle and cup, refilled them with fresh water, and at that time also brought a bucket and cleaning cloth to wipe the soiled area clean. It was at this time that the maid, having gone to summon Dr.Ebizuka to the hall, was rebuked and withdrew; since there was no other choice, they had Nurse Moroi come instead. Ms.Tamao’s nausea had somewhat subsided, but “Since the basin is full of vomit, please 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, she hardly vomited anymore, so this basin contained only a small amount of stomach fluid left behind. "Did the young lady gargle with plain water?" "I... I don't know?" The maid stood dazedly, pacing around restlessly, and seemed on the verge of tears. "Was this white powder here when you brought in the tray?"

The maid looked increasingly like she was about to burst into tears. She must be a girl with poor circulation. Flustered and red-faced, she said she didn’t know whether it had been there or not. She seemed incapable of gathering her thoughts or mustering the mental effort to recollect anything anew, appearing utterly unreliable. However, she suddenly raised her face,

“When I left, the water in the cup was exactly eighty percent full, but...” she said.

In fact, the water in the cup was exactly eighty percent full. The water from this cup and the kettle were sent to headquarters, and the detection of morphine was reported the following day. According to Nurse Moroi's account, she had merely rubbed Tamao's back, and since it was merely nausea from alcohol, she had administered no medication whatsoever and performed no special treatment. And according to the autopsy results, there was no morphine in her stomach, nor was there any in the vomited matter.

When Ouni was killed, someone like me could only think it served him right; even as I stared at his corpse, all I felt was satisfaction—though part of me wondered if he was truly dead or if we were being deceived. Such doubts even crossed my mind—surely I wasn’t alone in this. Ouni’s disappearance was undoubtedly what everyone had hoped for. Since Ouni and I had completely different writing styles, those who criticized me praised Ouni. Critics who gave Ouni harsh marks scored me highly. In this way, writers in such positions might harbor factional rivalries, but true jealousy was rare among them. Because their writing styles clashed, they didn’t harbor a true sense of defeat.

When compared， Tango Yumihiko and Ouni were both brute-force literary talents who shared identical angles in handling human subjects and conceptual approaches；in such cases，an inescapable sense of victory or defeat arises．For Tango—who tended to be overwhelmed by Ouni’s wildly unrestrained genius—there must have existed a searing jealousy． A writer’s jealousy is surprisingly indifferent to others’ fame or popularity—it stems from a more fundamental，inescapable entanglement with talent itself，and that makes it so agonizing．

Ms. Tamao knew such things. Both Tango and Ouni had been fond of Ms. Tamao, but being a wicked sort herself, there was this unpleasant sense that she took perverse delight in tormenting Tango—already disadvantaged by his inferior talent—by dragging him into her own troubles. Tango maintained a facade of cool composure—a pretentious act of purity—and Ms. Tamao possessed that maliciously self-important streak of needling away at his hidden agonies.

I had wanted to raise a toast to Ouni’s disappearance, utterly indifferent to matters of crime or culprits—they hadn’t even crossed my mind—but now that Ms. Tamao had been murdered, I found myself compelled to consider criminal acts with piercing urgency, forced to dwell on that business with Kazuma’s letter, those uninvited guests, and one thing after another. In these mountains, nights grew particularly cold, so even in midsummer it was natural to keep the storm shutters closed—those in the corridor outside Ms. Tamao’s bedroom were indeed shut fast with their bolts secured—yet following that rural custom, the door’s closure always remained loosely fastened.

Ms. Tamao’s bedroom could be easily infiltrated without detection from either the Western-style building where we resided or the main house, and furthermore, there were two waterfalls in this garden. One was about ten feet high, while the other formed a cascading waterfall divided into three tiers totaling around sixty feet. Come midnight, the roar of the falls grew so deafening that even a pistol shot would go unnoticed—especially here by the main house, situated directly beneath the cascades, where the sound hung thick in the air. In our Western-style building as well, while the south-facing rooms were not so bad, north-facing rooms like mine were often rather troubled by the noise.

We writers are a breed of psychoanalysts by nature—once we fixate, we see no distinction between Germans and others, viewing everyone as potential criminals—so there’s no resolution in endlessly pondering one crime after another.

As for Old Man Utagawa Tamon’s invitation to visit after breakfast—given this commotion, I had been planning to avoid going altogether, considering it rather fortuitous—Ms. Shimoeda came once more and said, "If it should suit your convenience, please do come over."

“Ms．Shimoeda．” “This has turned into quite the predicament， hasn’t it？” “Yes．”

Ms. Shimoeda raised her face—innocent in its contours yet beautifully composed—and looked at me. Those eyes were intelligent, clear, calm—eyes that seemed perpetually fixed on contemplating only what was genuinely beautiful.

Could this adorable, innocent girl truly be Old Man Tamon’s mistress? I couldn't believe it. This body was still a maiden’s body. “Isn’t Utagawa-san utterly shocked and distraught?” “No. He’s already calmed down and looks just as he always does.”

When we went to visit, Old Man Tamon appeared exactly as he always did. No trace of anger toward us could be seen anymore. Upon reflection, my unnecessary worrying had made me overlook that this man truly fit the mold—a great figure, one of Japan’s heroic archetypes. He showed no sign of weariness; rather, he was bright and lively,

“Well, well, you all have come. "I had been thinking of visiting you myself, but lately I caught a cold and upset my stomach—you see, when one lives in seclusion, even trifles make one fall ill. Sickness takes its toll—a life without work leaves one fragile. "There was a time I held anger toward you all, but that’s no longer so. “Rather, I’ve grown fond of you. “It’s all my own selfishness to blame.”

Old Man Tamon was in as good a mood as a benevolent father. However, despite his only daughter—one of just two children—having been murdered, I found myself strangely moved by his utterly composed demeanor that suggested nothing whatsoever had occurred. There wasn’t the faintest trace of pretense about him. I had known this old man to be someone who remained aloof from household matters, but it’s often precisely such people who grow most agitated when confronted with human crises—indeed, I’d heard how terribly angry he’d been over matters involving myself and Kyoko. While anger and grief may be distinct emotions, under these circumstances I couldn’t help feeling a certain resistance welling up within me—such sentiments inevitably rising to the surface—and so,

“Today has been a terrible ordeal for you. This was so unexpected—I can only imagine how deeply disheartened you must be.” “No, no.” The old man cut him off. Beyond the interruption itself, there was no particular shift in his expression. He merely appeared somewhat stern.

“This too may be my fault.” “Because I’m like this, even my children turn out to be of a different stripe.” “It can’t be helped.” “However, there’s one thing that doesn’t sit right with me, but—” Old Man Tamon fell silent but immediately brightened his expression, “No, it may just be my overthinking.” “Because my body has too much idle time, I suppose I end up pondering all sorts of trivial matters.” “Would you be so kind as to tell me that?” “Surprisingly, such vague hunches often pierce the vital point of things.”

“Ah, well. “Let’s drop this subject. “Though I’ve gone to the trouble of inviting you yet cannot offer proper hospitality, I’d like you to accept this as a keepsake. “This is a minor piece by Bada Shanren that I acquired in Beijing during my travels abroad—an ethereal silence, or perhaps what one might call solitude; there’s a profound depth of soul here that pierces to the core. “Then, for Kyoko—this is also a tie pin I acquired in Paris during my travels abroad—I thought even a country samurai popping up out of nowhere might try hanging an unexpected decoration somewhere people wouldn’t notice. This one’s a diamond—eighteen carats. “Even if I walked around with this attached to my neck, no one would ever think it was a diamond. “They thought it was a glass bead. “So, well, I let them think that, secretly savoring my satisfaction, and safely brought it all the way back to Japan dangling like that. “Even my late wife thought it was a joke and didn’t take it seriously, so I ended up throwing it away somewhere and forgetting about it—but recently, it’s shown up again.”

Old Man Tamon appeared carefree and sage-like, handling things with ease—but an eighteen-carat diamond would be an immensely valuable thing indeed. It was a slightly eerie way of handling matters—though to be sure, even Bada Shanren’s minor works were undoubtedly rare treasures in the world. The warmth with which he now cherished the woman he had once doted on as if she were his own daughter stirred in us a natural sense of relief and warmth.

At that moment, I noticed. The bookshelf in this room contained all sorts of books. The collection consisted mainly of historical works, but about half of the novels were translated detective stories. There was Ruikō. There was Van Dine. The fiction books were primarily translations like The Count of Monte Cristo, Les Misérables, and Gone with the Wind.

“It seems you’re fond of detective novels.” When I asked, Tamon nodded and replied, “Since my youth I’ve enjoyed reading Ruikō and others, but during my travels abroad I took up detective novels to pass idle hours.” “Okakura Tenshin was an enthusiast of detective stories too—his family, fretting over his frail health, restricted his evening drinks. So he’d recount Doyle’s tales halfway through.” “He’d stop at the climax—when listeners pressed ‘What happened next?’ he’d say ‘That’s all for today,’ leaving them dangling. ‘Bring another drink if you want the rest,’ he’d tease.” “Doyle’s stories proved ideal for such drinking stratagems—just the right length.” “Modern mysteries are too refined and convoluted—entertaining reads, but useless for liquor negotiations.”

“I’m also quite fond of detective novels myself—but what kind do you prefer?” “I like that British woman writer Agatha Christie. Van Dine and Queen—they’re pointlessly erudite, unpleasantly teasing, and pretentious, so I can’t read them comfortably. When I used to visit Maruzen in the old days, it was solely for these detective novels.” The old man pulled out some stacked Western books from the corner of the bookshelf to show us. They were all detective novels. There was Crofts, *The Red Redmayne*, *Zigomar*, Freeman—they had everything.

“In that case, you must have some thoughts regarding this recent incident as well.” The old man remained silent for a while, then asked: “Is the culprit who killed Mr. Ouni the same person who killed Tamao? If it’s the same person...” He fell silent again, but continued: “But here’s the thing.”

“Mr. Yashiro.” “What do you think?” “Every last one of them—every human being—is capable of murder.” “Every human being carries within them the potential for every crime.” “Every last one of them—they’d all do it without hesitation.”

Tamon’s eyes suddenly flashed fiercely. Without even attempting to conceal that glare, he stared fixedly at us. Then, as if on the verge of speaking again, his lips trembled—but after a moment’s reconsideration, he fell silent.

8. The Alibi Belongs to a Single Person

As I was leaving Tamon’s room and passing through the corridor of the room where Ms. Tamao had been murdered on my way back to the Western-style building, a slender woman in her thirties dressed in Western clothes called out from that room,

“Excuse me—you there! Your names?” “Why? Who are you?” “I’m with the police. I need to know who you all are.” “Ah, I see.” I burst out laughing. “So you’re Professor Atapin!” “How impertinent!” Ms. Atapin’s willow-thin eyebrows arched sharply upward. “What’s wrong with you people? I know your sort. “Not a single man or woman here has an ounce of decency. “Writers and actresses—all that swooning and preening is revolting. “Year after year making trouble for the authorities, and look where it’s landed you!”

“No, absolutely!” “Your theory’s spot-on!” “So what’s your verdict?” “Already charging ahead with your Pinsuke theory?” “Which part of Germany’s your culprit from?” “Silence!” “Whoa! My bad, my bad!” As he tried to slip past, she seized his wrist and yanked him back, “Won’t you introduce yourself? How rude.” “Oh come now.” “With your Atapin skills, you should at least deduce our names.” “Forced self-identification violates constitutional rights—ah ha ha!”

I made Ms. Atapin angry and then ran away.

The time when I was finally able to sit down calmly with Dr. Kose and the Kazumas in Kazuma’s room to discuss matters was three o’clock in the afternoon. To collect Ouni’s remains, the president and publishing director of his complete works’ publisher—along with a young employee and one of Ouni’s disciples—had arrived before noon; however, Ouni’s autopsied corpse had not yet been returned from the main police station. They were supposed to cremate him immediately upon its return; though this village housed hermits, it lacked a proper crematorium—they would burn the body outdoors on a pyre of stacked firewood. It would take an entire night.

When the practical people joined our gathering of those unversed in practical matters, things suddenly sprang to life as if a fire had been lit, and an elaborate staging from another world commenced—preparing the room to receive Ouni’s remains, negotiating with priests, coordinating with the crematorium, and even transporting proper backdrops from who knows where. In the blink of an eye, a funeral-like setup was completed in the front hall.

However, I had something I wanted to discuss secretly with Dr. Kose. At last, the opportunity had arrived,

“Actually, there’s something I want to report to you all alone—last night, I returned to my room but couldn’t sleep, so I went out for a walk.” “I’m not sure of the exact time, but wasn’t it around eleven?” “Kyoko was already asleep, so I don’t think she knew.” “Yes, but I do vaguely remember you coming back.” “I exited through the dining room doorway 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 went to the Dream Hall on the hillside.” “Intending to head toward Azumaya from there, when I emerged above the waterfall basin, I saw light leaking from the fishing pavilion below.” At that moment, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman’s figure disappearing into the darkness. “I didn’t actually see her leaving, but I believe she must have come out from the fishing pavilion, circled around your late father’s bedroom, and been on her way back toward the kitchen entrance.” “I could tell it was a woman, but I had no idea who she was.” However, after a while, this time a man came out from the fishing pavilion. First, he washed his hands in the pond water. “This was Dr.Ebizuka.” He wore a half-sleeved shirt and trousers. He wiped his hands with a handkerchief, started heading up toward the mountain side of the garden, then turned around and went off in the direction where the woman had disappeared. “That’s all I saw—I stayed there about ten minutes before coming back.”

The Dream Hall was a scaled-down replica of Prince Shōtoku’s Yumedono commissioned by Tamon-rojin, while the fishing pavilion was a tea room modeled after some Yamato-style hall—inside were two rooms: one with tatami mats and another furnished with a Chinese-style table and chairs. “Right. “So Dr. Ebizuka stayed at the fishing pavilion again last night?” “Lately he’s been staying over nearly every night, hasn’t he? Since I never paid attention, I wouldn’t know if villagers stayed elsewhere on the premises. This household doesn’t bother with formalities like servants seeking permission for every little thing—the masters’ lives and servants’ lives remain entirely separate. Dr. Ebizuka might as well be family here, so when he visits evenings, he usually ends up staying. The clinic’s a full ri along mountain paths, and with his limp, it’s only natural. We did have a car before the war, but since then? Not even a single rickshaw remains in the whole village. He’s always been eccentric—started refusing the main house and lodging exclusively at the fishing pavilion some time back. Sometimes emergency patients come and the clinic calls. Must’ve happened again last night.”

“Well then, shall we ask Yae?” Ayaka called the maid Yae via intercom, but Yae had gone out to the village on an errand, and it was Nurse Moroi who came instead. “Didn’t you go to the clinic, Nurse Moroi?” “Yes, today I was tied up with police matters until nearly noon, and on top of that, Mr. Namigumo has had a stomachache since this morning and has been getting injections.” “Lady Yura?” “No, Grandpa Namigumo.” “Was there an emergency patient at the clinic last night?”

“There were none.”

Nurse Moroi coldly glared at Kazuma and responded. “Well then, you didn’t meet Dr. Ebizuka last night for hospital business or anything like that, did you?” “There’s no way that could have happened.” “Did Dr. Ebizuka stay at the fishing pavilion again last night?” “He was here at this house this morning.” “I don’t know about last night’s matters.”

Nurse Moroi coldly turned sideways and retorted. “Are we quite finished with your business?” “Yes, thank you for your trouble.” “Please don’t take my strange questions the wrong way.” “If there’s some issue between Dr. Ebizuka and yourself, you’d probably find out by asking Lady Chigusa.” “On nights when the Doctor stays at the fishing pavilion, he generally makes a visit there once during the night.” “You may not be aware of this, but among those of us below stairs, there isn’t a soul who doesn’t know.” “Lady Chigusa does not sneak off furtively—on the contrary, it appears to be a matter of some honorable business.”

With a sharp glare at us, she bowed her head neatly at about forty-five degrees, then turned and walked away. "That pretentious twisted hag—her very body heat must be ice-cold." “Well now, perhaps unexpectedly—with mochi-like skin or something—she might actually be all warm and squelchy.”

Dr. Kose startled the ladies by employing language unbefitting his virginal tastes.

“So, Dr., have you found anyone who seems like a suspect?”

“No, not at all.”

“Haven’t the police obtained some sort of evidence?”

Kazuma posed this question, but Dr. Kose clasped his hands behind his head, vigorously scrubbing at his hair while forcing an awkward smile,

“No, not at all. The police are certainly investigating diligently, but I think it’s only becoming more like grasping at clouds. To begin with, whether it’s a grudge or a crime of passion—we haven’t the slightest clue about the motive.”

“However, unlike some drifter’s haphazard burglary-turned-violence, this was unmistakably premeditated murder.” “Moreover, you must admit there’s a glaring discrepancy in the facts that’s surfaced here.” “Hmm? And what might that be?” “How perverse of you—the Esteemed Doctor interrogating this humble narrator.” “Very well, I’ll have you humor this amateur sleuth’s theory.” “Ms. Tamao departed Ouni’s bedroom at 11:15 p.m." “I was still awake then, listening to her sing a chanson while clattering down the staircase.” “That prompted me to check the clock and switch off the light.” “It’s said she left without locking Ouni’s door that night.” “Yet two hours later, when Ms. Utsugi Akiko visited his room, it was locked.” “She fetched the key and entered to find Ouni still breathing.” “Snoring in his sleep.” “He didn’t rouse even when shaken, they say.” “Ms. Akiko deliberately left her lighter behind, locked the door again, and departed.” “Come morning when Ms. Tamao discovered the corpse, that door stood unlocked.” “What in God’s name does this signify?” “Eh?” “Doctor.”

“Yes, I was still awake and listening when Ms. Tamao left singing a chanson.” “So Doctor, what do you think that means?” “How should I know? The only thing clear is that the criminal had a key. They locked it once while Ouni was still alive. After killing him, they left without locking the door. Now, you—when Ms. Utsugi unlocked and entered the room, don’t you think the criminal was already inside?”

“Yes, they were probably there.”

Dr. Kose answered calmly.

Kazuma, Ayaka, and Kyoko all paled simultaneously. I also involuntarily tensed up, “Huh? Really?” “I don’t have any solid basis for it, but...” “Where was the criminal?” “Well, if Ms. Akiko’s account is truthful, I suppose there would be no other option but for them to have been there.” “Under Mr. Ouni’s bed.” “There was nowhere else to hide.” “Inspector Kanguri, Hatchobana, Detective Yomisugi—everyone, that’s the assumption.” “The only prospect we’ve managed to establish is still just about that much, I suppose.”

The ladies let out tense sighs. “Why were they there?”

Ayaka shouted. “Well… If I were to provide an explanation for that ‘why,’ I might get mocked by the criminal. We mustn’t make any assumptions yet. Surprisingly, they might not have been in the room at all.” “Is there any basis for assuming their absence?”

said Kazuma.

“There certainly is. Indeed, he—the criminal gentleman—is quite the technician. It appears he had various techniques prepared in advance too. Though perhaps we shouldn’t assume that either. In other words, he might’ve been surprisingly unprepared after all. At this initial stage, we must avoid assumptions and meddling—there’s no choice but to trust only what’s undeniable. And presently speaking, the sole undeniable facts are that Mr. Ouni and Ms. Tamao were murdered.”

Then Kazuma suddenly raised his head with a grimly determined 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 had gone to sleep in my bed, I suddenly got up and began working.” “I’ve been writing an essay on French Symbolist poetry since last year, but it’s been rather slow-going.” “Then—probably around one o’clock, I think—I heard the sound of a key being inserted into the neighboring room.” “Even in the dead of night—with this waterfall’s roar—you wouldn’t hear anything unless it was quite loud.” “Since I didn’t hear any footsteps, I couldn’t tell whether it was the sound of someone leaving or entering.”

Dr. Kose nodded,

“I see. The criminal gentleman wouldn’t make such a rough key sound.” “Could it have been Ms. Utsugi?” “So your wife had been sleeping here the whole time, then?”

Startled by the unexpected question，Kazuma said，＂Yes．Both the day before yesterday and last night．＂

“And you were working until three in the morning， Mr．Utagawa？” “Yes．” “However， that was the day before yesterday．” “Last night， I went to bed much earlier．”

“I suppose your wife was resting until three in the morning?” “She slept soundly through the whole time.”

“Well, well. Then at last, someone with a verifiable alibi has appeared here. As for everyone else, there’s no evidence proving they aren’t the culprit. With Ms. Tamao—it’s as if she’d been lying in a special seat practically tailor-made for murder. Given the location and conditions, it practically begged to be done. When was your esteemed mother’s passing?” At this final question, Kazuma’s face paled. He looked utterly perplexed, remaining speechless for a moment before—

“The ninth of next month. So... does something happen on that day after all?” “No, but I can’t say for certain. Whether there’s any connection between that threatening letter and these murders—I haven’t the faintest idea. I don’t know if Mr. Ouni’s killer and Ms. Tamao’s killer are the same person either. Still, we should remain cautious about the threatening letter.”

At that moment, word arrived that Ouni’s corpse had been delivered.

IX The Return from the Cremation

When the sutra chanting and incense offering at the funeral site set up in the front drawing room concluded, they loaded the coffin onto the prepared oxcart and immediately departed for cremation.

All the male guests decided to go to the crematorium together, and Kazuma, Kohee, Koroku Hitomi, Tango Yumihiko, Dr. Kose, Pika-ichi, and even Kamiyama Toyo trudged out in a straggling line behind the coffin.

As the Semushi Poet emerged from the entrance clinging to something like a forest witch’s staff, from the ranks of the assembled farewell party of women outside, Ms. Ayaka— “It would be too much for you, Mr. Utsumi. “I hear it’s about halfway there.” “Please do allow me to excuse you.”

“Yes, really.

“If us women are left all alone like this, it does feel rather lonesome, doesn’t it?”

said Ms. Akiko.

“My, my, aren’t you popular, Mr. Kajimodo.” Ms. Chigusa scoffed loudly at him, “Go on then. Surely you’re not so dense as to get carried away and want to become those beauties’ plaything?”

Honestly, what a tactless man. Do unattractive women naturally grow twisted and vulgar? Yet even by that logic, his remarks were utterly beyond the pale—but then again, that Semushi fellow was always an eccentric. He had an oddly endearing quality about him—being rather drawn to Ms. Chigusa, who stood out precisely for her uneducated vulgarity—as if to say, “That’s exactly why I like her”—and he grinned foolishly, “Ah, I’ll be going. I’ve got to perform the funeral rites, or else Ouni here won’t be properly cremated into bones.”

Lagging behind everyone else and alone, he started walking with measured steps. Alongside this, Ms. Ayaka came to see them off outside the gate.

The crematorium stood deep in the mountains beyond the beech forest, nestled within the uninhabited back mountain's dense thicket. A flat grassland spanning roughly a hundred meters in every direction lay encircled by mortar-shaped slopes, while wood pigeons called from the surrounding woods. The pyre wood had already been stacked high, with a caretaker's hut standing nearby. Here they performed sutra chanting once more before lighting the fire. As I contemplated how this brazen ruffian's hulking frame would finally vanish into smoke before me, even I found myself profoundly moved.

Having decided to collect the bones in the morning, by the time we began our retreat, dusk had settled somewhat, and a thin haze had begun to rise. Before I knew it, mist rose from the valley, the mountains darkened into purple dusk, and evening cicadas began to sing—this sequence of a summer mountain sunset remains etched in my memory, though in reality the cicadas were still silent, the season not yet arrived. Indeed, Utsumi was utterly exhausted, his complexion even paler and more pained than usual, so Pika-ichi—

“Hey, Mr. Hunchback—I’ll push it for you, so get on the oxcart.” “It’s the return cart for the coffin, but you won’t have to shoulder it.” “Life’s span is fickle—most live in drunken stupor—yet for a wretch like you to survive to such decrepit age shows nature’s perverse wonders.” “Come on now—get on!”

“Monsters and demons live long lives. I’ll take you up on that ride without hesitation.” Utsumi clambered onto the oxcart, and the farmer began pulling it forward. Pika-ichi 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 Tango Yumihiko, Koroku, Kohee, along with Dr. Kose and I, formed another group and strolled along.

Suddenly, Yumihiko looked around at us with his usual sarcastic face, “I don’t know about Tamao’s case, but isn’t it one of these four who killed Ouni?” “Excluding Dr. Kose, of course.” The composed Kohee walked on with an air of feigned ignorance, not uttering a single word, while the guileless Koroku Hitomi’s breathing grew slightly ragged. “Why does it have to be one of these four? Huh?” “If it’s one of these four, then it must be you.” “Why would you say something like that?” “To begin with, you’re the type who thoroughly calculates every move in your gut and only makes calculated remarks.” “You’re actually the one who killed both Ouni and Ms. Tamao, aren’t you?”

“That’s why I said it’s one of the four.” “Why don’t you state your own business clearly?” “You’re a writer too.” “Since we’re all literary types, shouldn’t we hold ourselves accountable for our words?” “We aren’t detectives.” Yumihiko flushed slightly but flashed an even more sarcastic smile,

“For instance, if some common thief killed Ouni, that’d be utterly devoid of interest.” “Or take another example—” “If Kazuma killed Ouni or his sister over sibling drama or Ouni’s boorishness—those pedestrian motives—even if true, they’d make for tedious fiction. Don’t you agree?” “I killed Ouni and Ms. Tamao.” “This too seems eminently plausible, wouldn’t you say?” “But precisely because it’s plausible, it remains equally banal as truth.” “We’re not detectives—we’re men of letters.” “I see no need to hunt for truths or pinpoint culprits—what say you?” “I want to invent a culprit.” “Ouni’s murder, Ms. Tamao’s murder—what splendid raw material!” “Wouldn’t crafting a hypothetical perpetrator from this be delightful sport for literary minds?” “Expelling these trite culprits strikes me as our sacred duty—don’t you concur?”

Koroku angrily did not reply.

“What’s this—talking about literature? Let’s stop this shop talk. To begin with, whether it’s Ouni or you, while there may be possibilities, your styles are utterly materialistic—so why not consider this murder case in a materialistic way? The truth is the truth, the culprit is the culprit—why is something so entirely possible considered clichéd? Even with possible culprits—is there anything not clichéd beyond a superficial novelty? Huh? When it comes to humanity… has there ever been a crime that isn’t clichéd…”

As Kohee tried to press his point with quiet, logical persistence, Koroku, puffing up with agitation, cut in—

“Tango must have an ulterior motive. Talking about possible culprits or how the truth is clichéd—isn’t that just you defending yourself? I despise the likes of you. Ouni was an arrogant bastard, sure, but he had an endearing bluntness to him. Compared to that bold straightforwardness, you fall several steps short as a writer. Ulterior motives and passive-aggressive contemplation aren’t writerly virtues—they’re handicaps. Ouni spoke his mind crudely, but he thought deeply where it counted. True thoughtfulness isn’t performative—any real writer knows that instinctively. Isn’t that right? Ouni’s work may be concise and assertive next to yours, but its roots run infinitely deeper. That’s why it achieves true grandeur. You cling to petty calculations—shallow thoughts, narrow concerns—producing literature that’s small and cheap. So when you start theorizing about murder culprits, it’s obviously self-serving. Spit it out plainly—did you kill Ouni? Did you kill Ms. Tamao? Or are you just terrified of being seen as the killer now that Dr. Kose is here? You’re aware of his presence too, aren’t you?”

Tango never let his sarcastic smile fade.

Climbing up the valley and emerging onto the village path, “Well then, I’ll take my leave.” “I’ll wander around a bit before heading back.” Tango Yumihiko parted ways and walked off in the direction opposite to the village. In that direction lay a hamlet with a hot spring where there was a so-called hot spring inn—though it wasn’t the sort of renowned establishment that drew visitors from afar. It was essentially little more than the hamlet’s communal bathhouse. I suddenly realized. That hot spring inn sold sundries and medicines. There were goods purchased before the war that had found no buyers and remained unsold to this day—during the war, they’d even had Calmotin. Back then, I’d been the type to grow drowsy from just drinking alcohol, so I’d never needed sleeping pills, but lately insomnia had become a persistent problem. Having planned to check for any remaining stock of that old Calmotin during my village visit, Tango’s departure reminded me of this intention. So I too parted ways and followed after Tango, but when I’d gone three blocks down the path, he came walking back.

“What do you want to do? Weren’t you supposed to go to the hot spring inn?” “Oh. Even if I went to the hot spring inn, it’d be pointless. Well then—I’ll take my leave.”

From there to the inn was four or five chō. It is said there are only fifteen houses in this hamlet.

The proprietor of the hot spring inn was a pale, intellectual-looking man around forty with a certain shrewdness about him. When he heard my request, “That’s right. “Tokyo folks are sharp—they sometimes even target our place to come buy up goods, you know. “Since I don’t know the current market rates, it’s better not to sell. “Back then, I sold them cheap without knowing better and took a huge loss. “There’s hardly any left now.”

"But could you look for it? If you do have any, I'll naturally pay the black market rate." "We don't know nothin' about black market prices. These days everything's a hundredfold—so a hundred times then?" "Medicine's always been nine times the price. Food might've gone up a hundredfold, but medicine hasn't reached that yet. Anyway—let's settle the price later. Just look for it first."

In the corner of the shelf, inside a cardboard box, the old medicines had been gathered together in one bundle. I checked them one by one, but there was no Calmotin left. Since he had gone to so much trouble for me, I couldn’t very well leave without buying something, so I purchased some stomach medicine, deworming tablets, and a few other items before heading back. There wasn’t a single thing worth mentioning. “What kind of medicine is this Calmotin?” “It’s a sleeping drug.” “Well then—you know—about three months back, there was this guest of Mr. Utagawa’s named Minamikumo and Mr. Utagawa’s sister Granny Oyura. That person came and bought up all sorts of things. At that time, they say there were sleeping drugs too.”

On the way back, night fell. The beech forest was treacherous underfoot without a light, so relying on what little daylight remained, I passed through the mountain path behind the Utagawa estate and merged onto the trail leading to Miwayama. As I descended the slope intending to circle around to the back gate from there, I suddenly encountered Kazuma in front of the back gate. He had come from the direction of the side path in front of the Zen temple. "Oh, it's you," he said. "It's quite late for this time of night, isn't it?" Kazuma, startled, called out.

“I went to the hot spring inn to get Calmotin. During the war, I’d seen some leftover stock there, but Granny Oyura beat me to it.” “Ah, I see. That inn’s remaining inventory has become rather well-known lately. You should’ve written me—I could’ve secured it for you. I went to Sōryūji Temple about my sister’s funeral arrangements, but no one showed up despite waiting forever. Ended up sitting in the main hall for thirty minutes just brooding.”

From the slope near the front gate, a flashlight came bobbing rhythmically. It was Dr. Ebizuka. When he noticed us, he halted in surprise and said, “Good evening,” but “Has Ouni the Valiant been reduced to a wisp of smoke?” he asked. Ouni had finally become a wisp of smoke. Though I privately took satisfaction in this truth, hearing that lame doctor utter the same words made my blood boil. In short—because he mocked not just Ouni but all of us with his sarcastic jabs—every time this bastard opened his mouth, I wanted to slug him.

However, at that moment, I noticed something terrible and began to feel deeply confused. This was something I had mentioned to Kazuma as well—earlier, when I climbed the valley path to the village road and parted ways with the other three, I had told them I was going to the hot spring inn to buy Calmotin. I had completely forgotten—in Ouni’s case, the Geranium thunbergii herbal medicine had contained a sleeping drug, and today too, wasn’t there an unusual white powder spilled near Ms. Tamao’s corpse’s pillow?

It was as if I were deliberately flaunting my habitual use of Calmotin or some sleeping drug—the whole situation felt like I was performing some terribly clumsy act, resulting in an awkward imbalance. The thought that everyone might suspect me made me truly overwhelmed with this unpleasant, wretched feeling.

Dr. Ebizuka parted ways with us at the dirt-floored entryway, but when we tried to circle around the garden toward the Western-style building, there in the main house’s front room—the very space that had served as the funeral site during the day—four monks stood lined up and were seated at the dining table alongside old man Tamon and Granny Oyura.

Kazuma approached the veranda of the sitting room,

“What on earth— “So the reverend monks were here after all? “Well, since I didn’t know any better, I ended up sitting in the main hall and waiting stubbornly for thirty minutes.”

“Poets, truly, are such creatures ignorant of worldly affairs.” Tamon clicked his tongue and gazed at his son’s face, “After Buddhist services, it’s an age-old Japanese custom to invite the monks and present them with offerings.” “Is there something you require?” The old monk asked Kazuma with a laugh. This old monk was a renowned Japanese Buddhist scholar who had lectured on the history of Indian philosophy at a university until before the war and was a native of this village. He had moved into the village’s Zen temple during the war, but to look at him, he was merely an old monk—a shabby old man who bore no resemblance to a scholar.

“No, since you’re in the middle of your meal, I shall call again tomorrow morning.”

When he entered the hall, the dining room was already prepared, and the group was waiting for Kazuma.

When they sat down at the table, Utsumi began to speak. “Today, I hitched a ride on the hearse returning from the funeral, but the farmer pulling the cart said something strange.” “I thought there was a murderer among all these distinguished people, but apparently that’s not the case.” “Among the village evacuees, there’s this discharged soldier who’s like a madman—whether you’d call him a literary youth or political agitator.” “He’s apparently some terrorist who claims erotic writers like Ouni are Japan’s cancer that must be cut out.” “He carried a dagger in his coat, showed it to villagers, and declared he’d kill Ouni with it.” “This man supposedly hated Ms. Tamao too, ranting about how women like her would ruin Japan.” “The police have reportedly started monitoring him too.”

Kazuma was listening with an utterly troubled expression, but

“Even if you call him an evacuee, he’s actually from this village. He’s a discharged soldier named Okuda Tonegichiro—a draftsman or something—who went a bit mad after being demobilized when his house burned down and his wife and children went missing. Though he’d already started losing his mind during his time stationed in North China, where he became obsessed with Confucius—apparently he still displays signs like ‘Confucius Research Institute’ and ‘Analects Study Group’ on his evacuation room’s window even now. From what I heard through others, when he once confronted Ouni on the street and tried to pick a fight, Ouni gave him a solid blow and sent him packing. Since he’s this scrawny, lanky man, he stood no chance against Ouni at all. They say he fled yelping like a puppy with his tail between his legs. But let me tell you—while this gentleman calls Ouni an ‘erotic writer,’ he’s plenty strange himself, sending odd letters to our Ayaka from time to time.”

Ayaka also wore a troubled expression, “But they’re not love letters. After all, they’re related to Mr. Ouni. ...saying things like ‘Don’t be fooled by erotic writers like Mr. Ouni.’” “He may be a lunatic, but his logic holds up, I must say. After Mr. Ouni beat him up, he came to my clinic for wound treatment. It was just a slight graze. At that time, he was saying: ‘Those with brute strength are gangsters; all things like physical strength or vigor are not cultural.’ Well, it’s pathological, but there’s some truth to it too. He also mentioned such things. He sent a letter addressed to ‘the grotesque prostitute at Mr. Utagawa Tamon’s residence,’ or so he claimed. Apparently there was no reply. Since he didn’t specify any names, he probably said there were so many harlots that they all passed it around, I suppose.”

Ebizuka said something unpleasant again.

“Hey, you pretentious quack doctor putting on airs of virtue—why don’t you pluck yourself out already?” Pikaichi got angry and, “You’re truly a despicably neurotic bastard, aren’t you?” “You pretentious bastard.” “You’re nothing but a pedant pandering to the times!” “And what exactly are you?” “Why the hell do you attend gatherings filled with such disagreeable people?”

He stomped over, lifted Ebizuka—chair and all—with a heave-ho, carried him off to the hall, and left him there. However, by the time Pikaichi had returned to his seat, the doctor had already limped back carrying his chair and was sitting in his original spot with his usual stern expression, perfectly composed.

Pikaichi was unable to contain his lingering resentment, “Notre Dame’s doctor here—a cripple no less—has a completely amateurish mind, doesn’t he?” “Don’t fuck around.” “The murderer’s definitely right here among all these people, y’know!” “Why do you say that? Couldn’t someone have sneaked in from outside?” said Utsumi.

“Nonsense! There’s proof it had to be someone from this household! The culprit could lock and unlock Ouni’s room—they held the keys. So unless it’s one of these distinguished folks here, nobody could’ve pulled this off!”

Then, Kazuma shouted irritably.

“We are not detectives. Let’s stop talking about the culprit!”

“Hah!” Pikaichi spat out, “Very well. Exactly what I wanted. Dirty talk. Got any of that? This is the real deal! Dining tables are always like that. When men and women gather to drink while spouting indecent blather about literature and art, your works’ll stay green forever. Anyway, gotta admit—Mr. Ouni’s novels were proper adult fiction. So let’s talk ero and go wild with it! Tonight’s when I plant my pretext with Ms. Utsugi. Though y’know, I do dig Ms. Kocho’s icy act—guess being Japanese makes me a sucker for Buddhist statues. Asuka period stuff. Hell, even Java and Bali’s erotic dancers got that Asuka-style primary-color heat. Those waistlines make you wanna shiver.”

Pikaichi stood up again and began performing a South Seas native’s hip-swaying dance. He even knew their tribal chants by heart. His gestures, hip sways, and singing voice were vivid—a booming timbre indistinguishable from authentic South Seas vocals. The ladies stood dumbstruck as the group’s eyes shed their loathing and took on an air of grudging admiration.

10. A Gathering of Madmen

It was 9:40.

Old Madam Yura came to the hall. She was looking around when she turned to Dr. Ebizuka and,

“Is Chigusa not here?” “Don’t know.”

It was a curt reply. Ms. Utsugi, who had been standing nearby, interjected,

“Ms. Chigusa hasn’t appeared at all.” “It seems she didn’t come to the dining table either.” “That’s right, wasn’t it, Dr.Ebizuka?” “I don’t know.” “Ms.Ayaka, do you know where Ms.Chigusa is?” “Was she at the dining table?” “No, she wasn’t there.” “Well, I wonder what happened.” “I thought she might be here, but where could she be?”

The old woman retreated with faltering steps. Old Madam Yura had once suffered a stroke. Since then, her walking had become quite restricted; she shuffled along, dragging her feet, and found ascending and descending stairs painful. However, with no suitable room available elsewhere, she endured the inconvenience, crawling up and down the stairs. The old couple were said to manage their nighttime bathroom needs with a chamber pot.

We were all drunk. Pikaichi, unusually for him, was drinking heavily, and even Utsumi had downed several beers. The gathering on the night of the murder was nerve-wrackingly intense—it was only natural for it to turn painful. The knowledge that a murderer walked among us kept pricking at our awareness with every little thing, making it deeply unpleasant. Kibee wasn’t normally one to drink alcohol, but when he did get drunk, he became the type to persistently pester others. He had been needling Tango quite a bit earlier, but whether due to a shift in the wind, he suddenly turned his sharp tongue toward Ebizuka,

“Dr. Grumpy Genius.” “Hey you—why not sit right here?” “Hmph. Not interested?” “Fine then.” “I’ve privately learned you consider us madmen, but from where I stand—the true lunatic here is you.”

“Hear, hear! Brilliant! Brilliant!” Pikaichi, overjoyed, quieted the group, “Hear ye, hear ye!” “I generally dislike exposing people’s scandals, but in your case alone, I find myself unwilling to exercise such restraint. You seem to scrutinize the private conduct of us literary people, yet you yourself have been staying at the fishing pavilion every night engaging in indecent acts with some young lady, haven’t you? Furthermore, I hear Ms. Kayoko dislikes your examinations and refuses to undergo them without a witness present. Judging from the rumors spread by Gonsuke and Nabe’s group that form the basis of this matter, I hear you’ve been holding Ms. Kayoko’s hand and fondling her breasts at length. Furthermore, lately, you’ve shown particular obsession with a cute little maid named Ms. Shitae, pressing her to undergo frequent diagnoses—claiming she seems to have a chest illness or some internal abnormality. That makes three cases within this residence alone; who knows what you’re doing at your clinic. Even judging solely by these three instances here, compared to the ordinary carnal desires of us literary folk, isn’t viewing your behavior as somewhat abnormal, perverse, and deviant just prejudice?”

“Yes, yes! There it is!” While Pikaichi was overjoyed, the ladies tried their best to maintain ignorant pretenses through hushed conversations—likely out of social decorum—yet Kibee’s words carried a force poised to freeze their genteel dispositions in an instant. “Dr. Eminent. “Dr. Virtuous. “Those eyes! Those eyes! “Everyone, look! “Those eyes—glaring demonic eyes. “Killer’s eyes. “Eyes starved for blood, a murderer’s gaze unsated even by oceans of crimson. “This true nature can’t remain concealed! “There! Behold him! Behold!”

Kibee, pale with drunken rage and emanating murderous intent, had his own glinting demonic eyes ablaze—but Ebizuka’s eyes were in a league of their own. I had been observing this progression from the start and noticed how he trembled violently with anger, his eyes now harboring a madman’s glint born of paroxysmal excitement. That was indeed the momentary gleam in the eyes—the kind capable of lunging forth to kill. It was a light of unparalleled savagery that could rend one asunder, could twist and slaughter, could commit every atrocity within a madman’s power.

The ladies held their breath. Kibee glared piercingly at Ebizuka. “He’s a deviant—call it schizophrenia, paranoia, whatever—but undeniably a madman.” “He fancies himself pure and righteous.” “Yet he’s been groping Ms. Kayoko’s breasts, carrying on lewd acts with some lady, all while scheming to feel up Ms. Shitae under pretense of medical exams!” “The fact he doesn’t realize his own actions—that’s what makes him a deviant! A lunatic!” “And this ‘purity’ of his—obsessively imagining filth in others—is textbook madness.” “Well? Isn’t that right?”

Ebizuka's eyes blazed even more intensely. His eyes had been opened to their utmost limit, with no means left to act—and since he had lost all capacity for words or movement, now, abruptly, everything suddenly seemed possible, as though something might erupt at any moment.

At that moment, the dragging sound of footsteps echoed, and Old Madam Yura entered, supported by Nurse Moroi.

“Chigusa is nowhere to be found.” “What could have happened?” “Could it be that anyone here has an idea?”

A different terror ran through the gathering. “That’s ridiculous.” “There’s no way she’s been killed!”

Pikaichi bellowed loudly.

“Granny, rest assured.” “That girl’s in heat.” “Even in front of you—isn’t her whole body just pure lust?”

The group fell silent just as they were. No one attempted to break the silence that followed.

Then Nurse Moroi spoke in a quiet, sunken voice—like a drowned corpse speaking from beneath the water—

“That’s correct. Ms. Chigusa went out to Ibiki.”

“What did you say? So you knew about it?” Old Madam Yura’s dumbfounded gaze found no purchase against Nurse Moroi’s cold face. “Ms. Chigusa received a piece of paper from Ibiki. She was waving it around to show everyone. I didn’t read it though. And then, around six o’clock, she left.” “Where to?”

“I don’t know.” “Who was it? The man?” “It wouldn’t be proper to say.” She replied coldly.

The gathering fell silent once more. Ebizuka swung his arms like a bear, swaying. What an unusual gesture. Was it due to his agitation? And then, with explosive force, he whirled around. He swung his hips with a brisk limp and, while swaying his arms, attempted to leave the room.

With that—at the corridor entrance—he suddenly turned around, "You bastards!" It was a scream from his entire being. Despite his small stature, what a madman's savage voice—how it seemed ready to rupture! And then once again, he whirled around as if leaping up and strode away. "Bwahahaha! Bwahahaha!"

Pikaichi began laughing like a madman.

“Nothing but cheap theatrics! Even murder’s just another farce! This place was rotten with pretense from the start. How could anyone keep a straight face? I’d call it a brothel, but hell—it’s a festering mass of raw lust, a goddamn nest of degenerates!”

“Shut up! Thug! You—go back to Tokyo! Go back to Tokyo this instant—right now!” Ms. Ayaka trembled with anger—crackling like electricity—her intensity so fierce it felt as though her nerves might leap from her skin. “What did you say, you bastard? You say that again.”

When he finished saying that, Pikaichi's countenance transformed completely. He had become a true demon. Where Ebizuka held the silent precision of a murderer's scalpel, Pikaichi raged—no longer human in appearance but a demon, a frenzied beast. The instant momentum took hold, he lunged forward, seized Ms. Ayaka, swung her through one full rotation, and hurled her away. Ms. Ayaka was flung several meters, collapsing heavily onto all fours with torn clothes and battered knees, unable to rise.

When we picked her up, she immediately rose—a person with unexpected resilience—and sharply raised her face, "You thug! You criminal!" "You bastard!"

When we had barely registered what was happening, Ms. Ayaka was already struck with a sharp smack and sent flying—truly, his physical strength was swift as an arrow. However, by the time we next thought "Ah!", it was no time for that. The bastard suddenly raised the large vase beside him.

It was fortunate that Hitomi Kojuro charged in like a warrior. Pikaichi hurled the vase downward, but it hit no one, shattered on the floor, breaking into tiny fragments. Pikaichi flung Kojuro away with the monstrous strength of a raging bull. Ms. Ayaka sensed the murderous intent, whirled around, and fled. She dashed into the dining room and fled from there into the garden.

Pikaichi was already in pursuit.

By the time we caught up, Ms. Ayaka had been pressed against a pine tree in the garden, beaten mercilessly, and thrown about until she was gasping for breath. We clung to him like warriors weighed down by clustered bells and finally managed to pull them apart—though we’d only separated them by some eighteen meters—and with Ms. Ayaka now being escorted away by the women while Pikaichi stood panting like a bull catching his breath, our carelessness proved fatal when he suddenly charged forth like an arrow loosed.

When she realized this, Ms. Ayaka fled like an arrow once more. Truly, Ms. Ayaka was an agile person; though slender of build, she moved with the remarkable speed of a fish cutting straight through water. Ms. Ayaka turned and dove back into the building from the dining room she had just exited. We gave chase, but by the time we caught up, Ms. Ayaka had already dashed into her bedroom and locked the door from within, while Pikaichi's misstep as he charged up the stairs had created some distance between them.

Pikaichi was kicking Ms. Ayaka’s bedroom door like a madman. When we caught up,

“You bastards!”

he chased us around, “You damn beast! “You scum! “If you come out, I’ll kill you! “I’ll strangle you to death. “I’ll squeeze the life out of you!” Pikaichi grabbed the collar of his own shirt and roughly twisted his own throat, then after violently kicking the sliding door over and over, collapsed with a thud in front of the door and sprawled out spread-eagled.

Such commotion must have continued for nearly an hour. When we approached, he would get up and come leaping at us. Howling like a beast and leaping at us.

We gave up and each retreated to our own bedrooms. Pikaichi would get up every ten or twenty minutes—we could hear him kicking at Ms. Ayaka’s bedroom door—then collapse spread-eagled again, continuing to shout. I finally gave up and went to sleep, but they say Pikaichi kept howling for three more hours after that. By the time someone woke the next morning, he lay exhausted in a spreadeagle outside Ms. Ayaka’s door, fast asleep.

Ms. Ayaka was unharmed. By the next day, Pikaichi had completely calmed down, but unbeknownst to all, a murder had taken place.

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

Postscript: The title *Discontinuous Murder Case* has sparked various debates—since it uses "discontinuous," these self-styled master detectives keep materializing to insist the culprit must change with each incident. First came Detective Yomisugi to my humble residence, putting on quite the show of how the title itself served as a clue through his supposed sharp intuition, though his deductive methodology proved rather deficient. Madame Atapin too sent a personal letter all the way from Iizuka, Kyushu: "I hear seven or eight people die, but having each murderer get killed in turn—what a distasteful trick!" And truly, with that Atapin-esque 'pin'-prick precision to her insight, I could only tip my hat in admiration. You mustn't solve the trick so easily.

Estimating culprits based on the title is merely a tactic from Hanshichi Torimonochō. Inspector Kanguri was a master at deducing culprits from the cover designs of detective novels, so truly, since the Meiji Restoration, it had become utterly impossible to catch the real culprit. When it comes to detective novels, authors rack their brains over the titles from the very start. The way these esteemed detectives so wantonly flaunted their skills at the level of Hanshichi Torimonochō was not just laughable—it stood as truly deplorable for Japan's public safety.

There will likely come a time when Dr. Kose delivers a succinct discourse on continuity and discontinuity. I do hope you won’t let yourselves be so easily played by the culprit. The author himself is at his wit’s end, with no leads to pursue.

Addendum to the challenge: According to Detective Rampo's theory, among mystery novelists, Mr. Kakuida Kikuo stands as the foremost master of culprit identification. Therefore, I reverently present this challenge to the great detective Kakuida. Next, Dr. Shikiba Ryusaburo.

Furthermore, the prize money presented by the author has been set at 10,000 yen, in line with standard practice. I apologize for offering such a conventional cash prize. I’d like to give you an 18-carat diamond or something, but I don’t have one, so it’s no good.

Sakaguchi Ango

11. The Return Path from the Crematorium

When I went out for my morning walk the next day, Pikaichi was still lying spread-eagled in front of Ms. Ayaka’s bedroom door, fast asleep. Exiting through the back gate and approaching that familiar path toward Miwa Mountain,

“Hoy!” Someone ahead was waving a cane and calling out. It was Kamiyama Toyo and the servant Old Man Kisaku. “Mr. Kamiyama, you’re up ridiculously early,” I said. “Strolling about in knickerbockers—how fashionable of you.” “I’m always an early riser,” he replied. “Don’t be ridiculous. The only ones who sleep during the day are you literary types and thieves. I’m not out for a stroll—this is part of the investigation. Ms. Chigusa went out yesterday evening and still hasn’t returned.” He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Mr. Yashiro, this is an entirely ill-omened matter, but under these circumstances, I can’t help but think it’s happened again. I may not look it, but I have a weak heart—this creepy jungle-like mountain path is more than I can bear.”

“Did you search thoroughly?” “Well, generally speaking, we only checked paths someone could actually walk,” he replied. “We covered from Miwa Shrine all the way to Miwa Pond.” The three of us moved around to the shrine’s rear and gazed up at the mountain’s dense forest. Bear grass proliferated wildly—weeds and vines tangled together in a suffocating gloom where darkness and silence pressed down like physical weights. “It’s practically a jungle where murders happen, don’t you think?” Kamiyama remarked. “Hey, Mr. Yashiro? Even if I could force myself into that mess, I’d absolutely refuse to go through with it.”

While saying that, Kamiyama noticed something on the ground and stopped.

“Oh, what’s this?”

Kamiyama picked it up. “This is bad.” “This is a lady’s lipstick.” “It seems she’s met her end here.” “Ah! Look! Doesn’t that look like trampled weeds over there?” “Then, this is—”

After advancing five or six steps, they found a handbag had been thrown down, its contents scattered. After advancing about ten steps, they found Ms. Chigusa lying face down as if asleep, murdered in the shadow of a large tree's roots. Her eyes had been blindfolded with a furoshiki cloth, and over that blindfold she had been strangled with what appeared to be a woman's waist cord.

There were no signs of resistance or struggle in the vicinity. "There was hardly any resistance," he said. "The trampled weeds we first found must be where she was killed. They brought the body here to dump it. No signs of assault either. Quite the gentlemanly killer when it comes to a lady's virtue, isn't he?" Ms. Chigusa wore a trouser suit that showed no disarray whatsoever. After reporting to the police officers and guiding Dr. Kose's investigative team to the scene with Kamiyama, we returned for breakfast only to find fresh chaos—Umi Akira had been stabbed to death in his bedroom.

Since Umi Akira was not at the dining table, Ms. Ayaka went to check on him and found the bedroom a sea of blood, with Umi Akira in pajamas lying face down on the floor at the room's center. There were three stab wounds on his flank, two on his chest, and two on his neck. The dagger had been washed clean and placed atop the dressing table. The culprit had washed their hands. This dagger too was one kept in the parlor's display cabinet. Umi's slippers had flown about two feet from his feet, while by the door lay the slippers the culprit had kicked off upon entering. Those were slippers from the toilet adjacent to Umi's bedroom. No other belongings of the culprit could be found, and there were no fingerprints.

Around the time the on-site investigation concluded, doctors from the prefectural hospital arrived with Ms. Chigusa’s remains, converted Sōrinji Temple’s main hall into an autopsy room, and performed autopsies on the two new corpses.

Ms. Chigusa was estimated to have been killed between 6:00 and 7:00 PM on the 18th, and the Semushi poet between 11:00 PM and midnight. Umi appeared to have been reading Laclos's *Dangerous Liaisons* in bed; he was likely killed after setting the book aside and getting up—either upon returning from using the toilet or after letting the assailant into his room. Given that they were acquainted, he was stabbed in the flank from behind without sensing any murderous intent, staggered forward, and then repeatedly stabbed as he fell. By the time his heart was pierced, he was already dead. The assailant then apparently turned him face down again and stabbed his neck. In other words, it was a crime committed by an acquaintance. Therefore, fearing resuscitation, they must have persistently stabbed him through repeatedly—or so the account went.

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

“Well now, ladies and gentlemen. “Under these circumstances, we can no longer afford to prioritize mere decorum. “As it has become impossible to exclude any of you from suspicion, I must request your cooperation with complete impartiality in this investigation. “We need to verify everyone’s alibi from when the sutra recitation concluded, the cremation fire for Mr. Mochizuki was lit, and we withdrew until dinner. First regarding the general circumstances—Dr. Kose, what time did you withdraw?”

“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 the doctor blushed and gave a wry smile, Kamiyama Toyo spoke up. “I looked at my watch. “When the sutra recitation ended and we lit the fire—right when we were about to leave—Mr. Yashiro asked the time, addressing Young Master Ichima-san, if I recall correctly. “When I looked at my watch, it was six o’clock six minutes; Ichima-san stated that it was six o’clock nine minutes. “However, my watch—a cheap Mobādo, but a real find that’s not a tenth of a second off—how about it? I’d sell it for a hundred thousand yen. Ah-hah-hah!”

Then Madame Atapin raised her shrill, piercing voice— "Oh, Mr. Yashiro, you’re wearing a wristwatch, aren’t you? Why did you ask about the time?" "I left it on my desk yesterday, you see. Madame Atapin, do you make it a principle to carry all your belongings on your person year-round?" "What do you mean? How rude to call me 'Madame Atapin'!"

“Shut up.”

Inspector Kanguri glared sharply—it was indeed a fearsome glare. "So, did all of you return together?"

No one answered. Then Kamiyama Toyo spoke up, "First of all, Painter Doi Koichi was pushing the handcart from behind, with Mr. Umi riding on it. This group departed first—since two young men were pulling it, making three people including Mr. Doi's assistance—and they frantically ascended the valley at breakneck speed." "Why was there a handcart?"

“They were transporting the corpse.” “Why didn’t they return immediately after bringing the corpse?” “That’s different from city rickshaws and entaku taxis. Country lads who come to help at the master’s house don’t just up and leave right away. There’s firewood to stack and plenty of other tasks at the crematorium that require manpower, don’t you see?”

The inspector turned to Detective Yomisugi, "Have the two young men arrived?" “Ah yes—all those involved yesterday have been summoned to that room over there,” replied Kamiyama Toyo. Then they summoned two young men named Wasaburo and Kiyoshi. “How far did you take Mr. Umi?”

“Yes, sir—it was on the mountain path behind the mansion.” “At the fork in the path to Miwa Mountain, correct?” “Yes, sir—it was about thirty ken up from there.” “From there, if you go down the slope about thirty ken, it’s the fork path, sir.” “Why didn’t you take him all the way to the back gate?”

“From there it becomes a downhill slope, sir. He said, ‘That’s enough—I’ll get off here.’ Going downhill makes for an unpleasant ride, sir.” “There’s no mistake about that, is there, Mr. Doi?” “I wouldn’t know.” "I stopped pushing the cart ages ago." "I just kept pushing hard through about four or five chō until we'd completely climbed up the valley from the crematorium." "After that, it’s just a winding path without any steep slopes, ain’t it." “The two young men pushing a cart along a regular road ain’t much different from pushing a Datsun from behind, is it?”

“Didn’t you come back with the car?” “The car was moving at an incredible speed.” “It had too much momentum to keep up with.” “It clattered around the bend and vanished from sight in an instant.” “When I came to the fork in the path at Miwa Mountain, Semushi was nowhere to be seen.”

"Did anyone here see Mr. Umi in the mountains?"

No one answered.

“When you returned, Mr. Doi, had Mr. Umi come back?”

“No, I was first. Umi was second. After that, I don’t know. I’m not some watchman after all.” “Do you happen to recall what time it was when you returned?”

“This is a tricky one. When I came back, it was Ms. Utsugi who exchanged first greetings with me—she’s likely the one with any real sense of time.”

“Around seven o’clock—maybe ten minutes to seven? Wasn’t it something like that?” “I’m not exactly someone with a strong sense of time either.”

“Were all of you others together?” “Mr. Kazuma, the monk’s party, and I formed the next cluster,” Kamiyama Toyo answered. “The others appeared to have been significantly delayed.” At that moment, I—

“Exactly. I came trudging along in a cluster with Tango, Kobee, Koroku, and Dr. Kose, sauntering about as we engaged in heated debate. When we reached the top of the valley, Tango parted ways and headed toward the mineral spring village. This was likely Tango’s poetic stroll to escape the stifling debate, but then I went to buy medicine at that same mineral spring village. After proceeding about two chō—roughly two hundred meters—I passed by Tango returning along the path. I bought medicine at the mineral spring village and returned as darkness fell. At the back gate, I collided with Kazuma—just as Dr. Ebizuka arrived with his philosophical gait, swinging his flashlight about.”

“So Mr. Kamiyama, your group returned together, I take it?” “Exactly.” “No one separated from the group along the way.” “At the back gate, the Reverend returned to the temple once.” Kazuma followed that by,

"That’s correct. So I assumed the Reverend must still be at the temple. I turned back once and went to his temple since I needed to speak with him. 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 Yashiro at the back gate. Then when I went to the hall, there was the Reverend already there—that’s how it happened." "Ah, I understand now. So while you were at Sōrin Temple, Mr. Utagawa—did you meet anyone there?"

“That place is set back from the road, so I didn’t see a single soul. In other words, I have no alibi.”

“Mr. Tango and Mr. Yashiro each returned separately.” “As for the others—Mr. Hitomi, Mr. Miyake, and Dr. Kose—you were together, correct?” “No, I was alone again,” said Kobee, lifting his cold face. “Hitomi and Dr. Kose turned onto the beech forest path, but I took the back road—that is to say, I walked along the route Umi’s cart supposedly took.” “So you met Mr. Umi at that time, then?”

“Not at all.” “I didn’t see a single soul.” “That road winds through dense mountain forests with no fields or paddies anywhere, so there were no villagers coming or going.”

At that moment, Dr. Ebizuka arrived late and entered alone.

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you.” “I must apologize for summoning you during your busy schedule.” “I understand you never fail to visit our house nightly—did an emergency detain you this evening?”

“Ridiculous.” “Why must I come every night?” The doctor straightened up with an arrogant air, his eyes glinting sharply. And then, again, “Ridiculous,” he muttered.

“Around what time did you arrive at our house last night, Mr. Ebizuka?” “Why should I need to remember such a time?” “You must know what time you departed from the hospital.” “I’m not a timekeeper. People other than the bell-ringer in the bell tower don’t live their lives checking clocks every minute.”

"But generally speaking, when we visit someone's home, isn't it only natural to think, 'It's around X o'clock now, so we'll arrive there by Y o'clock'? Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Ebizuka?"

“If that’s not the case, then he must truly be insane.”

“Dr. Ebizuka.” “Do you understand?” “You’re exactly right, Inspector.” “When people leave their own house to go to someone else’s home, they must necessarily be conscious of the time.” Kobee said with a piercingly cold tone. He likely still retained memories of last night. Kobee, being of scholarly disposition, possessed a feminine tenacity—the sort to obsess deeply over singular matters.

“Investigate all you like.” “That’s what detectives do.” “My profession is examining patients—I take responsibility for that.” “The rest is none of my concern.” “Mr.Yashiro and Mr.Utagawa met Dr.Ebizuka at the back gate.” “Mr.Yashiro used that back road—the cart path.” “Mr.Utagawa arrived from the Zen temple.” “Dr.Ebizuka, you came from the village side?” “What time was that?”

“Well, around eight o’clock, I suppose—right when the sun had completely set. That’s probably about right. In these mountain areas, hidden by the peaks, sunset might come early.”

When I said that, the Inspector—

“No, I see.” “Then Mr. Doi was the first to return, at seven o’clock or around 6:50.” “Next was Mr. Umi, then Mr. Kamiyama, followed by Mr. Utagawa.” “Mr. Utagawa returned once and then went out again.” “Who’s next?” “Me and Mr. Hitomi,” said Dr. Kose. “And then Mr. Miyake.” “Mr. Tango.” “Mr. Yashiro.” “That’s everyone then.” “Did any of you ladies go out during that time?” “We were all gathered in the hall. Some were in the kitchen there, but I believe we were all accounted for.” “There were those who were in the kitchen there, but I believe we were all accounted for.”

replied Utsugi Akiko.

“When you say ‘all together,’ whom exactly do you mean?” “Ms. Kocho and I were here—Madam Ayaka went back and forth between the kitchen and our group to converse, and Mrs. Kamiyama did likewise. I don’t believe Madam Chigusa entered this room.” “Then who last saw Ms. Chigusa—” “I did.” Nurse Moroi, seated among the group, answered sharply. Her response carried an overbearing confidence that seemed to press down upon the others.

"I saw that person 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 rendezvous between an ugly woman and a louse shall be held today between half past six and seven o’clock behind Miwa Shrine’s rear. Details shall be discussed in person.’ ‘Mr. Umi is infatuated with me,’ Ms. Chigusa said with her characteristic triumphant air.” “I was the one whom Mr. Umi had asked to deliver that piece of paper.”

Ms. Ayaka began to speak with a troubled and somewhat ashamed expression, looking rather awkward.

“Mr. Umi is what you might call a Tonkyou person. Even when he says ‘rendezvous,’ it doesn’t mean anything ordinary, you see. It’s rhetorical, you understand? He just adores phrasing things like ‘a secret tryst between earthworms and specters.’ When he simply wants to meet someone, he’ll call it ‘a clandestine meeting of ugly women and lice.’ He truly meant to pour his very soul into writing those poems he spoke of—odes to homely women. Chigusa-san existed solely as material for that poetry. He wasn’t composing those verses for Chigusa-san’s sake at all, you see.”

“How do you know? Such a thing—” “Such a thing—” Pikaichi hurled words dripping with utter contempt.

"So had he actually started writing that poem? Inspector, have you examined Umi's manuscript?" asked Hitomi Koroku. "Well now—we did examine the manuscript preliminarily, but I'm no expert in such matters. Dr. Kose, did you find that manuscript?" "There was one." "However, it seems only the title was written." Inspector Kanguri then changed his demeanor and surveyed the gathering.

“I hear last night was quite lively.” With a mocking smile, Inspector Kanguri glared sharply at Pikaichi, but Pikaichi turned his head away as if to say, “How should I know?” Thereupon, the Inspector turned 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 through some innate quality of beauty, she maintained an air of composure regardless of circumstance, always leaving a vivid impression. Then the Inspector’s gaze came to rest squarely on Dr. Ebizuka,

“Dr. Ebizuka, I hear you were very angry last night—why didn’t you go straight home?”

“I went straight home.”

Ebisuka's face seemed to burn with anger. He looked as if he were about to bare his fangs. Inspector Kanguri paid no heed to this and fixed his eyes on the bandages around Ebisuka’s hands,

“How did you come by those injuries on your hands?” “I fell on a mountain path last night.” “Dr. Ebizuka, your legs do seem to be in poor condition, but walking straight from this house to the hospital taking four and a half hours seems rather excessive.” "You left this house last night at nine-thirty, didn’t you?"

This was the first I’d heard that Dr. Ebisuka, who had been staying overnight every night, had returned home last night of all nights. I instinctively strained my ears, but Dr. Ebisuka, his entire face ablaze with those large, blazing eyes, glared at the Inspector and did not respond. “In an ill-timed coincidence, there was an emergency case last night of all nights.” “It was 12:30 AM.” “A call came from the hospital to the main house, and Nurse Moroi went to the fishing pavilion to look for Dr. Ebisuka, but he wasn’t there.” “Dr. Ebisuka, you reportedly returned home at two o’clock—an hour and a half after that call. But surely you weren’t walking the entire four and a half hours back during that time, were you?”

"I was walking the entire time."

Ebizuka puffed out his shoulders and spat out his words. “Hmph. “I was walking the entire time. “But it wasn’t the direct path home. “I had to wander through unfamiliar mountain paths behind those places—to cleanse myself of the tainted air from fools and lewd men. “That’s how I hurt my hand. “Hmph. “This isn’t some dog’s inn. “Hmph—ridiculous.”

“Did you meet with someone, or visit someone to exchange words—anything of that sort?” “Hmph, as if there’s anyone in this village worth visiting. Ridiculous.”

“After all, Chigusa-san had already been killed by nine-thirty last night.”

Kibee jeered. Ebisuka trembled with anger, clenched his fists, glared fiercely at Kibee with his entire face ablaze with eyes, and held his breath.

Inspector Kanguri turned his gaze toward Ms. Ayaka, "Madam, last night was quite an ordeal for you. Are your injuries healing properly?"

Ms. Ayaka smiled, “Thank you. Only my left knee hurts a bit. The rest are just scratches.” “Madam retreats into the bedroom, Mr. Doi chases after her, knocks on the door, kicks it—Mr. Doi kept that up until around twelve o’clock, I take it?” Pikaichi maintained a composed expression and stared squarely at the Inspector without a trace of fear, “I don’t remember too well, you know. Inspector, you don’t remember turning into a tiger yourself, do you? If you’re dead drunk, anyone would lose all sense of what they’re doing, isn’t that right? When it comes to my actions last night, the others must know damn well more about it than I do.”

The Inspector nodded, “I heard he tried to grab anyone who approached—Kazuma-san, that’s correct, isn’t it?” “It wasn’t that I intentionally approached him, but to enter my bedroom, I had no choice but to get close. Then he grabbed me by the collar, shoved me back, then kicked me. Finally slipping past him, I escaped into my bedroom. Dr. Kose was among those he tried to grab as well, you know.”

“My bedroom was also nearby,” said Dr. Kose. “Even when I peeked my face out from the door, he bared his teeth, raised his hand, let out a shout, and charged at me. That lasted for about the first hour, I suppose.” Then Kamiyama Toyo nodded. “Indeed,” he said, “until about eleven o’clock, he stood blocking the door with blazing eyes, shouting like a wrathful temple guardian. An admirable display of warrior spirit! From around eleven o’clock onward, he sat on the corridor floor with his back against the door, both singing and shouting all the while. Contrary to my appearance, I am quite the avid reader—last night I was lying down reading as well. Mr. Doi’s shouting subsided and finally ended at 12:18 AM. When I quietly opened my door to check at that moment, Painter Doi was dozing off against the doorframe, his back just beginning to slump downward.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded.

“Mr. Kamiyama, given your profession as a lawyer, you naturally pay meticulous attention to crucial timing details.” “Thanks to that, everything becomes perfectly clear.” “Madam’s bedroom door happens to provide an excellent vantage point overlooking the hallway—if one were leaning against that door, they’d have a complete view of everyone moving through the corridor. Mr. Doi, would you kindly tell us who came and went?”

Pikaichi wore an expression caught between a stifled chuckle and bashfulness. "Well now, this humble one might've yelled at folks and chased 'em every time they came or went last night, but truth be told, I can't rightly remember." "But y'know, after I leaned against that door and plopped my rear down, seems like everyone'd already turned in—didn't look like a soul passed through after that." "Wait..." He sank into thought but clearly couldn't recall anything.

“Mr. Doi, did you yourself never once leave from in front of the door?”

Pikaichi scratched his head, “I might’ve gone to take a piss or something. “I really don’t remember at all, so...” “No, he absolutely did not move from in front of the door.” Kamiyama Toyo declared firmly. “Because the voice shouting from that same position never ceased for even five seconds.” “Wouldn’t that become perfectly clear if we were to ask you, Madam, above all others?” "There’s no way Madam could have calmly fallen asleep with a tiger’s roar right behind her."

Madam Ayaka received his words with a solemn expression, “Yes, I remember everything clearly. Until past twelve o’clock, there was not a single moment when the tiger’s roar ceased in front of my door. Ever since the tiger appeared on this mountain, I had made it a practice to sleep in my husband’s bedroom—but last night alone I rushed into my own bedroom. Because according to my habit, I always leave the door key inserted on the inside of my room—I had the assurance that I could lock it instantly if needed. Therefore—fortunately just a step ahead—I was able to slip in smoothly and lock the door properly. It was almost as if my usual carelessness had worked in my favor.”

At that moment, Kamiyama Toyo asked: “Couldn’t the criminal have entered through the window?” “Why do you think that?” Ayaka responded. “Given that Painter Doi was holding his ground there, even if Mr. Doi now claims to have no memory of it, one couldn’t possibly rely on that to go out and commit murder,” Kamiyama continued. “Or perhaps the criminal, knowing full well the psychology of a drunkard, calmly carried out their work—what do you think?” “As you say,” Ayaka conceded, “that may indeed be correct.”

Inspector Kanguri was a thoroughly seasoned individual who never showed us the slightest trace of his investigative process. However, I learned from Dr. Kose that there had been no signs of the criminal coming from outside. At least, they hadn't entered through the room window. As for whether this criminal came through the window or door—they hadn't tampered with such points at all, and by avoiding any peculiar meddling, there were simply no clues to be found. The more elaborate the tricks they devise, the more psychological footprints they leave behind—something that would be easy for a novelist like me to handle—but since there were none, there remained no foothold for an amateur detective to grasp.

After the above questions had concluded, Inspector Kanguri broached the main thrust of his investigation.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, as you are aware, the fact that four murders were committed over three days in a single house is unprecedented in Japan’s history.” “In such circumstances, I believe it is the rational principle of a law-governed state that you all, as residents of this villa, cannot avoid being subject to a certain degree of suspicion despite your ordinarily upstanding lives.” “Frankly, I must request your cooperation—we would like to inspect all of your bedrooms and personal belongings.” “In relation to this matter, out of respect for you all as esteemed cultural figures, I shall state the main points of our investigation bluntly. That is to say, based on the gruesome bleeding observed in Umi-san’s case, it is presumed that the perpetrator’s clothing must have been stained with blood. Therefore, it can be inferred that the perpetrator had no choice but to dispose of or clean their garments through some method.” “The reason we are inspecting all of your bedrooms and belongings is for this purpose, but we will never force it upon you.” “We simply appeal to your fair judgment and ask for your cooperation, wishing for you to present compelling counter-evidence to our investigation.”

Now then, especially for the distinguished ladies, having their belongings inspected was an unsettling matter that stirred an uneasy atmosphere; however, in the end, the only one who stubbornly refused was Dr. Ebizuka. True to the proverb of the mountain that roared and produced only a mouse, the sole bloodstained clothing discovered in the end was Ayaka’s—a garment torn to shreds when Pikaichi had swung it about wildly during their altercation, with the blood being her own type O rather than Umi’s type B, leaving no room for doubt.

We thoroughly inspected even the bottoms of our trunks, but the key in question never appeared.

12. Why Was the Semushi Poet Killed?

We grown men trembled at these three consecutive nights of murder, finding mere door locks insufficient—tying cords around them and fastening them to bedframes through painstaking efforts, showing signs of mild nervous exhaustion. Even a ruffian like Pikaichi in the Japanese-style room proved no exception to the rule; lacking a key, he couldn’t sleep soundly and seemed to be making do solely through daytime naps.

I knew Dr. Kose had been meticulously investigating the path from the crematorium to the back gate while timing it with a stopwatch. He had traversed the same route for five consecutive days, but when I accompanied him during one of these investigative sessions,

“It normally takes forty to forty-five minutes to walk between here,” said Dr. Kose, “but there’s this little path right at this spot.” From a point along the stream thought to be roughly halfway between the crematorium and back gate, a narrow path—no wider than a foot—descended to the valley floor. At first glance, its slender form barely registered as a trail. After reaching the valley bottom, it crossed via stepping stones before disappearing into dense forest depths, its contours growing indistinguishable beneath tangled undergrowth.

Guided by Dr. Kose, as we pushed through the weeds and proceeded along this narrow path, I involuntarily held my breath and found myself compelled to stare. Below us lay Miwa Shrine. We had emerged at the side of Miwa Shrine.

I involuntarily cried out.

“Ah, I see. Now I understand,” I said. “The killer used this path to get ahead and murder Ms. Chigusa. After killing her, they avoided Umi coming from a different path and returned.” “No, wait—” I caught myself mid-deduction. “They might have actually encountered Umi, pretended innocence, and talked their way past him.” “Which means they had to kill Umi too.”

“In that case, wouldn’t it have been safer to kill Ms. Umi here as well?” Dr. Kose grinned. “There’s no way to know whether the criminal came along this path.” “However, given that such a path exists—if I may be blunt—it naturally follows that Mr. Miyake, Mr. Tango, and even the doctor should come under suspicion.” “Truly, it’s a complicated mess.”

If we estimate that walking normally from the crematorium to the back gate would take forty to forty-five minutes, then since the handcart was moving at a brisk half-jog, it might not have taken more than thirty minutes. Given that a round trip to Miwa Shrine on foot might take Umi twenty-five or thirty minutes, Pikaichi would have returned around 6:50 or 7:00 PM, with Umi coming back five to ten minutes after that. There was practically no time left for any scheduled meeting. Ms. Chigusa had already been killed. Since her figure was nowhere to be seen, Umi must have mistakenly thought Ms. Chigusa wasn't coming and returned. Had he met Ms. Chigusa, he should have returned much later, and should have come back together with her.

“Is there any Ibiki paper that Nurse Moroi was made to read?”

"I've been looking for it, but it doesn't appear to be among Ms. Chigusa's belongings." I found Nurse Moroi thoroughly disagreeable. She carried herself with arrogant pretension, putting on airs of intellectual superiority. Until learning that Ms. Ayaka had received the request and passed it to Ms. Chigusa, I'd been convinced this was either one of Ms. Chigusa's theatrical ploys or Nurse Moroi's scheming. It was reported that morphine had been introduced into the cup and pitcher by Tamao's deathbed - morphine which Ebizuka's clinic allegedly kept in secret storage. In truth, since Old Man Tōmon was a morphine addict, the villa maintained its own clandestine stockpile.

One day, Dr. Kose and I were summoned to Old Man Tōmon's study.

When our conversation shifted to discussing the case, Nurse Moroi arrived precisely for a vitamin injection, so I deliberately provoked her: “Nurse Moroi, you were not only the last person to meet Ms. Chigusa while she was alive but also the last to see Ms. Tamao before her death. Moreover, I hear morphine was introduced into the cup and pitcher by Tamao’s bedside. Now, following modern detective novel conventions, since a nurse’s involvement with morphine seems too obvious, one would assume no fool would leave such a clumsy clue.” “But conversely,” I continued, “by leaving evidence that’s too easily suspected, one might avoid suspicion altogether. Couldn’t someone deliberately employ such a trick, anticipating that critical point?” “Ms. Moroi is a woman of excessive intellect.” “With all due respect, when confronted with an enigma like your profound self, we third-rate hacks can’t help but spin wild theories.”

It was an utterly disrespectful way to put it, but lately, the guests in this house had reached such a state that bluntly declaring "You're the culprit, aren't you?" had practically become their standard greeting.

Nurse Moroi shot me a piercing look, “Mr. Yashiro, you returned from the crematorium all alone, the very last one back, didn’t you?”

“Precisely as you’ve deduced.” “By the way, Ms. Moroi, you have quite an impressive physique, I must say.” “Forgive my bluntness, but you might possess strength comparable to a small man.”

Dr.Kose was listening with a sly grin. "In Mr.Ouni's case there was the bell on his shoe; in Ms.Tamao's case morphine—each left behind something suggestive.But with Ms.Chigusa and Umi,there's nothing corresponding to those kinds of clues."

Old Man Tōmon interjected,

“Indeed, that’s interesting. That’s truly one perceptive insight.”

“Oh, please—it’s nothing like that,” Dr. Kose dismissed with a bashful smile. “Nothing falsifies the truth as easily as what they call clever insights, I tell you. “It merely makes one complacent, rendering them beyond salvation. “You know, Mr. Yashiro—doesn’t this apply to literature as well?” “That goes for politics too, I say. “But Dr. Kose, this was an extremely meticulous crime, wasn’t it? “What puzzles me isn’t Umi-san’s case itself. “The real mystery lies in why they had to kill during that dangerous moment when Mr. Doi was keeping watch. “There must have been some reason it absolutely had to be that day. “Solving that mystery should give us a thread to unravel part of this case, don’t you think?”

“What are your thoughts on that mystery?”

Old Man Tōmon did not answer. So I interjected,

"That’s probably because Umi saw the culprit." "But since he doesn’t know Ms. Chigusa was killed, he still doesn’t realize he should suspect them." "That’s why they absolutely had to silence Umi that very night." “This is a crisis of survival.” “Still—crossing such a perilous bridge.”

At that moment, Dr. Kose said something strange. "It might not have been the most dangerous option after all, I tell you."

“Why?” Dr. Kose grinned slyly, “If Mr. Pikaichi is in the lower Japanese-style room, then killing Ms. Umi becomes rather troublesome, I tell you.”

Old Man Tōmon glared sharply at Dr. Kose but did not say anything on the matter.

Thirteen: The Saintly Maiden’s Silver Tongue

A week passed uneventfully, and on July 26th, when I awoke from an afternoon nap, Ms. Kayoko came to visit Kyoko and appeared in our room. Today was Kazuma’s birthday, and in the main house kitchen they were steaming red bean rice while in the Western-style building’s kitchen they were frantically preparing dinner—Ms. Kayoko being scheduled to join us at this dining table today marked a rare occurrence. Ms. Kayoko was truly a saintly maiden of fervent purity. Yet in contrast stood Ms. Ayaka—a woman who retained a strangely girlish quality amid her floral splendor, appearing nothing like a married woman. This demonic allure of hers likely inflamed feminine hostility; after all, with every man finding himself peculiarly drawn to her, jealousy became inevitable. What made Ms. Kayoko special were her feelings for Kazuma—yet whenever conversation turned to Ms. Ayaka, the razor-sharp antipathy underlying her words grew so nerve-shreddingly acute that I found myself pained.

Excessive hatred and jealousy, rather than elevating their object, only made the one harboring them appear wretched—and even someone as pure as Ms. Kayoko, when consumed by such feelings, would inevitably inflict discomfort upon her listeners. This left one with the vivid realization that there truly could exist such a creature as a beautiful fiend born of burning envy.

Ms. Kayoko, likely owing to her frail health, had a religious streak that took on prophetic dimensions. Yet from the mere fact that one of Ms. Ayaka’s bedroom slipper bells had been found beneath Ouni’s bed, she’d concluded Ms. Ayaka was the culprit and stubbornly clung to the belief that there’d been some relationship between Ouni and Ms. Ayaka—which made things all the more trying for us who knew otherwise, our nerves stretched taut by her intensity.

"But Ms. Kayoko, that's incorrect." "In Mr. Ouni's case, only Ms. Ayaka has an alibi." "She was sleeping in Kazuma's bed, and Kazuma himself was writing until dawn." "Brother is covering for Sister." "He's been completely deceived by Sister, you see."

That was essentially how things stood. Whenever Ayaka became the topic of conversation, she would grow thoroughly irritated. Yet midway through such talk, Kazuma and Ms. Ayaka happened to come visit me.

“Oh my, Ms. Kayoko—what a rare sight.” Ms. Ayaka’s eyes sparkled as she rejoiced like scattering pollen, “Tonight’s dinner will be delightful. “Ms. Kayoko, you’re like a fragrant alpine flower—simply sitting quietly will allow your floral essence to naturally permeate through everyone present.” Ms. Kayoko appeared to recoil from the flattery with an annoyed demeanor—but then she did not. She beamed happily,

“Sister, you’re the one who’s as fragrant as a bouquet.” She murmured dreamily, as if genuinely enraptured by Ms. Ayaka’s floral splendor from the depths of her soul. I stood utterly dumbfounded. Women—even one as guilelessly pure as this—were all natural-born deceivers, diplomats, and tacticians by nature. Yet even so, I thought Ms. Kayoko’s case struck me as particularly egregious. Reflecting upon it, Ms. Kayoko was an exceptionally solitary soul—with Kyoko being her sole confidante and no intimate bonds with others—so this perpetual diplomatic performance came naturally to her. Through my incidental connection with Kyoko, I alone had been granted access to the undiplomatic truth beneath Ms. Kayoko’s facade. Were women to reveal their true hearts, they’d all prove thus—but we men are seldom afforded such glimpses behind the veil.

Kazuma, surprisingly, showed not a trace of being in a difficult position or appearing troubled and maintained his composure, “Are you feeling better now? I heard you had a slight fever until recently. With all these incidents happening one after another, I haven’t been able to visit properly, but lately I hear you’ve even been refusing to take Dr. Ebizuka’s medicine. You shouldn’t be so high-strung. You have to take the doctor’s medicine.” Ms. Kayoko raised her lonely-looking face,

“Yes, but I don’t intend to live long, you see.”

“That’s it. “That’s exactly what’s wrong.” “Don’t you agree, Ms. Kyoko?” “Yes indeed—wishing for an early death is such a trifling matter.” “If she maintains bright hopes, her illness will certainly be cured quickly.”

It was pure presumption. Because they spoke as though her illness could be cured all too easily, even when told so plainly, the patient herself must have felt she couldn't keep up.

Kazuma turned to face me, “Dr. Ebizuka has been quite a problem lately. That Mr. Okuda Tonegichiro from the Analects Study Group came by just now with an introduction letter from him—he wants to lecture my guests on the Analects, offering to make a special trip himself, and asked when would be convenient. Since Detective Arahirosuke Hatchobana happened to be visiting, I had him send the man away. Dr. Ebizuka’s letter was utterly ridiculous, claiming that having Okuda deliver a lecture would benefit everyone and describing him as a ‘genius and saint’ in such preposterous terms—the man must be out of his mind.”

“Is that Analects teacher in his right mind?” “Fanatics are all fundamentally driven by their fanaticism—they’re essentially madmen by definition.” “Having him give an amusing lecture might be rather entertaining, don’t you think? After all, he’s precisely the sort who’d come crawling out of one of Tango’s novels. I’ll bet Dr. Kose would have great fun egging him on and poking at him in all sorts of ways. Even Hitomi Koroku’s recent works have done nothing but parade freaks, eccentrics and lunatics across their pages since the war ended. Perhaps these are times when madmen command the stage.”

“The belly-button revue and the Analects teacher—back-to-back like bush clover and the moon, eh?” “That’s exactly right.” “A novel by someone like Sakaguchi Ango isn’t it just like a belly-button revue and an Analects teacher bundled together?” “Actually, I hear Detective Hatchobana has something he wants to ask us.”

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

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

Detective Hatchobana was together with Madame Atapin. “Thank you for troubling yourself to come. My apologies.” Though uncouth, Detective Hatchobana had an unexpectedly polite aspect to him and bowed his head once with a solid thud.

“Today I’d like to discuss matters of the literary world—it appears Mr. Mochizuki Ouni had numerous enemies.” “What sort of enemies?” “Enemies in the literary sense, you understand.” “If Mr. Mochizuki were to die, who might stand to benefit?” “To begin with, there isn’t a soul who wouldn’t rejoice.” “He was universally detested among fellow writers.” “An ill-mannered brute through and through.” “Naturally, I myself would be thoroughly pleased.” “All you literary men are simply jealous creatures!”

Madame Atapin charged in, shrieking piercingly.

“You lack confidence, don’t you? Because you’re talentless. That’s why you’re all seething with jealousy! How vile!” “It simply won’t click in my head. This truly marks the depths of misfortune. We are indeed fools.” “If Mr. Mochizuki dies, your manuscripts will sell better, won’t they?” “Precisely as your theory states.” “Now then, Mr. Yashiro—regarding literary matters—would you consider it conceivable that someone might kill out of jealousy over talent?”

“That is conceivable.” “Among all possible scenarios, wouldn’t that be an extremely plausible one?” “However, throughout history and across cultures, such murders may have surprisingly never actually occurred.” “For one thing, killing someone doesn’t mean your own talent grows.” “Since literary jealousy concerns innate ability rather than reputation—and murdering someone doesn’t enhance your own gifts—it’s only natural such killings remain extraordinarily rare.”

“Indeed, that may very well be the case. In any art form, killing someone out of artistic jealousy seems plausible in theory yet rarely occurs in practice. After all, even if you kill them, your own talent remains unchanged—it would be rather pointless, wouldn’t it? Now, if I may ask an impertinent question—you’ve all been living at the heart of this storm of incidents. Not just one event, but four acquaintances murdered over three consecutive days. Even without an informant’s mentality, surely everyone must naturally harbor suspicions or have certain theories. Or is this merely my own baseless conjecture?”

“Well, I suppose anyone would find themselves feeling somewhat like an amateur detective, wouldn’t you agree?” “Oh, you’re absolutely right.” “It’s only natural for people’s feelings to tend that way.” “In light of this—though it may be presumptuous of me to ask—I would like all of you to disclose your secret suspicions.” “Naturally, through a method that causes no offense.” “For instance, even if it’s half in jest, we’d like you to conduct something like a voting game to guess the culprit.” “If we were to organize this officially, it would create friction, so we’d prefer Mr. Yashiro introduce it as a casual jest instead.” “How does this sound? It’s entirely half in jest—merely for amusement, if that suits you.”

“However, that is ultimately a trivial matter, you see. Generally speaking, while each of us may harbor various suspicions by playing amateur detective, I imagine there’s likely no one who’s reached a definitive conclusion about the culprit. I myself am no exception, naturally. Even if asked who did it, there’s simply no logical basis for an answer.” “Naturally, that would suffice. Isn’t it perfectly acceptable for those who don’t know to plainly state their ignorance? Or perhaps some might vaguely suspect someone seems suspicious or dubious, even without clarity. If each person could share their secret misgivings in their own peculiar way, that would prove most valuable.”

“However, I refuse to be the organizer of that.” “Openly, you should take charge and do it yourselves.” “Even if it causes friction, since this was never a respectable affair to begin with, there’s no reason you shouldn’t take responsibility yourselves.” “Using people as your pawns will only make this affair increasingly vulgar.” “Wouldn’t something like Madame Atapin’s illustrious direction be tremendously entertaining?”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” “Talking about good taste or bad taste—where do you stand?” “Aren’t you the one who became Mr. Utagawa’s mistress?” “On top of that, to have the nerve to bring that mistress and come waltzing into your former master’s house—that’s not just having a hairy heart, it’s practically made of bearskin!” “If you think that makes you refined, then what are the police doing if not acting like divine judgment?” “You should know your place!”

It was a terrible display of fury.

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

14. The Holy Virgin and the Last Supper

When we had not yet sat down to dinner and everyone was gathered in the hall—with the habitual drinkers sipping whiskey in measured little gulps—Dr. Ebizuka entered leading a lanky, completely bald man in his thirties. His cheekbones jutted sharply from a pallid face that might have illustrated a medical textbook’s malnutrition entry. Precisely then, the room’s cuckoo clock announced seven o’clock.

Dr. Ebizuka put on airs with an exaggerated gesture,

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Mr. Okuda Tonegichiro. He is not so much a scholar of the Analects as its most sincere practitioner—an ascetic and a saint.” The sage’s pallid face quivered violently as he glared at everyone with a desperate intensity. “It is said that man does not live by bread alone,”

“Hey now, that ain’t from the Analects.” “Waltzin’ in here bold as brass with your half-assed East-West mashup sermon—what kinda bullshit is this?” “Fuckin’ psycho ape!” “Artists stay true-blue through thick and thin—we’re the real McCoy!” “We ain’t no factory seconds! Take your monkey ass elsewhere!” “Not even worth picklin’ for bar snacks!”

Pikaichi became enraged, veins bulging, and glared. Hitomi Korojiro took over, "This is utterly insufferable!" "Hey, Mr. Ebizuka! Not only is your mere presence at our gathering useless and unpleasant, but you bring along some stranger without our consent—what do you think you're doing?" "We aren't guests in your home." "The Analects preach propriety, but don't you think this Analects teacher's very manner of appearance betrays them egregiously?"

Kazuma also became enraged,

"Dr. Ebizuka, as the host of this gathering, I cannot permit this person's intrusion. Please remove them." "It would be best if you also refrained from attending this gathering for the time being." Caught off guard by Kazuma's unexpectedly sharp tone, Ebizuka stood trembling-lipped and speechless—until the cynical Tango, precisely as I'd anticipated, began speaking in a slow, measured voice: "That sort of Analects Sage sermonizing—not something you'd hear in Tokyo." "No need to cling to common-sense notions of etiquette." "The very disregard for propriety might be where this sage's greatness lies." "To rashly expel someone before appraising their true worth—isn't that contrary to an artist's principles?"

“Enough already! You’re just someone who can only spout formulaic responses. You keep spouting things in some trendy new style without even understanding your own preferences. That’s why your literature will forever be counterfeit. Between Ouni and you, there’s a bigger gap than between the moon and a snapping turtle!” Pikaichi suddenly stood up, placed both hands on the Sage’s shoulders, and spun him around backward. “Get moving. You’re violating trespassing laws too. I’ll mercifully refrain from reporting you to the authorities—so vanish right now and disappear. Come on, one, two! One, two!”

This Sage—who had once been effortlessly crushed by Ouni and even tended to at Ebizuka Hospital—grew ever paler before this hero whose gravitas matched Ouni's own, left speechless as he was clumsily pushed and finally hurled out through the dining room doorway. Ebizuka too pursued after him, disappearing together through that same door.

The dinner table was prepared. "Dealing with that lunatic doctor wears me out, but that counterfeit artist Tango truly grates on my nerves. "He swaggers about so self-importantly it becomes intolerable. "Tell me, Ms. Kayoko. "What an excellent name you have—and you truly strike me as someone of unwavering moral fiber. "When measured against frauds like Tango, one discerns the profundity with which you apprehend reality's true essence. "Well then, young lady, I shall permit myself to occupy the seat beside you. "I assure you—I'd never dream of teasing or harassing a person of your depth and integrity. "Might I hear those sundry reflections dwelling within your tranquil, fathomless heart?"

With that, Pikaichi offered Ms. Kayoko a chair and sat down next to her. As a result, Kyoko became separated from Ms. Kayoko. Yet Ms. Kayoko appeared somehow charmed by Pikaichi—the sight of her earnestly exchanging words with him struck us as peculiar, though perhaps this was simply how innocent maidens became effortlessly beguiled when encountering such men.

Kamiyama Toyo’s wife Kisono and the maid Yae were serving as per the usual arrangement. When the meal course had passed its halfway point, Ebizuka circled around the main house and entered the dining room from the hall, but as no seat had been prepared for him, Ms. Kisono—

"The meal has been prepared, you know. “We’re preparing your seat now, Doctor.”

As she tried to move a chair from the corner, Kazuma raised his face with an unusually agitated expression, “Dr. Ebizuka, it appears your temperament diverges too greatly from that of the others at this gathering.” “Though your continued attendance suggests some aspect pleases you, since your presence causes nothing but discomfort to everyone else, I must request you withdraw from this gathering immediately.” “Please take your meal at the main house.”

“Whew.” “Exactly as it should be.” “I may have a different temperament myself, but this here’s a victim forced to lurk about with ill intent thanks to the police’s restraining order!” Pikaichi thumped his chest and, “Truly, compared to Ms. Kayoko’s beauty, serenity, and depth, a woman like Ayaka is nothing but a peacock flaunting borrowed feathers.” “With all due respect—even when speaking of Ms. Utsugi Akiko, the celebrated female writer—could she possibly surpass Saintly Virgin Kayoko in the state of her soul, its proper alignment, the tragic depth of her spirit, or its tranquility?” “No, my apologies—isn’t this pure-heartedness of mine quite remarkable? That I would dare provoke the beautiful Bluestocking poet herself just to praise Ms. Kayoko!”

“No one recognizes Mr. Pikaichi’s sincerity more than I do.” Ms. Utsugi said this with flushed cheeks, her eyes brimming with coquetry. “You may praise Ms. Kayoko as much as you like. Truly, someone like me is mere dregs of womanhood.” “No, Ms. Akiko—I must beg your pardon. I’ve long been fully aware of your fair and magnanimous disposition. I’ve simply been presuming upon that quality. In your magnanimity—you truly are a Bluestocking poet like Watatsumi herself.”

“At times like these, if only Mr. Umi were still alive—he’d surely have some cutting remark to shut Mr. Pikaichi up. How utterly detestable that man is.” “If Umi were here,” Utagawa Kazuma sneered at Ms. Akiko, “wouldn’t he quip something like ‘Calling someone detestable—how very human’?” “What you’d call *carnal*.”

Kibee too turned his displeased face away from his wife and said. "I despise men who look down on their wives in a carnal way."

Pikaichi declared calmly. 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 room.

After a few minutes, they returned, and Kyoko came to me, “I went to the restroom with Ms. Ayaka. She said she was scared to go alone, so I accompanied her.” “Then she said she saw someone hiding in the back of the garden.” “It’s just... it feels scary. Could you check?” It appeared Ms. Ayaka had spoken to Kazuma, for he too stood up. I also stood and called Dr. Kose, then under Ms. Ayaka’s guidance headed to the restroom in the corridor connecting the main house and Western-style building. The downstairs restroom of the Western building was next to where Umi had been brutally murdered, so it was only natural the ladies avoided that area. Then, noticing a figure outside the corridor toward the main house’s front reception room, we challenged them—it turned out to be Dr. Yomisugi.

“Oh, it was you, Detective.”

“Haa, just taking a casual stroll while keeping watch, you might say.” “Every day?” Kazuma asked,

“Yes, that’s correct. Even after you’ve all gone to sleep, we maintain our discreet surveillance.” “Then was it one of your detectives hiding in the thicket at the garden’s edge? And might there be someone stationed by the waterfall upstream as well?” “Well now, who can say? We haven’t coordinated positions precisely, but Hatchobana could be there. No—Hatchobana should be occupied elsewhere. Let me make an inspection round myself.” Ms. Ayaka appeared visibly relieved. Kazuma and I used this interruption to excuse ourselves, with me returning first. As the group had begun dispersing en masse, Kibee and Kamiyama Toyo rose in turn—passing me in the corridor—to relieve themselves before returning. Coffee service had just commenced when we regrouped.

When Yae brought coffee to Pikaichi and placed it on the table, Pikaichi took the cup in hand, stroking and twisting it around, “Damn you—still palming off this chipped cup on me!”

He glared sharply at Yae, "You threw a fit and chipped the coffee cup—that's your own doing." It seemed Yae disliked Pikaichi.

"Ah, I should have given that one to Ms. Kayoko. This one’s even more chipped."

The other day, when Pikaichi had acted violently and overturned the table, about a dozen coffee cups ended up chipped or broken. Since then, there being one fewer coffee cup in total, it became customary to always serve Pikaichi a chipped one. As Ms. Kayoko had joined them that night, she too received a chipped cup. Given that Ms. Kayoko was the child of a maid, her inferior treatment compared to guests was unavoidable. Following established practice, Yae served Pikaichi his usual designated cup—leaving Ms. Kayoko with one bearing an even larger chip along its rim.

“Then I’ll serve this one to Ms. Kayoko.” “This one has somewhat fewer chips, huh?”

With that, Pikaichi exchanged coffee cups with Ms. Kayoko. Ms. Kayoko stirred her coffee and took a sip or two, but with an oddly suspicious expression, she quietly set down the cup while gazing at it. As she stared, she dropped the cup, suddenly stood up, opened her eyes wide, clawed at her chest, crawled onto the table as if lunging forward, and collapsed. When Pikaichi, taken aback, tried to lift her up, she merely slid down from his arms and sank onto the floor.

Pikaichi held Ms. Kayoko, shaking her as he raised his Asura-like face,

“Hey, call a doctor! What are you all dawdling for? Hurry, call a doctor! Don’t you understand? Bastards! Hey, you bastards! What are you all standing around for? Hey, I said call a doctor! You damn bastards!” Kyoko and Kazuma rushed over to tend to her, and Dr. Ebizuka, appearing with unexpected swiftness, checked her pulse for a minute or two before shaking his head and standing up. At that moment, Pikaichi’s deranged voice—like a cracked bell—boomed out.

“Don’t move! Don’t go outside! Don’t touch anything on the table! Ms. Kayoko’s been poisoned! They killed her instead of me! Damn you! You bastards who tried to poison me! Look! It’s Ms. Kayoko who’s dead! Sit in your chairs! Return to your original positions!” Pikaichi’s ferocious eyes blazed fiercely, fixed on Ms. Ayaka. He trembled with furious rage, his shoulders heaving violently as he breathed.

At that moment, Ms. Shitae appeared, opening the door in a confused manner,

“Is Dr. Ebizuka here?”

Ebizuka raised his face and turned around suspiciously. Kamiyama Toyo called out in a booming voice, "He's here," he answered.

“I need him to come immediately.” “The master’s condition has taken a strange turn.” As she said this, her eyes fixed on Ms.Kayoko lying collapsed, she appeared on the verge of fainting yet struggling to maintain her composure. Kamiyama Toyo’s booming voice thundered eerily like a funeral bell.

“8:14”

Postscript: Mr. Ozaki Shiro, a resident of Ito, informed a visitor: "In Sakaguchi's detective novels, look—the culprit's always 'me,' right?" "In Sakaguchi Ango's novels, it's always 'me' who turns out to be the bad guy." "So hah! The culprit's that one—it's 'me.' Yeah, I've got it figured already." "Oi, gimme some sake."

Mitaka resident Mr. Dazai Osamu told a magazine reporter: "The culprit hasn't even shown up yet." "He'll appear in the final installment." "The one who shows up just once with an innocent face—that's your guy." "It's decided." "The one who appears just once in the final installment with that innocent look."

“Auntie! Beer—keep ’em coming! I’m counting on you.”

These two detectives lacked the caliber to accept the author's challenge. Since it stood glaringly obvious, I'll spare you the detailed explanation.

The most incomparably brave was Mr. Yonchobana of Kyushu. He appeared at my humble abode while making his long journey to Tokyo, “Listen, Mr. Sakaguchi—if I conclusively deduce the culprit now, there would be nothing left to write.” “Even so, will you listen to my words?” “May I tell you?”

The buildup was grandiose, but it amounted to nothing. One person devised a scenario, and an entirely different person secretly carried it out. "Good grief, that’s the same method as in *The Y Tragedy*!" Whether we speak of Ms. Atapin or Dr. Yonchobana, people from Kyushu all possessed, to a greater or lesser degree, an Atapin-like tendency and were reckless.

Dr. Yonchobana of Kuki, Saitama Prefecture (when combined with his Kyushu counterpart making "Hatchōhana"), being devoted to spousal harmony in his gentle household that cherishes peace, would surely declare this detective novel—opening with a naked woman—a desperate detective story through and through. Mr. Sakaguchi, have you lost your mind? So even if Hatchōhana became twelve-chōhana, it would still be useless. This month’s challenge left me unable to find anyone worthy of receiving it. There are no worthy souls under heaven. I must confess I had overestimated the Japanese people. To think that writing a mere detective novel would make me confront despair at my homeland’s intellectual capacity—how regrettable, how utterly unexpected.

Sakaguchi Ango

Fifteen: The Sugar Jar and Pikaichi’s Trick

Ms. Kayoko’s corpse had been carried away, and we—along with the Tsubodaira couple and maid Yae—were confined to the hall while the dining room and kitchen remained sealed off. It was just past nine-thirty when Inspector Kanguri’s team, having concluded their examination of the body, appeared in the hall accompanied by Ms. Shitae and Nurse Moroi. After first investigating both the dining room and kitchen, they stood before us,

“Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for disturbing you so late at night once again, but we must ask for your cooperation. Our incompetence is truly inexcusable, but our adversary is indeed a genius among devils.” Inspector Kanguri also seemed somewhat agitated, having lost his usual composure, brimming with fighting spirit and an eagerness unbefitting his age.

“This evening, two murders were carried out simultaneously in different locations—”

“Two?” Ms. Utsugi Akiko involuntarily exclaimed. Inspector Kanguri nodded,

“Correct, two. Mr. Utagawa Tōmon and Ms. Kayoko. However, the scheme was carried out within this very area. In other words, both victims were killed by poison mixed into their food—Ms. Kayoko with potassium cyanide and Mr. Utagawa Tōmon with morphine.”

We were utterly astonished by this. It turned out that Old Man Tōmon had died not from coffee, but from morphine that had been cooked into the pudding. First, the Tsubodaira couple were questioned. Since Old Man Tōmon avoided game meat and limited himself to only the mildest fish dishes, his menu differed from ours. That day’s meal had consisted of salt-grilled sweetfish, carp sashimi, clear soup, devil’s tongue tofu, and simmered dishes. Old Man Tōmon ate pudding after his evening meal. For lunch it was jelly—since that spring, Ayaka had been preparing it.

The morphine had been cooked into the pudding; it was not something that someone had sprinkled on top of the finished product.

"But I can't imagine it," Ayaka said defensively. "Nothing unusual happened while I was making the pudding. I don't recall leaving the area, and there was nothing suspicious whatsoever." "When did you prepare it?" Inspector Kanguri pressed. "Around four o'clock, I believe. When the detectives arrived asking to see Mr. Yashiro, I went to his room where Ms. Kayoko was waiting, exchanged greetings with her, then proceeded to the kitchen. I made the pudding first thing and stored it in the refrigerator."

“Madam, could it be the sugar—” The Tsubodaira wife interjected. Ayaka opened her eyes wide and stared at the wife’s face, her cheeks flushing as the gleam in her eyes intensified. "What on earth happened to the sugar?" When Inspector Kanguri pressed her, the Tsubodaira wife answered.

"The master’s health was poor, so he had made it a habit not to consume regular sugar." "We use beet sugar and have made it our practice to employ only sugar from a special jar specifically for the master’s dishes." Immediately, a meticulous investigation was conducted on the dining room’s sugar, soy sauce, and other items, but it was discovered that only in Old Man Tōmon’s sugar jar had a substantial amount of morphine been mixed in—discernible upon close inspection.

The sugar jar was a one-kan glass jar, but it still contained about half its contents, and until that day, there had been no irregularities when used in cooking. “Did you use the sugar in any other dishes besides the pudding?” “It was not used elsewhere in the dishes prepared for the evening meal.”

Tsubodaira answered timidly. He turned pale. “When was the sugar used prior to the pudding?” “We used it in the lunchtime black tea. Since lunch was sandwiches, we boiled two gō of milk with strong black tea and sugar.”

"You used a considerable amount then, didn't you?"

“Well, that’s correct. I believe we used about the amount needed for the pudding, but...”

“Did Mr. Utagawa drink all of it?”

As Tsubodaira was unable to answer, Ms. Shitae—

"He drank all of it." "You were the one who served it, correct?" "Yes." "There were no other abnormalities after that, were there?" "There were none."

“Around what time was the black tea prepared?” "The master’s lunch is set for twelve-thirty and his evening meal for eight o’clock. Since Ms. Shitae always comes to take the tray about ten minutes before, we have everything prepared in time." "I think it was ready exactly ten minutes before twelve-thirty."

Inspector Kanguri nodded.

“Between twelve-twenty and four o’clock, did anyone touch the sugar jar?”

Tsubodaira cringed deferentially, "I must humbly apologize, sir—I wasn't paying the slightest attention." “Weren’t you in the dining room the entire time?” "Well, sir, I retired to my room during lunch break and was resting until about three o'clock, but I must inform you my wife remained in the kitchen for cleanup duties until approximately one-thirty." “Yes, I was washing the dishes. With Mrs. Kamiyama’s assistance, I retired to my room around one-thirty.”

“During that time, did anyone come to the kitchen?”

“After lunch, the guests would retire for their afternoon rest, so until around three o’clock, it was rare for anyone to come to the kitchen. After three o’clock, when we returned to the kitchen, Madam Ayaka along with Ms. Utsugi, Mrs. Yashiro, Mr. Tango, Mrs. Kamiyama, and others came by, but not a single one of them touched the sugar jar.” “So from 1:30 to 3:00, the kitchen was unmanned.”

"That is correct." "However, around two o'clock, I heard that some sweetfish had arrived, and Nurse Moroi delivered them." "You were the one who received them?" "No, she stated that she had put it 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, and since everyone knows this, they take care not to disturb our repose."

Inspector Kanguri stared at Nurse Moroi with a look of keen interest. "Have you retired from hospital work recently?"

“From eight in the morning until half past eleven. Since Ms. Chigusa’s incident, Ms. Oyura’s condition has deteriorated—this arrangement is by the master’s order.” Nurse Moroi remained as composed as ever. Even men considered great enough to be called major figures—indeed, men in general tend to change their demeanor depending on their interlocutor—yet Nurse Moroi maintained an expression as placid as water; whether facing a grand duke or Inspector Kanguri himself, her unflinching countenance commanded admiration.

“Is delivering sweetfish also part of your duties?” “At that hour, there were no other staff members awake in this household besides myself.”

"So the kitchen was unmanned at that time?"

"No, there was one person present."

Involuntarily, the entire group tensed up. Inspector Kanguri assumed a stance as if gathering strength in his lower abdomen,

“Who was it?”

“Ms. Kayoko.”

The turbulent emotions of the disordered crowd coalesced into a palpable aura rippling through the room. Inspector Kanguri’s entire body was charged with intensity.

“Ms. Moroi. You’re factoring in that the dead can’t speak, aren’t you?”

Nurse Moroi nodded coolly,

“That may be the case,” she conceded coolly. “Thus creating this absurd situation where my testimony isn’t trusted.” “What was Ms. Kayoko doing?” “She stated 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 seated in a chair in this hall reading. She mentioned she had gone to visit Mrs. Yashiro but found her apparently napping.”

“I also saw Ms.Kayoko in this hall—it was around two forty—she was indeed reading.”

Mrs. Kocho interjected.

It had grown close to eleven o'clock.

Inspector Kanguri was growing irritated,

“In that case, Mr. Kamiyama – given your profession, you appear to possess a keen observational eye – please recount the circumstances of dinner.” “I see. Then I shall speak on behalf of everyone here.”

He was indeed accustomed to such situations. Until just moments ago, he hadn’t seemed particularly remarkable, but now that he had been formally appointed to represent the entire assembly, his bearing transformed completely. Inspector Kanguri himself possessed such a masterful composure during the interrogation that he seemed to outshine even those with striking features. “First, this occurred just before dinner was to begin. We had gathered in the hall and were each drinking beer, sake, and such as we pleased while waiting for the dining table to be prepared.” “Just as this cuckoo clock struck seven.” “For your information, I should mention that this cuckoo clock is approximately four minutes slow.” “At the moment this cuckoo clock 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 made his introductory remarks, this saint immediately launched into his sermon, and just as he began quoting “Man shall not live by bread alone,” Doi glared sharply at the saint and roared: “You damn fool! Does Confucius have such words? Preaching this East-West mishmash nonsense to us writers who deal with things-in-themselves is outrageous! You’re as ill-mannered as that lout Hito-omi Koroku!” Though only Mr. Tango seemed to support the saint, in the end Mr. Kazuma declared he wouldn’t permit trespassing in the house, whereupon Doi did an about-face and marched out through the dining room door with military cadence—“Hup-two, hup-two!” Dr. Ebizuka also left together. “At that time I was concerned, but Dr. Ebizuka, you all had removed your shoes and came from the main house. “Did you walk barefoot?”

Dr. Ebizuka merely rolled his gleaming eyes restlessly and offered no reply.

"With such a prelude behind us, we now finally come to the main act." Then Pika-ichi cut in,

“As for what happened next, let me be the one to tell it. When dinner was nearing its end, the mistress of the house whispered to Ms. Kayoko, and the two left the dining hall together. Soon after returning, she gathered Yashiro, Kazuma, and Kose this time—all five of them left the dining hall. After that, things got chaotic with two or three people still coming and going, but I don’t remember that part clearly. That’s when the coffee was served. Inspector, listen carefully! My coffee cup’s the only one with a mark—the rim’s chipped. Sure, I’m the one who smashed it good, but isn’t it strange for a grand household like this to have no replacement? For a week now, they’ve been shoving this chipped cup at me, saying ‘You broke it, so it’s yours!’ That damn maid over there’s been pushing it on me, see? Just listen—there’s a scheme behind this! It was all planned out! Who’s behind it? Well, you all know perfectly well! They put potassium cyanide in my cup like they planned—but turns out Ms. Kayoko’s cup was chipped worse than mine. So I offered to swap mine with hers, and that’s what started the tragedy! If it’d been me drinking that cyanide-laced coffee—not Atapin or anything—I’d have sensed it right off and spat it out! Invincible, that’s me.”

“Inspector, if you check those folks comin’ an’ goin’ round dinner’s end in the dinin’ hall – culprit’ll show his face right enough.”

“Why did you switch the coffee cups?”

Inspector Kanguri asked quizzically. “Of course. 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 teacup and gave it to Ms. Kayoko.” Ms. Ayaka trembled with anger and glared at Pika-ichi, but he merely snorted dismissively and paid her no heed. Ms. Ayaka reached the peak of her fury,

“This person is a master of magic tricks,” Ayaka accused, her voice sharp as broken glass. “Slipping poison into a coffee cup would be child’s play for someone like you.” Her lacquered nails trembled toward Doi Koichi’s smirking face. “Whether it’s hanafuda cards or dice games, you cheat better than any back-alley gambler.” The words hissed like steam from a kettle. “A fingertip magician—that’s what you are.” Beside Pika-ichi’s sofa sat a Go board, its grid lines sharp as prison bars. He plucked a single black stone from the bowl, the click of ceramic echoing through the tense silence. With a showman’s flourish, he clamped it between thumb and forefinger, thrusting his arm toward Ayaka in mock salute. The stone danced across his knuckles—appearing, vanishing, reappearing—a living thing that laughed at gravity’s laws. Pika-ichi maintained his lazy slouch even as the stone writhed like a trapped insect, his fingers weaving patterns faster than blinking.

“Step right up! The spectacle you are about to witness is ‘The Chapter of Phantasmal Love in Black and White’—behold!” Alongside the black stone, he plucked a white one, clutching both between his fingers simultaneously. Vanishing and reappearing at will, they demonstrated consummate sleight-of-hand mastery. Pika-ichi leveled his gaze at Ms. Ayaka with deliberate calm, “I’m no homicidal lunatic—what possible motive could I have for killing Ms. Kayoko?” “Every murder requires motive.” “You should start by uncovering that motive.” “Step right up! Feast your eyes!”

Inspector Kanguri seemed barely able to contain his inner excitement, but first leisurely lit a cigarette and surveyed the assembled group. He turned deliberately toward Ms. Ayaka and, “Was there some particular reason you and Mrs. Yashiro left the dining hall?”

Ms. Ayaka’s face flushed red, but Kayoko also fidgeted and couldn’t answer, “We went to the lavatory.” Reluctantly, Ms. Ayaka said.

“Since I felt uneasy going alone, I asked Ms. Kayoko to accompany me. When I happened to look toward the mountain behind the waterfall from the lavatory window, I saw someone’s figure hiding there. There are lights in one place at Azumaya and about two lanterns elsewhere, so some areas were dimly visible while others remained dark. The figure I saw happened to be right at the boundary between light and shadow, so it vanished into the darkness in an instant. Given the circumstances, I became frightened and requested my husband, Mr. Yashiro, and Dr. Kose to come. Since Detective Nagahata was also present, we had them investigate.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded, “Yomisugi, I see you’ve already looked into it.” “Yes, I rushed over immediately, but there was no sign of anyone left.” “Given that we couldn’t take a direct path—having to circle around the Western-style building, and with the garden paths being like a maze—” “That’s beyond what one person could manage alone. There was nothing to be done.”

Inspector Kanguri expressed concern for his subordinate. “So did everyone return to the dining hall immediately?” “I came back after attending to personal matters myself, though Kazuma and Dr. Kose likely did the same.” When I said this, Kazuma and Dr. Kose nodded. “Did all three of you return to the dining hall together?”

“There was no particular reason for us to return together, so it seems we came back separately.”

“Did you and Mrs. Yashiro return together earlier?” “We did peek into the kitchen and exchange some words with the maid, but since we weren’t particularly conscious of staying together, Ms. Kayoko might have gone ahead first.” “But you were practically together,” he said. “I also spoke with Mrs. Tsubodaira and glanced around the kitchen a bit.” “Though there wasn’t any particular reason for it.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded deeply.

“Had the coffee been prepared in the kitchen at that time?” “The preparations were complete.” Ayaka stared resolutely at the inspector and said. Yet despite her resolve, her voice naturally lowered. “When we returned, the coffee cups were being arranged on that table in the hall.” “Had the coffee already been poured into the cups?”

“It had been poured.” “The sugar and milk had been added in the kitchen, carried here, and were being arranged.” Inspector Kanguri had Pika-ichi and Ms. Kayoko’s cups brought from the dining hall and slowly examined them. Pika-ichi’s cup had one slightly larger chip and one smaller chip on its rim, while Ms. Kayoko’s had two large chips and two small ones. Inspector Kanguri looked up at the maid Yae.

“Which of these cups is Mr. Doi’s designated one?” “Yes, that one.” She unmistakably pointed to the one with fewer chips and answered. “Are there any other cups without chips?” “Yes, there are none. Since the war, many have been broken and left unreplaced—we haven’t purchased 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 also see the coffee cups on that table there?”

We also nodded. "I hear two or three others stood up as well. Who might they have been?"

“I stood up.” Kamiyama Toyo answered. Next, Kohee answered, “Me too.” “Did you all see the coffee cups on the table?” “When I returned from the restroom, they were carrying them to the dining hall.” “Some might have remained on the table, but since I didn’t pay much attention, I can’t say for sure.” “When I returned, there didn’t seem to be any coffee cups left anymore. However, I did see Dr. Ebizuka come out from the kitchen at that time, gripping a coffee 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 Bukkibō’s reply, delivered with the icy detachment of an aikuchi. Kamiyama Toyo took it over and,

“This situation requires some explanation.” “It’s because Painter Doi went charging through the mansion, leaping abruptly from the prelude straight into the finale.” “During the meal, Dr. Ebizuka—having likely admonished the saintly one about cause and effect before parting—returned to the dining hall.” Then Mr. Kazuma declared that since Dr. Ebizuka and the guests had different temperaments, he wished for him not to attend this gathering. “And so, he left the dining hall.”

The fact that Ebizuka had been eating in the kitchen all along gave us no small amount of suspicion and unease. Among them all, Pika-ichi appeared thoroughly flustered. With a look of utter bewilderment, he sullenly kept his mouth shut.

“Where exactly in the kitchen were you having your meal?”

At this question, Ebizuka merely glared defiantly and made no move to answer. Mrs. Tsubodaira answered instead, explaining that depending on the nature of the dishes, whenever the busiest area of their workspace shifted with the demands of cooking, they would move here and there—sometimes sitting on chairs, sometimes eating while standing—as they had their meals.

When the interrogation concluded and the group of officers began to withdraw, Pika-ichi wore a somewhat troubled expression.

“Inspector,” “I’m sick of this.” “Can’t I just go back to Tokyo already?”

“Well, I can’t force you to stay. If there’s no particular issue, it would be advantageous if you remained a bit longer.” “Is that so.” “Not like I have any pressing business...” “My pieces for the autumn exhibition are already done, so that’s no concern—but the hell with this. Anyway, starting tomorrow, I’ll prepare my own meals.”

“That won’t do. “That’s just vile of you!” “You’re the one who’s the villain capable of poisoning us!” Ayaka shouted.

Inspector Kanguri cut in, “Hmm, well then, how about this—since I’ll be administering atropine daily, we could have it included in the meals.” “Yes, understood. As long as I’m alive, there’ll be no trouble.” She wore a look of confident understanding, as if about to thump her chest.

“There may be a culprit among us, but if I keep watch, they’ll have reason to fear.” After holding the wake for Old Man Tōmon and Ms. Kayoko, I went to bed after two o'clock.

Sixteen: The Utagawa Family’s Secret

At the request of the police, they decided to examine Old Man Tōmon’s will, but when they opened the safe, it emerged without difficulty.

However, it was not an official document; it merely bore Tōmon's signature alone. The date read July 24, 1947 (Showa 22)—written just two days before his murder. This will came as a complete shock to Kazuma. Tōmon had first declared that Kayoko was his sole surviving daughter following Tamao's death, stipulating that the entire estate should be divided equally between Kazuma and Kayoko. Furthermore, it specified that prior to distribution, Granny Oyura and Katakura Seijirō were each to receive 200,000 yen.

“Who is Katakura Seijirō?”

"He was a steward who served the main house his entire life but fell ill this spring and has been convalescing. Given he was seventy-six years of age now…" Inspector Kanguri took a copy of the will, inquired about Katakura Seijirō’s address, and departed—though it became clear he had grown deeply interested in how this discovery provided a compelling motive for Ms. Kayoko’s murder.

However, just missing Inspector Kanguri and his team, Old Man Katakura—accompanied by household members and driven by car—had come to pay his respects at the main house. His ailing body could now scarcely manage to walk. He knelt before his master’s remains and could not raise his face for a full ten minutes. The inspector’s group, having learned of their destination, turned back and heard 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 this household?”

"Since I was sixteen years old—this year I'm seventy-six—it's been sixty long years now." "At that time, even with the family's assets valued at just a hundred thousand or a hundred twenty to thirty thousand yen by current prices, they were still counted among the foremost wealthy families from those days onward." "I remain astonished by how times change and these recent upheavals, but given our defeat in war, I suppose this too must be inevitable." Old Man Katakura was ill and frail, but his mind remained sharp; though he lacked any formal education, it was evident he possessed steadfast discernment.

The inspector’s attitude also naturally changed. "Is it true that Ms. Kayoko’s mother committed suicide?" "That is correct." Old Man Katakura closed his eyes and said in a low voice, as though reciting a Buddhist prayer. Inspector Kanguri stared at the old man with unexpected deep solicitude,

“Mr. Katakura, naturally we’ve already examined the old police and town office records and fully grasped the surface facts.” “To compel such a merciless confession about the secrets of this main house—which has received your lifelong devotion and love—from an elderly man like yourself is truly heartless work, and I myself feel like a demon for doing so. However, Mr. Katakura, when I consider these bizarre crimes now proliferating within this household, even such cruelty must be endured—for unless we uncover the truth of these matters, we cannot identify the criminal’s identity either.” “I realize this is an utterly unreasonable request, but I swear I will never speak of it to others.” “As a public official, I will refrain from inquiring about the family’s old wounds entirely, so I earnestly entreat you to disclose the truth.”

Having said this, Inspector Kanguri looked at the old man. A calm understanding quietly filled the old man’s eyes, as though accepting the inspector’s intent. “It’s said among some elders that Ms. Kayoko’s mother was murdered rather than having committed suicide—is this true?” The old man closed his eyes and remained silent for a time before— “Inspector. “That is something even I cannot say. “When I reflect on it, my own recklessness may have brought trouble upon this house. “The storage shed where she hanged herself no longer stands, but she’d tied a single knot behind her neck and hung from its beam—until the cord snapped, sending her crashing down to her death. “This cord belonged to Lady Okaji, and among the footwear left at the scene were one of her geta and one of the deceased’s own. “When I saw this, I gasped—then hid Lady Okaji’s sandal and replaced the cord around her neck with another rope. “This happened deep in the mountains under that outpost police’s jurisdiction long ago. They cut her down claiming artificial respiration had been attempted, letting it pass as suicide without difficulty. But secrets always leak—that such rumors linger even now stems from my own folly. Yet in truth, I’ve always believed it ninety-nine parts suicide out of a hundred. “Lady Okaji had a fiery temper prone to hysterics—but anyone thinking clearly could see her frail frame lacked strength to strangle anyone. Yet in that moment, I fixated on panic. “To compound misfortune, that villain Kamiyama Toyo—then serving as master’s secretary—arrived at the scene alongside me.”

Our shock was profound. Kazuma’s shock was even more severe than mine and the inspector’s. He turned pale, his entire body stiffened like stone.

The inspector showed sympathy and nodded, “I understand completely. So the rumors that Kamiyama Toyo had been blackmailing the Utagawa family were not lies after all.”

Old Man Katakura remained silent for about a minute, as if taking a rest, but—

“There is yet another secret of this house involved in Kamiyama Toyo’s blackmail, I tell you.” “This matter may be something even the Young Master is unaware of.” “Had such incidents not occurred, I had intended to seal all these matters within my coffin without letting them escape—but now, this current commotion weighs heavily on my mind, I tell you.” “The reason I ventured out today, apart from paying my respects, was in fact to inform the Young Master of this matter.”

The old man rested once more.

“When the master was still twenty years old, during his student days in Tokyo, he fathered a child through dalliance with a maid at his lodgings.” “They had this child adopted by the distantly related Ebizuka family and severed ties with the woman, but as this son grew older, he proved a man of ill character—practicing fraud, engaging in extortion, and ultimately dying in prison after committing robberies.” “This man had already married by age twenty and left two children behind—the younger being Ebizuka Kōji, who now practices as a doctor in this village.” “This gentleman here is the master’s grandson.” “His elder brother Gentaro passed away three years ago, leaving three children.” “The eldest child remains a youth of about eleven, raised through farming by their widowed mother in M Village some twelve ri from here.” “They now hold no connection to the main house whatsoever, nor do we send them any stipend.”

Inspector Kanguri, too, was left speechless. Kazuma had turned deathly pale. “When we had the master’s hidden child taken into the Ebizuka family as their adopted son, this Ebizuka was truly gentle-natured—he kept his promise faithfully, not revealing even a trace that the child was of Master Tomon Utagawa’s blood.” “Thus, since he was registered as a legitimate son, they never knew until his death that this ill-natured man—who committed fraud, engaged in extortion, and even resorted to robbery—had been Master Tomon Utagawa’s eldest son.” “Of the two surviving children, Gentaro and Koji, since Koji was also a bright student, they 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 a grandson, I tell you.” “The only one who learned of this secret was that villain Kamiyama Toyo, I tell you.”

“Did you inform Dr. Ebizuka of that?” Old Man Katakura did not answer and remained silent for a while. “That scoundrel Kamiyama used this matter too as fodder to blackmail Lady Okaji, I tell you.” “Though Her Ladyship naturally had no means of knowing such secrets—being startled, she even questioned me about their truth—that villain Kamiyama threatened to inform Ebizuka of everything and instigate a lawsuit over the property distribution. ‘Are you prepared for that?’ he’d say while extorting her.” “I cannot count how many times I thought to kill that Kamiyama wretch.” “Truly, I should have slain him.” “A life not worth sparing.” “When I think on it—this bitterness, all because of this—even now I cannot die cleanly.”

The old man shed tears that streamed down.

Breaking the profound silence, Hatchobana instinctively leaned forward on one knee. "So the rumors of Lady Okaji being poisoned aren't groundless after all." "Hmm... This means we'll have to start fresh and dig up new roots entirely."

Inspector Kanguri said coldly, "Are you saying poison would emerge if we dug up a year-old skeleton?"

Then, turning to old man Katakura,

"Katakura-san, one final question—aside from Kazuma, the late Tamao, and Kayoko, are there truly no other living biological children of Tomon?" "There are no others remaining alive." "He was a man of scarce offspring, I tell you."

XVII: The Discontinuous Murder Case Despite the authorities' efforts, no concrete evidence seemed to have been found. Suspicion falling on Kamiyama and Ebizuka would nearly solve everything. In Utsumi's murder too—while Kamiyama upstairs couldn't evade Pikaichi's notice—Ebizuka should have easily killed Utsumi Akira downstairs. Yet only in Chigusa-san's murder did both men's alibis hold firm.

Kamiyama Toyo had returned from the crematory together with the monk and Kazuma, and had been engrossed in conversation with the ladies in the hall—a fact unanimously testified to by the ladies themselves. Ebizuka came from the village around eight o'clock and bumped into Kazuma and me at the back gate. Though grilled by Inspector Kanguri and cornered by Kobee about the time he left his clinic, he ultimately gave no response; however, investigations revealed through patient testimonies that he had been making sequential house calls to three patients from six o'clock until seven-twenty, leaving him no opportunity for criminal activity during that period. As for the interval between 7:20 and 8:00 as well, the walk from his last patient's house would take precisely that duration—and given his limp, it was hardly surprising this required slightly more time than for an average person.

Mrs. Kamiyama Kisono had also been bustling about helping with the Otoki preparations that day and had not left the kitchen—a fact attested to by numerous witnesses—and that Analects scholar had gone to a town seven or eight ri away that day, where he had reliable witnesses to confirm his alibi. I knew that not only the authorities but also Dr. Kose was conducting meticulous investigations into Ebizuka and Kamiyama. However, it still seemed impossible to overturn this alibi.

“Hey Doctor—could these multiple incidents have different perpetrators?” “The cases involving the Utagawa family versus those with Chigusa-san, Ouni, and Utsumi—mightn’t they have separate culprits?” “Even if temporally continuous, with crimes of differing motives and perpetrators mixed together—wouldn’t this ultimately constitute a discontinuous murder case?” “Precisely.” “This case’s nature might indeed be termed a discontinuous murder case.” “When I record this for posterity, I may name it precisely that—the Discontinuous Murder Case.” “Because that’s exactly where the culprit aims their design.” “In essence, the focal point lies in obscuring which incidents formed their true intent.” “For the culprit fears nothing more than having their genuine motive uncovered.” “Because understanding the motive means unveiling the criminal.”

“Then, are all these incidents the work of the same culprit?” Dr. Kose Hakase nodded with a sly smirk. “That goes without saying—of course they are.” “Because gathering such notorious individuals in one place wasn’t accidental—it was orchestrated by the culprit’s design.” “To think they so graciously went out of their way to summon even me... It does grate on one’s nerves somewhat, don’t you agree?”

Dr. Kose gave an embarrassed-looking laugh, but I realized he had already clued in on something. “So what’s the culprit’s real motive, then?” Dr. Kose burst into laughter. “If we knew that, we’d have our criminal.” “But this is a terrifyingly methodical crime.” “Every detail’s been meticulously calculated.” “In Japan, this must rank as the most intellectual—the most grandiose—crime ever committed.” “Our culprit’s a genius.” “The way they’ve utterly ignored those petty intellectual tricks—it’s downright admirable.” “Threads to make doors close automatically? Staged locked-room murders? Those gimmicks leave trails as clear as footprints.” “They practically announce the killer’s psychology.” “This criminal fears nothing more than revealing their psychological patterns.” “That dreadful silence? Proof we’re dealing with a murderous genius.” “What’s the true motive?” “Which killing served their real purpose?” “The case may wrap up on August ninth as threatened, but their main objective…” “…might’ve been achieved weeks ago.”

“In that case, there should be no need to add any unnecessary crimes amidst such heavy security, would there?” “In other words, they must conceal their true motive. However, what will happen on August ninth—this will also be a climax. Still, I think—this criminal isn’t some duty-bound simpleton who’d definitely carry out the crime on August ninth just because they issued a warning for that date. Because he dares to commit two murders in a single day at times—in other words, he always aims for vulnerabilities and exploits them. Once a poisoning occurs, vigilance against it intensifies. Therefore, he executed two poisonings simultaneously, and with that, I believe his poisoning scheme must have concluded. The next crime will likely be executed in an unforeseen manner. This defines the criminal’s character. Thus, it might be unwise to naively take August ninth at face value.”

However, Dr. Kose was by no means certain.

I knew that Dr. Kose had visited old man Katakura and gone to Ebizuka's family home. However, I also knew that he suspected Kazuma. For Dr. Kose had turned to Kazuma and said:

“However, I simply can’t imagine that Mr. Utagawa didn’t know he was Dr. Ebizuka’s uncle.” “Even if Lady Okaji didn’t know, I would think your father would have disclosed it to you, Mr. Utagawa, as the heir of this household—but this defies all common sense.”

Kazuma was deeply offended.

I spoke up in Kazuma’s place,

"Since you weren't there at the time, Doctor, you wouldn't know—but I was present when old man Katakura revealed his secret. I saw it with my own eyes." At that moment, Kazuma's face was one of utter bewilderment—completely dumbfounded, drained of all color. That expression was something no great actor could mimic—it was the very revelation of his heart's truth. That face could never be falsified. "This sort of truth is more reliable than any lie detector!"

“Hmm, is that so?” “Your literary methods are each arbitrary and self-serving—they don’t seem as precise as a lie detector, I must say.” “That Mr. Utagawa truly didn’t know about this until now—that the family heir remains unaware of something Mr. Kamiyama Toyo knows—is strange, I must say.” “If Mr. Kamiyama Toyo didn’t know about it, I could understand—but...” Kazuma was thoroughly offended. He honestly bristled,

“I truly don’t know! Even if you call me an heir, someone like me is merely inheriting because there are absolutely no other heirs left. Moreover, my father was the sort of man who’d say, ‘In your generation, do as you please—once a person dies, things like graves don’t matter at all.’ He was so thoroughly committed to nihilism. Thus, unbefitting a patriarch of an old family, he held little regard for notions of lineage—fundamentally transcending East and West—a man who persistently contemplated the cold visage of human solitude. Therefore, he may have unexpectedly understood literature—or such things—more deeply than I did. So it’s only natural he never paid mind to trivial secrets—old family wounds, so to speak. This incident merely happened by chance and became significant—had it not occurred, wouldn’t it have been something trivial, not even worth mentioning?”

Dr. Kose Hakase looked somewhat embarrassed,

“Hmm, I suppose so. But here’s the thing—if this were some trifling matter from a family like mine with neither pedigree nor wealth, your claim might hold water. However, considering how it’s become blackmail material for Mr. Kamiyama Toyo, and imagining a scenario where this household’s assets must be divided... Well, I don’t think the distribution amount could be dismissed as insignificant in such circumstances.” “If Kamiyama Toyo files 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.

However, Dr. Kose Hakase even suspected me.

“Hey, Sensei.”

He visited my room and, while smirking at my and Kayoko’s faces, “Even though Mr. Utagawa says that—putting him aside for a moment—could it be that you already knew about the matter of Dr. Ebizuka being the family’s grandson?” “In any case,” “Since this has become significant enough to be used for blackmail, it must have been known by those close to Lady Okaji—the maids, for instance—and Ms. Kayoko.” “I wonder if Ms. Kayoko might have known about it.” “Ms. Kayoko smells fishy, huh.”

He smirked even more broadly,

“Hey, Madam. You’re Ms. Kayoko’s close friend—you must have heard such stories from her.” His detective work was utterly brazen—a method of brandishing intimidation to abruptly invade one’s innermost affairs—and even Kayoko seemed somewhat offended,

“Oh, Dr. Kose, how terrible!”

“No, Madam, please don’t take this the wrong way. “Even though I told you not to take this the wrong way, I must apologize—this is truly a matter where I have no choice but to ask presumptuously, fully aware of how rude it is. The truth is, Madam—since you were Mr. Tōmon’s lover—you might have somehow overheard that story from him as well... something along those lines.” “No, there was nothing of the sort.” Kayoko flared up and cut him off.

"I'm terribly sorry." Dr. Kose Hakase looked embarrassed and smirked. “By the way, Sensei—is Mr. Tango single?” "He seems to be single." "So he doesn’t have a lover?"

"Hard to say... I haven't heard much about that sort of thing." "Wasn't Mr. Tango rather... involved with Ms. Tamao?" "He must've been somewhat smitten with her. What that man believes—to what depths—I've no interest plumbing the mind of such a contrarian." "Truly, once you become a celebrated author, you turn so difficult—utterly impossible to deal with."

It was as if he suspected every human being without exception. I too had grown somewhat weary. I realized I had grossly overestimated Dr. Kose Hakase. By contrast, when it came to Inspector Kanguri, there was not a trace of recklessness—he maintained a deeply prudent demeanor, single-mindedly delving into some imperceptible aim of his own, and exuded an air of reliability that we could only marvel at.

One morning as I went out for a walk toward Mt. Miwa, I found an elderly man and woman in a precarious state, clinging to each other as they crouched on the path. When I looked closer, there was Madam Oyuya and another man I had never seen before—undoubtedly her husband, Old Man Nangumo. When I approached and asked, "What happened?" Madam Oyuya's face—which had been utterly distraught—showed a look of relief. "When I tried walking despite my condition," she said, "this is how we ended up. What we elders could manage just ten days ago has become impossible today."

“I heard you were unwell.” “Yes, fortunately I was feeling better this morning. Moreover, this old man’s legs and hips had become unusually sturdy lately. Though I thought it might be pushing myself a bit, I decided to venture out to where Chigusa’s body was found—just an old woman’s grumbling, you see. Knowing this full well, yet still rushing out like this—it’s not just grumbling, but this old woman’s aching awareness. As I said earlier, what I can do today may become impossible tomorrow or the day after. Such impermanence has seeped into my very bones. If I don’t do it now, I’ll never be able to—it’ll be too late. Even if it kills me, I must act without regrets. We old folks grow far more impatient than children of four or five who can’t wait for tomorrow. In the end, we became utterly exhausted and ended up like this, you see. Even this spring we could still walk to the mineral spring without growing so weary...”

“Ah, right.” “I heard that story from you just the other day at the mineral spring inn.” “I heard you went to buy Calmotin.”

“Calmotin? “No, there’s no such medicine.” Madam Oyuya flushed crimson and denied it. “Who might this gentleman be?”

The crouching old man asked.

“This gentleman is a guest at the Western-style house—Mr. Yashiro, you see, the one who married Kyoko.” “Ah, ah, so that’s the gentleman.” When I reached out my hand, he grabbed hold of it and stood up. If need be, I thought about carrying him on my back, but even though he was thin, he was a large man of over five shaku eight sun (approximately 175 cm). “Well then, let’s ask Old Man Kisaku to arrange a carriage.” “No, no—I can walk just fine like this.”

He clung to my shoulder and began to walk. “Ms. Moroi is such a harsh person.” “When it comes to patients taking walks, far from showing the kindness of accompanying them, she’s the type to say, ‘If you want to die along the way, go ahead.’” “And she is truly greedy and unscrupulous.” “If you give her a tip, she’ll do absolutely anything.” “Just try giving her a substantial sum of money.” “That devil of a woman would calmly do even something like administering a dose of poison without batting an eye.”

The old man too clung to my shoulder while wheezing, forcing out words through labored breath. “Umm, that’s right.” Moroi Kotomi seemed to be an intensely vexing presence to him.

"What about her moral character?" When I asked, "Moral character? You. How could someone like that have any moral character? My brother Tōmon was always sickly, but that aside—if that woman had any decency, Dr. Ebizuka would've made her his proper wife long ago. Postmasters, schoolteachers, lately even well-off farmers—if you tried counting all that woman's lovers, you'd lose track. They say she sleeps clutching bundles of hundred-yen bills—more than you'd see at a harvest festival—all ill-gotten gains. With no true affection in her heart, money's become her only real friend. Disgusting creature."

If I hadn't encountered Kamiyama Toyo on the road, I would have collapsed right then and there.

Since Kamiyama was a large man of over five shaku eight sun (approximately 175 cm), he effortlessly carried Old Man Nangumo on his back and began walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Madam Oyuya.

Moroi Kotomi. I couldn't help but acutely realize that this enigmatic woman must be playing some mysterious role at the edges of this case. Who could be pulling the strings of that greedy, unscrupulous woman's heart? I immediately investigated her alibi for the evening of July 18th, the day Ms. Chigusa was murdered. But it failed all too easily. Moroi had been the last person to see Ms. Chigusa leaving through the back gate that day. Nurse Moroi had been giving old man Tōmon his massage from six to seven o'clock. Afterwards, she hadn't gone out either.

18: The Seventh Person

It was August 3rd. Lately, I had taken to going out to the mineral spring inn during the day to work. This place was certainly quiet, but if anything, the Utagawa family’s Western-style house was even quieter. Since it was a sturdy reinforced concrete structure, outside noises were hardly audible. However, more than the silence, I was wearied by the monotony. Moreover, with those successive incidents, being wrapped in feelings of mutual unfamiliarity while keeping up appearances was stifling, which is why I decided to go to the mineral spring inn.

This feeling wasn’t mine alone—lately, everyone had taken to wanting to go out during the day. There were also those who took the bus to town. Tango went to visit the village go player to play a game of go. Kazuma too, with his neurasthenic tendencies, was irritable and restless, seeming to wander about somewhere, while the ones who never went out at all were Pikaichi and Kamiyama Toyo—these two gentlemen were engrossed in playing billiards for stakes day after day. Both played at around a three hundred level, with Dr. Kose occasionally joining in. This too was a skill that matched theirs; when it came to games, he was a master of all—a born gambler by nature. These three had apparently consulted since last night and resolved to persistently play from morning until evening all day long to decide the outcome—showing tremendous zeal that bordered on not hesitating to lose their entire fortunes—and it was said that when Kamiyama Toyo awoke at dawn, he took a Saikai purification bath.

Kyoko left early in the morning, saying she was going shopping in N Town and would take the opportunity to visit an old acquaintance. When I was about to leave for the mineral spring inn around nine o'clock, “Hey, Mr. Yashiro!” Ms. Ayaka noticed me, called out to me, and made her eyes sparkle.

“Today I will finally get into the mineral spring. Take me with you.” “Today is Sunday, so it might be crowded again.” “Oh, there’s no way it’ll be crowded on a Sunday. It’s deep in the mountains, after all.”

Truly, that might have been the case. Just the other day, she had said she wanted to try entering the mineral spring and followed me there, but on that particular day it proved unexpectedly crowded—so much so that even I found it too noisy to work properly—for the bathhouse area was perpetually packed with people, and being a mixed-gender facility, Ms. Ayaka had ultimately been unable to bathe. Unlike urban hot springs, these remote mountain spa guests—whose sole pleasure lay in the waters—spent nearly their entire day jostling about chaotically in the bathhouse, as though considering it a personal loss if they weren't soaking at every opportunity.

Ms. Ayaka was overjoyed and followed behind me, carrying towels, soap, and a full set of bath items. When we arrived at the beech forest, Tango Yumihiko was strolling in a yukata, swinging his cane. When we caught up to him, he gazed at our pair and Ayaka’s full set of bath implements with a strangely intrigued yet sarcastic look, “How novel. Mrs., taking the waters?” “Mrs., taking the waters?” “Are you going to the mineral spring too? Let’s go together.”

“I have a go gathering at the postmaster’s place today.” “Oh, but Mr. Postmaster’s house isn’t in this direction, is it?” “Yes, well—I do enjoy go, but when it comes to gatherings, I’m constitutionally opposed. Any assembly inevitably becomes disorderly, you see. So when I attempt to walk toward the venue, my feet naturally carry me in the opposite direction.” “A born contrarian, aren’t you? Since your feet are already leading that way, let’s visit the mineral spring inn.”

“When you say that, naturally my feet’s direction—”

While saying this, he veered off from the middle of the beech forest into the depths where there was no path. "What an eccentric!" "It’s better not to engage seriously with that sort of contrarian. If you say white, he’s bound to say black." The hot spring that day was utterly deserted. Generally speaking, rural spa-goers rarely come in pairs or trios—they’re the sort who relocate their entire families for leisurely outings. Therefore, even if there are no groups of guests, there exists this peculiarity where a single group can suddenly create a bustling atmosphere.

Since there were no other guests besides us, Ms. Ayaka had no need to request a bathhouse 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.”

“Yes, that’s right. Only this detached room is special.”

Below was a mountain stream right there. Outside the window of my room, a mountain fisherman passed by, politely saying, "Excuse me," as he went on his way. “Oh, this isn’t a garden—it’s a path?”

“In such a mountainous area, there’s no distinction between gardens and paths.” “Look—there’s a path leading down to the valley from there.” “At the bottom of that descent lies a pool that’s supposedly one of the best fishing spots around here.” “See? I even bought a proper fishing rod.” “Sometimes between work, I climb down from the window and fish there.” “Did you catch any?” “I haven’t caught a single one yet.” “It’s because the timing’s wrong.” “Moreover, the fishing gear sold at this inn is the cheapest stuff available—it’s impossible to catch sweetfish, yamame trout, or char with this.”

“If you catch any, show me, okay? Alright then, goodbye.” With that, Ms. Ayaka left. As always, whenever rare guests like Ms. Ayaka came and went, I found myself unsettled. Unable to focus on work, I halfheartedly cast my fishing line for a while, but to no avail. I ate lunch, took a nap, then managed a bit of work before returning.

From around eight o'clock to around eight-thirty, four or five people returned. This was due to 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 a margin of about thirty minutes.

As people’s outings had increased significantly lately, many returned home in the middle of their evening meals. The bus arrived in this village around seven o'clock, but since departures from N Town were at five, heading into town generally meant catching the five o'clock last bus. Arriving in the village around seven o'clock, even hurrying at a man’s pace, it took them about an hour to reach the Utagawa house.

On this day, the three who returned on the last bus from N Town were Kibee, Kyoko, and Ms.Kisono, but Kazuma and Tango returned on the last bus from F Town. F Town meant that buses shuttled between N Town and F Town, with this N Village situated right midway between them. To either town, it took less than two hours by bus. The last bus 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. Akiko on your bus?” When I asked Kazuma, he said she hadn’t been on it. It seemed she hadn’t taken the last bus from N Town either. “Dr. Ebizuka was on the last bus from N Town,” Kyoko told me. “Today’s Sunday, so his clinic is closed. I saw Ms. Moroi in town, but she wasn’t with him on that last bus.”

“Did Tango skip the go club and ride all the way to F Town?” I asked.

“Ah, because of you lot, I couldn’t even make it to the hot spring inn either.”

Ms. Kocho wore a doubtful expression,

“Ms. Utsugi, what could have happened? Today we held lectures and demonstrations for the village’s Youth Association and Maiden Association—Hitomi gave a talk in the morning while I did makeup demonstrations in the afternoon. When we left here around nine this morning, Ms. Utsugi was working in her room. Perhaps she’s tired and resting? I’ll go check.”

With that, Ms. Kocho went out, but the room contained only an unfinished manuscript, and there was no sign of her.

Around the time they finished eating, Inspector Kanguri came strolling in,

“Inspector, there might be another incident,” said Kamiyama Toyo. “What is it? “Now don’t go alarming people like that. “You’re all turning paranoid.” “We can’t find Ms. Utsugi Akiko. An adult going missing might be laughable elsewhere, but in this house—given recent events—it bodes ill.”

“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 o'clock this morning," said Kamiyama Toyo. "Painter Doi, Dr. Kose, and I were completely absorbed in our heated billiards match, while the others—Mr. Kazuma and Mr. Tango went to F Town; Mr. Miyake, Ms. Kyoko, and Kisono to N Town; and Mr. Yashiro...?" "I went to the hot spring inn with Ms. Ayaka," replied Inspector Hatchobana. "We left around nine o'clock." "So in the end," Kamiyama mused, "everyone had gone out after all. We billiards players might as well not have existed for all the difference we made." He leaned forward intently. "When exactly do you suppose she left—and where could she have gone?"

At that moment, Mrs. Tsubodaira,

“I happened to catch sight of Ms. Utsugi going out around nine-thirty or ten o’clock.” “Where?”

“It was in this hall. Oh yes, right! She drank some water in the kitchen, you see, and when I asked if she was going out, she replied, ‘Yes, just a short walk.’ And then, still in her sandals, she seems to have gone out through the dining room.”

“And at lunchtime?” “Now that you mention it, I did not see her at lunchtime either.” “Since the meal had been prepared, if she were to return, she would surely say, ‘I’m hungry—give me something to eat.’”

Ms. Utsugi was discovered the following day as a drowned corpse in the depths of Mt. Miwa's waterfall pool.

Postscript: The case has now drawn near its final act. With the next installment, we will conclude the series, and finally put your deductive abilities to the test.

As promised in the previous postscript, Dr. Kose had shared a fragment of his observations regarding the nature of the "Discontinuous Murder Case." One must truly say it was an account of utmost consideration and exhaustive thoroughness.

With theories like Ms. Atapin and Shichobana-sensei of Kyushu being among multiple culprits each with different motives—truly, no matter how many people pooled their monkey wits together, it seemed there was simply no hope unless I went to the trouble of laying everything out with such exhaustive care. I hadn't realized until this late in life that crafting detective novels required a bodhisattva's resolve—the determination to ensure that even when humiliation proved inevitable, it might remain as slight as possible.

Truly, it is a vice to make grown adults suffer embarrassment, so I am doing my utmost to spare you all as much humiliation as possible. Lately, certain parties have been attempting to bribe people close to me, and their persistence has become quite troublesome. They’ve been making propositions like splitting the prize money, collaborating on answers, or doing a bit of spying—utterly devoid of moral principles and sportsmanship.

The editor of Nippon Shosetsu approached someone close to me: "Hey, you there—go ask him who did it. Sneak a peek at his notes. I'll split the reward with you." "I just need to buy my own shoes," came the inner retort.

It’s disheartening that they’ve already resolved to pursue bribery with such fixed determination. Though it pains me to still have to harden my heart like this, upon reflection, I must say that those who cannot comprehend what has been made so painstakingly clear must indeed be cursed with an ill-fated disposition, and thus warrant no sympathy whatsoever.

Sakaguchi Ango

19. Alibi Comparison

A mountain stream flowed before Miwa Shrine. Though Miwa Pond would join this flow when water levels rose, its true source lay elsewhere—it gathered springs from the mountains beyond. Even in ordinary times, its waters ran abundant, forming a waterfall basin where the valley curved past the shrine, creating a deep pool that spanned roughly 100 tsubo. Sheer cliffs enclosed it on all sides, their shadows plunging the emerald-hued surface into depths sunlight seldom reached. The water seemed to lie still and silent, yet hidden whirlpools churned beneath—making both swimming and fishing impossible here.

Ms. Utsugi, in her kimono, floated on this water's surface, gently swaying as she circled within the whirlpool. It appeared she had been pushed from the cliff, yet there was no definitive evidence to rule out suicide. While the flatlands endured continued drought, the mountains often saw rain in the mornings and evenings; as both the evening of August 3rd and the predawn hours of the 4th had experienced considerable rainfall, any footprints had been washed away, and no signs of struggle could be discerned on the cliff above. Ms. Utsugi's body was discovered early in the morning of the 4th. After the police doctor traveled to perform an autopsy at Sorinji Temple—which concluded that evening—it was determined from the state of digestion in her stomach that she had likely been killed approximately three to three and a half hours after her last meal.

Lately, with the increasing number of people going out, both the meal times and attendance in the dining hall had become extremely irregular. To catch the first bus, even at a man’s walking pace, one had to depart from the Utagawa house by seven-thirty, which meant meal times had become utterly irregular. However, on the 3rd, Akiko’s breakfast was shared with me, Kyoko, the Kamiyama couple, and Ms. Kocho—with everyone’s recollection placing it around seven-thirty—but even Kamiyama, usually so proud of his watch, had neglected to check it that day, leaving the exact time uncertain. It was generally estimated that the crime had occurred between ten-thirty and eleven o'clock.

After dinner on the fourth, 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 the repeated inconvenience we cause you all and can imagine your frustration, but I must ask you to bear with us just a little longer. “In Ms. Utsugi’s case, there is no conclusive evidence to determine whether it was suicide or murder, but for the time being, I believe it would be more reasonable to treat it as a homicide. “Generally, suicide victims tend to perform some deliberate acts before jumping in—removing their footwear, leaving their belongings on the ground, or even binding their legs over their clothing to prevent their hems from disarray—though of course, this is not an absolute rule. Therefore, even if Ms. Utsugi jumped in still holding her handbag and wearing her sandals without leaving behind any such preparations, we cannot conclusively determine it to be murder. “However, given that this incident follows numerous unresolved cases up to now, we believe it only natural to interpret this as another murder and proceed with our investigation accordingly.”

Inspector Kanguri first delivered this greeting. He was growing ever more of a ham actor. “Now then, I must apologize for trotting out my usual spiel once more, but as part of investigative procedure, we’ll need everyone to provide their alibis for yesterday. I’m terribly sorry to presume yet again on your kind cooperation, but I humbly request your continued ‘patronage’ in this matter.”

With that, he rattled off his lines like a greengrocer—a man remarkably skilled in the art of managing us. "First, following procedure: Mr. Miyake, I understand you were in N Town all day yesterday?" Kohee nodded, "The day before, I asked Mrs. Tsubodaira to prepare breakfast early, had it done, and departed before seven-thirty." "I left on the first bus and returned on the last one."

“That day, did you notice anything unusual about your wife?” “From my perspective, that woman was always acting strange.” “Even when she comes to the Utagawa house, we occupy separate rooms—in practical terms, we’re effectively separated.” “As you all know, she ignored me and calmly carried on in that state with Ouni. Frankly, that woman couldn’t survive three days without a man’s body—I’ll leave the rest to your imaginations.” “I haven’t confirmed any facts beyond speculation, but our de facto separation itself is clear evidence she’s been having relations with another man.”

“So you had no daily association with your wife either?” “We’re already completely—utterly more estranged than strangers. In other words, we’re in a state of war—not strangers, but enemies, you see.”

"I see. Though I must say, those unstable international relations you mention—they do leave a lasting sting, don't they? If I may ask, did neither of you entertain any thoughts of reconciliation?" "There were none. Unlike international relations, this was a matter of fate. Nations may endure forever, but humans live barely fifty years—no need to make peace with someone you despise. In essence, we were already divorced in all but name."

"But then again, your Miren was rather effeminate, wasn't he?"

And Pikaichi interjected without hesitation. "Might be that Miren types make effeminacy their stock-in-trade, but your Miren comes with bonus features—a swaggering narcissist who treats his wife like some maid or knickknack. Textbook fool-lord material." "Can't blame even a lady novelist for getting riled up." "Jealousy's one thing—but announcing to the world your wife can't last three days without male flesh? Now that's some grimy small-time thinking." "Makes Utsugi look almost decent next to your brand of low-down wretchedness."

Kohee turned pale and glared furiously, but appeared at a loss for a retort. Inspector Kanguri skillfully mediated, "So, Mr. Miyake, you have no idea what plans your wife had made that day either, I take it?" "I have absolutely no idea." "Mr. Miyake, do you have any friends in N Town?" "No, I simply went out aimlessly because I was bored—browsing bookstores and, come to think of it, buying a magazine when it came to shopping. But unless someone happened to remember seeing my face in those places, I have no alibi whatsoever."

“Considering that, isn’t taking the first bus rather an early departure? Members of the Utagawa household—is catching the first bus to N Town some sort of customary practice for you all?”

When no one answered, Mrs. Kisono,

“Yesterday, I too went to N Town, but I took the second bus.” “We women require more time for preparations and such, and since our walking pace is slower compared to gentlemen, we generally tend to take the second bus.” “Yesterday, I rode the bus with Ms. Kyoko, and at the stop we also met up with Nurse Moroi.” “We alighted at N Town’s Taisho Avenue, parted ways with Ms. Kyoko, I did some shopping, then by chance reunited with Ms. Kyoko on the last bus, where we also ended up traveling together with Mr. Miyake.”

“Mrs. Yashiro, were you also shopping?” “No, I went to visit a friend—one from two or three years ago when I lived in this area—the wife of a kimono merchant named Honma. I was there all day yesterday.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded, then turned to Nurse Moroi, “I must admit, I find questioning you rather difficult.” “Surely you don’t answer your patients with the same brusqueness as a police officer?” “Where did you go yesterday?” “Yesterday being Sunday’s day off from consultations, I went to procure medicines.” “I imagine such an errand wouldn’t require staying until the last bus, but I’d like you to recount your movements in as much detail as possible.”

“After that, I just wandered around. When you come all the way from such a remote mountain area into town, everyone ends up wandering around.” “Oh, quite right. What you say is always perfectly correct—I’m humbled.” While tactfully parrying responses, Inspector Kanguri questioned each person in minute detail about their alibis in N Town; however, in the end, only Kyoko’s was clearly established. Mrs. Kisono had done various kinds of shopping and window-shopping, but since she had no acquaintances there, unless someone remembered seeing her, there was no way to confirm her whereabouts.

Nurse Moroi took the second bus and arrived in N Town at 12:30; after procuring medicine at the pharmacy in front of the bus terminal, she returned on the 2:30 departure bus. When her bus arrived, she first delivered an order form to the pharmacy, wandered around town until returning before departure time to receive the prepared package of medicine, and boarded for home. For those two intervening hours, she had simply wandered through town—there was no alibi.

The worst was Kohee. Taking the first bus meant arriving in N Town at 10:30. From then until the last bus at five, he had simply been wandering around aimlessly, “However, Mr. Miyake—six and a half hours.” “Wouldn’t there likely be at least one instance where someone remembered seeing your face?” “That’s conventional logic. Humans have all sorts of idiosyncrasies, you know—they don’t proceed according to set patterns. In an unfamiliar town, you’re left with nothing but scattered impressions of similar roads, houses, forests and temples—no sense of direction, no awareness of how paths connect—just fragmented perceptions without any coherent whole. I was merely enjoying a stroll through those disparate locations in various directions; given that, it can’t be helped if there were no interactions with people during that time. It’s not as though I go about my life consciously maintaining an alibi. Admittedly, had I known such an incident would occur, I would have properly prepared an alibi.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded,

"By the way, Mr. Miyake—did anyone you recognize happen to be on the first bus?" "No, I have no acquaintances in this village to begin with. Moreover, I'm not the type to notice people's faces." "Was Dr. Ebizuka not with you?"

“We were not together.”

Kohee answered. “So on the second bus were Mrs. Yashiro, Mrs. Kamiyama, and Ms. Moroi—what about Mr. Ebizuka?”

Ebizuka wore a look that seemed to say, "What trivial nonsense," but nevertheless gave a reply. "I took the third one." "What time was the third one?"

Since Ebizuka did not answer, the inspector took out the bus timetable. The timetable was as follows. “Dr. Ebizuka took the 12:40 departure and arrived in N Town at 2:30 PM. Ah, I see.” Inspector Kanguri, having taken note, omitted further exchanges with the cantankerous doctor and this time turned to Kazuma, “Mr. Utagawa, you went to F Town, correct?”

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

“I see. So although the directions are opposite, since both were first departures, weren’t you accompanying Mr. Miyake as far as the village bus stop?” “Because the first bus to F departs thirty minutes later, we were not together. Moreover, when we go to F Town, we don’t go through N Village but use the bus stop in T settlement. 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 settlement,’ which direction does it lead to?” “You pass through the beech forest, go past the hot spring inn, descend the switchbacks, and arrive at T settlement’s bus stop. From here to the hot spring inn is a little over half a ri, and from there to T settlement less than one ri—combined, it would total nearly one and a half ri.” “Ah-ha. So such a route existed?” Inspector Kanguri wore an astonished expression. He then turned toward Tango,

“Mr. Tango, you were supposed to attend the bureau chief’s go gathering, but your feet carried you in the opposite direction. In fact, Yomisugi and I were both at that gathering ourselves, looking forward to a match with you.” “In short, Mr. Tango, your feet naturally headed toward F Town, so you ended up wandering around aimlessly out of necessity—but which bus did you take?” Tango, as if to dismiss the matter as irrelevant, took out a cigarette and glanced around. The inspector, sensing this, lit his lighter for him. Tango bowed his head with a nod. “Ah, thank you,”

“Around nine o’clock, I parted ways with Mr. Yashiro Sunpei and Mrs. Ayaka in the beech forest, then wandered haphazardly along mountain paths until I emerged onto the bus route.” “Just as the bus was approaching, I raised my hand to hail it, stopped it, and got on.” “Well, let me see that timetable.” “I see. Then that must be the 10:50 departure from N Village bound for F Town.” “Upon arriving in F Town, while walking around the area aimlessly, I came across a fish weir where they served sweetfish, so I ate some, took a nap, and returned.”

“Understood.” “That’s healthier than a go gathering—perfectly fine by me.” “So, Mrs. Utagawa—were you at the hot spring inn the entire time?” “No, I spent forty or fifty minutes there and came right back. "I spent nearly thirty minutes soaking in the bathtub, relaxing." “Due to fuel conservation, the water was quite lukewarm, you know.” “But since I prefer lukewarm water, it was enjoyable.” “What is the mineral content of that spring?” “I don’t know, but it’s white and cloudy.”

I also go in every day, but truthfully, I don't know what kind of spring it is. It's said to be effective for wounds, but I've never actually seen any patients coming for treatment. There was a faint peculiar odor, but nothing particularly strong. Yet the area around that mineral spring alone was free of this region's notorious mosquitoes—there must be something to that.

Inspector Kanguri finally asked me about my movements yesterday, but as I had already stated, I left the house with Ms. Ayaka around nine o'clock, arrived at the hot spring inn around nine-thirty, and since I couldn't work, cast a fishing line a few times, soaked in the mineral spring to rest my mind, wrote some miscellaneous pieces, and returned in the evening.

However, given that inn staff rarely came to my detached room, it wouldn’t have been impossible for me to have pretended to go fishing, gone to Mt. Miwa, killed Ms. Akiko, and returned. Of course, Inspector Kanguri had long since considered these angles—the reason he was so intently scrutinizing the bus timetable, poking and prodding at it—was that in cases like Kohee’s, for instance, it remained unclear whether he had actually taken the first bus as claimed. Even if he had departed on that first bus, one could imagine him doubling back to kill Ms. Akiko before returning to town and catching the five o’clock bus home.

Those who could be completely excluded from suspicion were Ms. Kocho and Hitomi Koroku—they had been conducting lectures and practical sessions for the Youth Association and Virgin Society members from ten o'clock to three o'clock—and Kamiyama and Pikaichi, who had been fully occupied with their marble gambling alongside Dr. Kose. “Now, Dr. Ebizuka,” Inspector Kanguri solemnly stared at Ebizuka. “You took the 12:40 bus to N Town. I would like you to explain your movements from nine o'clock until twelve forty.”

Ebizuka, as was his custom, glared sharply and did not answer. “Very well. Dr. Ebizuka. Until today, I have respected your human rights and exercised considerable restraint. Are we clear, Dr. Ebizuka? When I say I have shown restraint, it means I respected your human rights, and your response to that has been contempt toward us. Today, I will hold back no longer. If you do not provide an explanation, I will present it from my side—is that acceptable?”

Ebizuka’s eyes, burning with fury and defiance, rolled sharply as he openly displayed contempt and turned away. Inspector Kanguri too seemed to have reached the end of his patience. “Then I shall explain your actions for you.” “You passed through the rear 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 proceeded to the Utagawa family’s kitchen and ordered the maid Yae to summon Nurse Moroi.” “However, as previously mentioned, Nurse Moroi had departed for town on the second bus.” When you heard this, your complexion altered. “Abruptly changing your mind, you declared, ‘Very well, I’ll await her at the fishing pavilion—send Ms. Shitae there,’ then departed for said pavilion.”

Ebisuka turned pale and trembled violently,

“You insolent...! Lies!”

He shouted, but Inspector Kanguri didn’t so much as flinch, piercingly fixing his gaze on Ebisuka without blinking an eye. Having perhaps received prior orders, Hatchobana and Yomisugi stood flanking Ebisuka on either side. “Upon receiving a message from Yae, Ms. Shitae—wondering what it could be about—promptly headed to the fishing pavilion.” “There you were already waiting with a stethoscope around your neck and declared: ‘You clearly show symptoms of a chest ailment.’” “‘Today I’ll give you a proper examination,’ you said, taking Ms. Shitae’s hand.” “Ms. Shitae—terrified by your abnormal demeanor—replied: ‘No, I’m not ill! And I have other duties now!’ At this you suddenly lunged forward, pinned her down, and barked: ‘Hey! Do as you’re told! Or I’ll strip you naked right here!’ before violently attempting to kiss her.”

“Don’t talk nonsense! You insolent—!” He shouted furiously as if lunging forward, but the 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 break free. Each time you were shaken off, you lunged again; each time she threw you off, you lunged again—and when you finally pinned her down, Ms. Shitae let out a bloodcurdling scream. Fortunately, Oyuya Baasama happened to be strolling by the pond at that moment. Hearing the scream, she peered into the fishing pavilion. Thus your scheme was thwarted, and Ms. Shitae escaped the tiger’s jaws. What do you say to that? Ms. Shitae is present here today, but if that isn’t sufficient, shall we summon Oyuya Baasama as well? You then stormed out of the Utagawa residence like a madman—frantic, enraged—at approximately ten or ten past ten. Now then, Dr. Ebizuka—from that moment until you boarded the bus... This 12:40 bus arrived in N Village around one o’clock PM, twenty minutes behind schedule. Where were you and what were you doing until that one o’clock hour?”

Ebisuka was glaring at Inspector Kanguri with blazing eyes, but— "You bastard! You madman!"

Suddenly swinging both arms, he leapt up with a scream, turned around, and stormed out of the room. When the detective moved to pursue him, Inspector Kanguri stopped him with a hand.

Then, Ebizuka turned around in the corridor, “You bastards will be wiped out by divine punishment!” “You lunatics!” “You utter fool of a bastard!”

Like a gorilla, he swung his arms, turned around, and left. “Why haven’t you made an arrest?”

Kamiyama asked. "Why haven't you made an arrest?"

Inspector Kanguri answered calmly. "There is no evidence."

Twenty. First-Class Suspect

As soon as Inspector Kanguri’s interrogation concluded—just as they began returning to their rooms—Kazuma and Ayaka arrived looking deathly pale. When they returned to their room—which they had locked before leaving—they found that a single piece of paper had been placed on the desk. It was, as with all previous instances, on Utagawa family stationery written in pen,

August 9th, the fated day was written on it. That evening was hectic with preparations to send Ms. Akiko’s body to the crematorium. All of us headed to Sōrinji Temple, where in a disorderly space awkwardly halfway between autopsy room and main hall, we listened to sutras being chanted, saw off Ms. Akiko’s body loaded onto the vehicle, returned, and eventually had our meal. Kazuma and Ms. Ayaka were constantly occupied with one thing after another; having no chance to return to their room at that time, they sat down at the dining table, underwent Inspector Kanguri’s questioning, and only then finally retreated to their own room.

Kazuma and his wife and I knocked on Dr. Kose’s door.

Dr. Kose was rummaging through his trunk when we told him our story, yet showed not the slightest surprise. "Hah, is that so?"

He rummaged through the trunk increasingly frantically. When he finally found something and let out a sigh of relief, it turned out to be nothing more than a single sock. “What’s with that sock? Some crucial evidence?” Kazuma sneered. After delivering the snide remark, he chuckled—“Eh heh heh”— “No, I’m traveling tomorrow, you see. While I’m at it, I’ll stop by Tokyo to visit Kontan. She’s quite particular about cleanliness, so I always make a point of following her instructions about socks.”

He said, looking pleased. “So this is your retreat in defeat?” “No—it’s the path to victory.” He drew himself up with a breath. “I’m deeply ashamed. I got swept up in Tamatsuki’s wager and made a thorough botch of things. But rest assured—we shan’t let the culprit escape.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Ah... August Ninth—the fated day.” “I’ll return by August Ninth, but Professor and Mrs. Utagawa—you must exercise utmost caution. Wrapping your room key tightly with string would be advisable. Take care with your meals as well. During daylight hours, avoid solitary walks and stay grouped together whenever possible. Vigilance above all else—when you meet anyone, assume they’re a murderer.”

Dr. Kose took out a new necktie this time and couldn’t help but smile. “What’s the point of going on this trip?” When I asked this, “To look for physical evidence, you see.” “Is there no evidence here, then?” “Hah, there isn’t any. However, the criminal reveals an inescapable presence within the relationship between time and space, you see. And psychologically. However, there is no physical evidence, you see. That’s what I’m going out to search for, you see.”

“So, do you know who the culprit is?” “Hah, it’s already become quite clear that it absolutely must be that individual, you see. But after all, these equations of time and space—they can hardly serve as evidence in court, you see. However, if there’s ultimately no evidence, then I’ll have to present just the equations of time and space in court regardless. It’s sheer desperation, you see. I’ve been completely made a fool of—it’s utterly rotten.”

He clutched his head.

“Where are you off to?” “Here and there, you see. If it comes to this, out of sheer stubbornness and desperation, I’ll search every corner of the world—no matter how far—even if I have to dive through water!”

He grinned sheepishly.

The next morning’s breakfast table—since they were also to receive Ms. Akiko’s remains—had everyone gathered and seated. Though everyone was gathered, from this breakfast table's attendees, Ouni, Tamao-san, Chigusa-san, Utsumi, and Akiko-san had been killed; Ebizuka had been distanced; twelve people remained—and when Dr. Kose departed on his trip, it would become eleven.

Kamiyama Toyo said to Dr. Kose,

“Dr. Kose. “I hear you’re departing on a trip to search for physical evidence. Might I ask you to share a portion of your reasoning?” “I believe the crux of this case lies in the July 26th incident—Ms. Kayoko’s murder. If that was meant to target Painter Doi, it would be the work of a murderous fiend. But if Ms. Kayoko herself was the intended victim, then the motive becomes exceedingly straightforward, wouldn’t you say?” Dr. Kose smirked without replying.

Pikaichi interjected, "Oh? So if I'm the target, that makes them a murderous fiend?" "Being compared to some outrageous wooden puppet—how flattering." "If killing Ms. Kayoko was the real aim, it's all straightforward then?" "Who's the culprit, eh?" "Well? My esteemed corrupt lawyer!" "I don't know that." "I merely stated the motive was simple and clear." "Then what about Ms. Utsugi, Ouni, and Utsumi—how do they factor in, eh?"

Tango said with a sneer. "Well, I must set that aside."

Lawyer Kamiyama was adept at managing discussions, but facing literary men made for a clamorous affair. "What do you mean by 'separate'?" Tango demanded. Kamiyama remained utterly unperturbed, "Well, I shall entrust that particular knot to the detective in due course." "These seven murders can be broadly classified into two categories." "The first comprises cases where any of us could be guilty—namely Ouni's murder, Tamao's murder, and Tōmon-sensei's poisoning. Adding morphine to the sugar jar was within anyone's capability." "The second involves crimes only specific individuals could commit—Chigusa's murder, Utsumi's murder, Kayoko's murder, and Utsugi's murder—where certain people are entirely incapable of being perpetrators." "What if we systematically eliminate these impossible suspects one by one?" "Should anyone contest those who remain unavoidably implicated, we'll hear their defenses and convene ourselves as jurors to deliver judgment—does this not seem reasonable?"

No one responded, but Kamiyama Toyo remained unfazed,

“First, let us consider the case of Chigusa’s murder.” “On the return path from the crematorium, anyone who came back alone cannot escape suspicion.” “Even among those who returned in groups of two or three—Mr. Kazuma once returned home and went to Sōrinji Temple for thirty minutes—since he has no alibi for this period, he too cannot escape suspicion.” “In conclusion, those free from suspicion are Dr. Kose and Mr. Hitomi returning together; myself returning with the monk and Mr. Kazuma—among these, only Dr. Kose, Mr. Hitomi, the monk, and I remain outside suspicion.” “First to arrive: Painter Doi; second: Mr. Utsumi; followed by Mr. Kazuma; Mr. Miyake; Mr. Tango; Mr. Yashiro—the five individuals listed above have no alibis.”

Since no one interjected, Kamiyama’s wife Kisono cut in, "But Mr. Doi, who arrived first, and Mr. Utsumi, who came second—they shouldn’t need alibis at all." "They would have walked at a normal pace, shouldn’t they?" Kamiyama nodded in agreement,

“That too,” Kamiyama responded evenly. “Mr. Utsumi went to Miwa Shrine with Ms. Chigusa and Ibiki but returned when he couldn’t find her.” His tone sharpened fractionally. “However—he may have killed her during that interval.” A deliberate pause followed before he continued: “The peculiar circumstances of Ms. Chigusa’s death—strangled through a cloth blindfold wrapped entirely over her face—suggest an unconventional scenario.” His index finger tapped the table once for emphasis. “Precisely because they shared camaraderie permitting such games, her killer exploited that trust to murder her.” Kamiyama’s gaze swept across his listeners like a prosecutor addressing jurors. “This makes Mr. Utsumi an unavoidable suspect.” A concessionary wave of his hand followed: “Though Painter Doi returned ahead of him—perhaps we should exclude only the painter from suspicion.” The lawyer leaned forward, elbows planted on polished wood. “Yet consider this: Painter Doi traveled alone.” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Being solitary itself constitutes grounds for suspicion.” Maps unfurled in his words: “From crematorium to mountain pass—two blocks beyond lies a lumberjack’s trail.” His thumbnail sketched invisible topography in airspace between himself and Kisono. “Not a true path—merely grass worn lower by rare footsteps crossing the valley to Miwa Shrine.” Calculations clicked audibly through his speech: “Taking this shortcut around Mt. Miwa to Utagawa’s rear gate saves ten minutes at most compared to main roads.” His conclusion fell like a judge’s gavel: “All solitary travelers become suspects by this hidden route’s existence.” A single finger rose vertically—the universal symbol for exception: “Only Painter Doi’s early return spares him.” Then all digits splayed wide in condemnation: “The rest remain under suspicion.” His final pronouncement carried theatrical weight: “Anyone could sprint that shortcut.” But as murmurs began forming, Kamiyama raised both palms—a conductor silencing his orchestra—and delivered the coup de grâce: “However...there remains another complication.”

Kamiyama wore a mocking expression.

“I generally prefer to avoid mentioning those who shouldn’t be present here, but given the circumstances, I have no choice.” “Now, regarding Ms. Chigusa’s departure for Ibiki around six o’clock—this is based on Nurse Moroi’s testimony.” “However, none of the others actually witnessed Ms. Chigusa leave at six.” “To summarize—while people saw her at home until about five o’clock, her whereabouts during the following hour remain unaccounted for.” “Nurse Moroi has an alibi from six to eight, but suppose Ms. Chigusa had already been killed before six...”

Until then, the entire group had maintained indifferent expressions, but now they could no longer conceal their tension. Kamiyama Toyo feigned indifference to such an atmosphere, “Anyway, even in crimes committed by country uncles and aunts, the foreshadowing and perjury often cannot be taken at face value—the desperate cunning involved can be truly astonishing.”

He piqued their interest, then immediately shifted the topic. “Now, moving on to Utsumi’s murder case—at that time, Painter Doi was positioned to overlook the second-floor corridor, his eyes wide open and vigilant.” “Therefore, the conventional wisdom holds that there could be no culprit on the second floor.” “However, we must still account for the fact that Painter Doi was intoxicated.” “Those near Painter Doi’s post in the corridor—Mr. Kazuma, Dr. Kose, and others—might have been shouted at if they so much as showed their faces. But someone like Mr. Tango was positioned far enough away that even if they had slipped off to the restroom, I doubt Painter Doi would have noticed.” “The restroom was on the opposite side from Painter Doi’s station, you see.”

He looked around at the people with apparent amusement, his gaze scrutinizing each one.

“Facing Mr. Tango were Mr. and Mrs. Hitomi. “Next to Mr. Tango was me. “Then came Mr. Miyake and Ms. Akiko, and across from them—with one vacant room between—was Mr. Yashiro. “Now here’s the thing. “The second-floor restroom was designed so you could pretend to use it while actually descending the stairs. “Even stone sober, Painter Doi couldn’t have spotted this from his watchpost.” The group stirred again.

This was nothing more than rhetorical skill. Since it by no means arose from any genuine ability to pierce through truth, I too became irritated. "The way you're talking makes it sound like I could just go downstairs anytime and kill Utsumi! But more importantly, shouldn't we be discussing whether I actually went to the restroom and whether Pikaichi saw me do it?" "There now, Mr. Yashiro," came the placating reply. "I'm simply exploring possibilities here. Unfortunately, Painter Doi was thoroughly drunk and retains no clear memory of that time - a circumstance I'm currently using to map the boundaries of what might have occurred."

“So then,” “If you’re going to bring up Pikaichi being drunk, it’s unfair to focus only on those far from Tango’s room.” “Kazuma and Dr. Kose could have gone to the restroom too.” “Wasn’t Ayaka-san the only one who couldn’t leave?”

“Exactly. This was an error in my reasoning. Indeed, it was odd to have confined suspicion to Mr. Tango. Kazuma-san and Dr. Kose also should have been able to go to the restroom. However, you see—inferring from the circumstances of that evening—if Mr. Kazuma or Dr. Kose were to open the door from their nearby positions, Painter Doi would undoubtedly have barked at them like a rabid dog. Therefore, you see—though Painter Doi may lack memories of the next day due to drunkenness—we inside should have discerned the situation through his shouting. However, had it been someone further down the corridor, Painter Doi likely wouldn’t have made a sound.”

The assembly seemed, this time, to have been persuaded by that truth.

Kamiyama immediately changed the subject,

“Now, moving on to Kayoko’s murder. “While this was a poisoning that occurred simultaneously with Tōmon’s murder, their natures differ fundamentally. “In Tōmon’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 had been reading in the main hall—she might have witnessed the culprit. “Yet even if she had seen them, it would have posed no issue. “Because Ms. Kayoko herself should have been dead by that same time.”

Kamiyama had briskly dismissed the theory that Kayoko’s murder was a case of mistaken identity for Pikaichi’s killing, but Pikaichi himself merely wore an expression that seemed to say "Shut up already," showing no intention to voice any complaints.

“Kayoko’s murder presents a problem, you see. “In this case, there was no window of several minutes during which the poison could have been administered. “Those who could have administered it include the Tsubodaira couple in the kitchen, Kisono, Yae, Ebizuka, as well as those who handled minor tasks: Madam Ayaka, Madam Kyoko, Mr. Kazuma, Mr. Yashiro, Dr. Kose, Mr. Miyake, and myself. “Furthermore, Painter Doi—who switched coffee cups with Ms. Kayoko—cannot avoid the gravest suspicion. “Rather, Painter Doi occupies a position that demands exceptional suspicion.”

Pikaichi acted as though telling them to go to hell, not responding at all. “However, the issue lies in this chipped coffee cup. While the Tsubodaira couple, Yae, and Kisono—who regularly handle them—can distinguish it, the rest of us may know that Painter Doi’s cup is chipped, but we do not know how it is chipped.” “Furthermore, an even greater issue is this: the Utagawa family’s coffee cups had been destroyed by Doi Susanoo-no-Mikoto, and should any new guests arrive, they would be destined to receive chipped coffee cups just like Painter Doi. Unless the culprit knew this fact, this crime could not have been committed.” “I consider the theory of Painter Doi’s failed assassination attempt not worth discussing, as the culprit originally aimed to kill Kayoko. Now, if Kayoko’s murder was indeed the target, then Painter Doi—who switched the coffee cups—must be regarded as the prime suspect. No matter how you look at it, he cannot escape the greatest suspicion.” “Next, if we suppose that the culprit is not Painter Doi, then based on the fact that the poison was in Painter Doi’s coffee, we can infer that the culprit knew Ms. Kayoko’s coffee cup was chipped.” “However, they did not know the exact way to distinguish between the two chipped cups.” “This is one scenario.” “In another scenario, the less chipped cup—that is, Painter Doi’s coffee cup—was supposed to be given to Ms. Kayoko according to the culprit’s plan, but the server Yae carelessly gave it to Painter Doi as per her usual habit.” “Alternatively, the culprit had known beforehand that Ms. Kayoko’s coffee cup was supposed to be chipped but did not have the time to inspect each coffee cup one by one.” “Therefore, it is conceivable that in such an urgent situation, they hastily poured poison into a chipped cup that caught their eye, resulting in an error.” “As I have explained, to know that Ms. Kayoko would use a chipped coffee cup should she appear in this dining room, one must be intimately familiar with the kitchen’s operations of this house. However, since the culprit originally planned Ms. Kayoko’s murder, they must inherently be limited to someone thoroughly acquainted with this household.”

I could no longer contain my irritation and spoke up.

“From your explanation, Mr. Kamiyama, hasn’t the culprit been conclusively linked to the Utagawa inheritance dispute?” “What about Ouni’s case? And Utsumi’s? And Ms. Utsugi’s?” “If we accept the inheritance dispute as motive, there are eleven people present here—but only a handful could qualify as culprits.” “It’s practically decided already.” “Regarding that—” “Whether these multiple crimes were committed by a single culprit or different ones cannot be hastily determined.” “It might be one culprit.” “Or there might be multiple culprits.” “Depending on circumstances, separate perpetrators might have independently orchestrated these incidents.” “But let us defer that analysis and next examine Ms. Utsugi’s murder case.”

Kamiyama spoke with a composed tone, as though he had already seen through the culprit.

“First, regarding those with complete alibis from breakfast until evening on the third—unfortunately, we must begin with the Tamatsuki game group: Painter Doi, Dr. Kose, and myself.” “These three were huddled so closely together that slipping away even briefly to the restroom would have been impossible.” “Next are Mr. and Mrs. Hitomi, who attended the drama workshop—their alibi is also airtight.” “Then among those who went to N-town: the three who took the second bus—the 10:40 departure from N Village—Ms. Kyoko, Nurse Moroi, and Kisono had to leave this house an hour earlier. As they were all on the same bus from 10:40 until 12:30, this again provides an unshakable alibi for the estimated crime window of 10:30 to 11:00.” “Next, Kazuma-san visited relatives in F Town—this too leaves little room for doubt regarding his alibi.” “Now—as for those remaining—the five individuals.”

With that, Kamiyama grinned slyly, looking somewhat bashful.

“Well now—this *is* unexpected.” Tango’s drowsy eyes sharpened unexpectedly as he turned to Kamiyama. “Am I to join your roster of suspects too?”

Tango Yumihiko turned his sleepy eyes with unexpected sharpness toward Kamiyama. "I ambled through the beech forest and properly boarded the 10:50 bus at the main road, you know." "Yet if I may observe, Mr. Tangō—your ambling appears entirely divorced from temporal awareness." "You don't possess a watch, do you? I surmise you've lived without timekeeping devices for ten or fifteen years." "What you believed to be the 10:50 bus might well have been the 12:20 one." "We have corroborating evidence." "A villager confirms sharing the 12:20 bus with you. They attested you waved your arm mid-street to board—exactly as you described." "This information naturally lies within Inspector Kanguri's purview already." "When that inspector questions us, he's already investigated beyond our answers—he merely comes to scrutinize our countenances." "He's a formidable adversary."

Tango remained silent and did not answer. "Now regarding Utsugi's murder—Mr. Tango here, along with Dr. Yashiro of the Hot Springs Group and Madam Ayaka—these two individuals might have taken that shortcut and committed the crime in an unexpectedly brief timeframe. This possibility isn't entirely implausible." "Next, Mr. Miyake." "There currently appears to be no definitive proof that Mr. Miyake boarded the first bus on the 3rd." "Even if he did board it, he could have altered his appearance upon returning from N-town, committed the crime, and then gone back." "And then boarded the five o'clock bus home with an innocent face." "That too doesn't seem impossible." "And finally, Dr. Ebizuka—the five individuals mentioned above cannot escape being suspects in this case."

Kamiyama grinned slyly and took out a notebook from his pocket. “Though it may seem meddlesome, I have in fact kept proper records beforehand, so let me once again reorganize and list the suspects for the four incidents I just mentioned.” Chigusa’s Murder: Painter Doi. Utsumi’s Murder: Mr. Utsumi. Mr. Kazuma. Mr. Yashiro. Mr. Miyake. Mr. Tango. However, in the case of Miss Moroi’s perjury, it is possible. Utsumi’s Murder: Mr. Tango. Mr. and Mrs. Hitomi. Mr. and Mrs. Kamiyama. Ms. Utsugi. Mr. Miyake. Mr. and Mrs. Yashiro. Others: Residents of the main house.

Kayoko's Murder: Painter Doi. Tsubodaira Couple. Mr. and Mrs. Kamiyama. Mr. Miyake. Mr. and Mrs. Kazuma. Mr. and Mrs. Yashiro. Dr. Kose. Dr. Ebizuka. Utsugi's Murder: Mr. Tango. Madam Ayaka. Mr. Yashiro. Mr. Miyake. Dr. Ebizuka. That concludes the list, I suppose. Having surveyed everything comprehensively, the person who holds potential across all cases is Mr. Yashiro. Mrs. Yashiro has an alibi for the final Utsugi murder. Next, Mr. Miyake. Only these two individuals are possible for all cases. For the three incidents: Dr. Ebizuka and Mr. Tango. "Now then, everyone."

“It’s truly a peculiar story.” “Of the seven murder cases, the three—Tōmon’s murder, Tamao’s murder, and Kayoko’s murder—clearly exhibit consistent motives, while compared to the other four, each with disparate motives, they appear to be the principal crimes. However, when examining the common suspects across these four incidents, one finds that individuals connected to this primary motive do not emerge among the suspects.”

This explanation seemed to leave a deep impression on the people and arouse considerable interest. "Now, this is where the problem arises."

With this, Kamiyama calmly and composedly surveyed the people.

“So what does this signify?” “The first issue is this—are these seven incidents separate crimes with disparate motives, each committed by different perpetrators?” “Or are they a series of planned murders carried out by a single perpetrator?” “In the former scenario—that they’re separate crimes—it’s fundamentally impossible by common sense.” “For people to kill each other in utter chaos like that—no matter how abnormal this artists’ world may be—such a thing remains somewhat impossible, I must say.”

“Frankly speaking, literary figures are essentially master criminals.” “They say in detective novel conventions that great detectives are two sides of the same coin as master criminals—but that appears incorrect.” “Novelist-literati represent both sides of master criminals, while detectives differ fundamentally.” “Because detectives don’t create—they uncover.” “Following Mr. Yashiro’s esteemed theory, Dr. Kose qualifies as a great detective precisely through his inability to write novels—an absolute truth.” “Therefore, this truth conversely means all you literary gentlemen inherently possess master criminal potential.” “Though this equally applies to lawyers.” “Admittedly incomparable to your stature—they too traffic in manufacturing human connections.” “Yet compared to us commoners, you artistic geniuses stand peerless.” “We ordinary folk harbor both criminal impulses and detective instincts, while you brilliant sirs—utterly lacking investigative aptitude—retain only pure, consummate criminal genius.”

Kamiyama was a man whose smile always seemed to contain two things at once: a timid-seeming laugh and a mocking sneer. "If we consider these seven incidents to be a series of planned murders by the same perpetrator, then the question arises: why would the perpetrator orchestrate seemingly unrelated, scattered crimes? But this—precisely this—is the perpetrator’s aim." "It’s to conceal the true motive." "One of these crimes—or perhaps several—constitutes the criminal’s true objective, while the others are mere fabrications designed to obscure that purpose." "Why would such contrivances be necessary?" "Because once the motive is understood, the criminal will be immediately revealed."

With that, Kamiyama Toyo began to say the same thing as Dr. Kose.

"What's the motive?" When I asked,

“Now, regarding the issue of motive...” With that, he gave another strange, knowing smirk. “Given that master criminals of the world are gathered here in one place, someone like me has no business discussing motives. The most obvious motive is not necessarily the culprit’s true motive, and the most apparent benefit of great magnitude is not necessarily the culprit’s true objective, I suppose. Dr. Kose, what do you think?”

Dr. Kose did not respond.

Then Tango—

“Mr. Kamiyama, you listed the common suspects for the four incidents, stating that only Yashiro and Miyake are connected to all the crimes—yet the person who should be the prime suspect for what appears to be the principal crime, the Utagawa family’s financial-related murder, has not materialized.” “But you’re forgetting the possibility of accomplices.” “Even if individually they don’t share commonalities, isn’t it possible that two or several people could share them collectively?” “In the first place, seven people have been slaughtered one after another in just over half a month—and this during a time of heightened police vigilance.” “It’s impossible to pull off without an accomplice.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

Kamiyama nodded. "However, you see—as for the Utagawa family’s case—even if we consider Mr. and Mrs.Kazuma here as accomplices, there remains an undeniable fact that both are decisively impossible regarding Utsumi’s murder." "In addition to these two—could there be another accomplice somewhere?"

Then Kazuma said with a somewhat disdainful expression.

“I fully acknowledge being the prime suspect.” “Given how matters stand now, there’s no helping it.” “But suspicions and accusations mean nothing to me—I’ve done nothing wrong.” “What gnaws at me is August ninth.” “Who would scheme such things?” “If I were killed on August ninth—what then?”

Unlike his initial disdainful vigor, as he continued speaking, his tone weakened, and due to anxiety and terror, his face naturally contorted.

Dr. Kose looked at his watch 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 so entranced by Mr. Kamiyama’s grand deductions that it’s made me completely lose track of time.” With only a perfunctory greeting, he panicked and rushed out.

21. Secret Meeting, Torture, and Arrest

After that breakfast, when I went to check at the hot spring inn, the innkeeper looked at me with an uneasy expression. "And yesterday was quite a commotion," "You know about it?"

“Oh, do you know?” “Yesterday, the police visited here twice.” “Good grief.” Upon asking, I learned that one visit was from Inspector Kanguri and his team, while the man who came later was described as a six-foot-tall behemoth resembling a country sumo yokozuna—this being Kamiyama Toyo. It is said that he exited through the detached room’s window to the mountain stream, timing it with his watch as he walked away, but in truth, this morning as well, when Dr. Kose hurriedly departed in a panic, he too went out as if chasing after him, undoubtedly heading to N-town to investigate Kohee’s alibi. He was a meddlesome busybody. However, that bastard, true to his villainous nature, indeed had an eye that could not be underestimated.

The innkeeper, unaware of the case's true nature, seemed to regard me with suspicion as if I were the criminal since detectives had come investigating—but truth be told, under these circumstances, even I found myself teetering on the edge of a bizarre delusion that I might have unknowingly committed murder during an epileptic fit or similar episode. Work was out of the question. Who could the culprit be? Such thoughts swirled through my mind aimlessly, leaving me unable to write a single word.

Kamiyama Toyo did not return that day in the end. Even by dinner the next day, he still hadn’t returned. Just as we had taken our seats at the dinner table, Dr. Ebizuka abruptly materialized, his eyes blazing in his pallid face. With the rhythmic clacking of his uneven footsteps resounding, he circled halfway around the dining table and came to a stop directly across from me. There was Kibee. “Hypocrite! Miyake Kohee!” Dr. Ebizuka let out a thunderous shout, thrust his right arm out with a sharp motion, and pointed as if to stab Kibee’s profile. It was an exaggerated gesture, like that of a baseball umpire, but imbued with far greater intensity—as if he were adopting a spearman’s stance. He kept his pointed hand poised like a spear and actually began digging and twisting his fingertip beneath Kibee’s ear.

“Hypocrite! Miyake Kohee!”

He bellowed once more with even greater force, “On Sunday, August 3rd, you, Miyake Kohee, had a secret meeting with Moroi Kotomi in N-town! You—the other day, when you insulted me—what was it you shouted? You—wearing the mask of justice while condemning your wife’s infidelity—aren’t you secretly involved with Moroi Kotomi?! There! You hypocrite, Miyake Kohee! What is your answer? There! You hypocrite! Miyake Kohee!” At that moment, Kamiyama Toyo—without going around the main house—opened the door from outside directly into the dining room and entered. He was taken aback and watched, but soon began to laugh in an amused manner.

“Hypocrite! Miyake Kohee!” “Ha ha ha.” “Classic!” “Classic!” “And what comes next?” “Dr. Ebizuka.” “Shall I teach you your next line?” “Unfortunately, your failed affair attempt means you’re just a dumped fool. Ha ha ha!” Dr. Ebizuka was momentarily stunned by Kamiyama Toyo’s brazen interruption, but as soon as Kamiyama finished speaking, he thrust his arm out again without hesitation and glared sharply at Miyake Kohee. “What is your answer?! You hypocrite, Miyake Kohee!”

The sound of a car horn echoed unusually from the entrance as Inspector Kanguri and his group came clamoring in. When Ebizuka saw the police officers， he grew emboldened and pointed sharply at Kibee， “Gentlemen！” “Behold！” “Hypocrite， Miyake Kohee！” “He wears the mask of justice—insulting me， condemning his wife’s infidelity—while this hypocrite is secretly involved with Moroi Kotomi！” With blazing intensity， he pointed at the hypocrite Kohee—but when officers closed in from both sides to seize his arms， it was Ebizuka himself they restrained.

“What are you doing?! Stop! You insolent fools! Look! There—he is the hypocrite! He wears the mask of justice—” Inspector Hatchobana and Patrol Officer Minamikawa Yuichiro, each seizing one of his arms from either side, restrained the diminutive Ebizuka as if hoisting him up.

Inspector Kanguri stepped forward,

“Dr. Ebizuka. I’m terribly sorry. We must ask you to accompany us.” With his arms seized, Ebizuka flailed his legs noisily, “What are you doing? Are you dozing off? That man there—Miyake Kohee—is the hypocrite deceiving the world! You insolent wretches!” “Now, Dr. Ebizuka. The police cannot handle hypocrites. That’s Buddha and Christ’s domain.”

Inspector Kanguri laughed,

“I’m afraid hypocrites will have to wait—we must first apprehend the perpetrator.” “As the individual caught in the act of torturing Nurse Moroi Kotomi—inflicting countless burns and stab wounds across her entire body and leaving her in critical condition on death’s doorstep—we must first arrest Mr. Ebizuka Kouji.”

Ebizuka was taken away by two detectives.

“I apologize for the disturbance.” As Inspector Kanguri was about to leave, “What on earth happened?”

When asked, "No, it was already beyond reason." "This evening, after closing the hospital, the doctor locked up, bound Nurse Moroi naked, gathered heated tongs along with surgical scalpels and scissors, and commenced an appalling torture." "As a result—after forcing a confession about Miyake Kohee being a hypocrite—he came storming in here." "We received reports of screams from neighbors and rushed to Ebizuka Clinic, but it was truly the behavior of a madman." "It was a sight too gruesome to look upon." "The flesh was charred, blood pooled everywhere, hair had been ripped out—and with the doctor himself being the perpetrator, there was no way to administer proper treatment." "Still, fortunately Yomisugi had some medical training as a nursing graduate or such, so he managed crude battlefield-style first aid—if she clings to life, that'll be blessing enough."

“Then does that mean he’s behind all the previous incidents too?” I asked, but

“Well, we won’t know unless we investigate.”

And with that, Inspector Kanguri left.

Kamiyama Toyo finally sat down in a chair,

“Well, I must say, I was quite astonished,” he began. “When I entered the dining room and he immediately shouted ‘Hypocrite! You, Miyake Kohee!’—I was utterly dumbfounded by this development. However, since yesterday morning through this evening, I’ve been investigating this matter of the hypocrite Miyake Kohee throughout N-town.” He leaned forward slightly. “In truth, Nurse Moroi Kotomi’s confession contains certain discrepancies. On August 3rd, the person she secretly met was a black-market profiteer farmer from the neighboring village. As for Dr. Miyake and Dr. Ebizuka—they were none other than the tragic figures who waited at their respective inns, desperately anticipating Miss Moroi’s arrival, only to be cruelly stood up in the end.” Kamiyama’s voice lowered with professional admiration. “To lie and invoke Dr. Miyake’s name even while enduring torture with red-hot tongs at death’s door—Miss Moroi demonstrates astonishingly calm cunning. Truly, she too possesses the qualities of a master criminal.”

Kohee did not utter a single word. Indeed, however, once it became clear that Nurse Moroi and he had become involved in this way, it made sense why he had come to display such unexpected hatred toward Ebizuka at some point. He too was an effeminate, jealous, suspiciously perverse individual. "I hear you went to investigate me at the spa inn too—is that how you're checking everyone's alibis?"

When I asked Kamiyama Toyo, “Yes, that’s right. “Well, you see, being a lawyer at heart, this is the kind of thing I naturally enjoy.” “I also investigated F Town.” “Mr. Kazuma had an alibi.” “Mr. Tango won’t do.” “Mr. Tango did indeed take the 12:20 one. He staggered out onto the road, waving his hands like he was swimming—the bus conductor and driver remembered it clearly.” “But Mr. Miyake. However—putting aside Miss Moroi for now—this concerns the first bus schedule. You did not take the first bus, did you?”

Kamiyama stared at Kohee, but Kohee refused to engage, showing no indication of responding whatsoever.

“Dr. Ebizuka began to suspect the relationship between Miss Moroi and Dr. Miyake.” “There are grounds for his suspicion.” “Because Dr. Miyake did not take the first bus but instead went to N-town on the 12:40 bus—the same one as Dr. Ebizuka.” “In other words, Dr. Miyake departed from this house before 7:30.” “However, you must have been somewhere in this village until 12:40.”

Kohee did not answer again. He did not even attempt to answer. His complexion did not change. It was beyond changing. He turned pale, his face contorted, and hung his head as though he could not hear a word anyone said.

Tango said sarcastically,

“Kamiyama, even though no one asked you, do you find playing detective so amusing?”

Kamiyama Toyo did not flinch. “Ah ha ha! When you’re living right in the midst of a rapid-fire succession of murders like this, if you don’t stir up a bit of detective spirit, I’d say that’s what’s downright bizarre, wouldn’t you?” That night, when we were about to go to bed, Hatchobana and Patrol Officer Minamikawa Yuichiro were stationed at the stairway landings on both ends of the second floor. This arrangement had come about by Inspector Kanguri’s order since last night.

Kazuma said to Hatchobana, “Well, thank you for your hard work. But don’t you think it’s about time we stopped?” “Huh? What do you mean?” “Well, Dr. Ebizuka is in custody, correct?” “Yes, that’s right.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” “Even if you don’t maintain such strict security measures any longer, I believe it should be unnecessary now.” “Be that as it may, by the Inspector’s orders, we must keep this arrangement until August 9th.” Kazuma appeared somewhat relieved now that Ebizuka had been taken into custody.

22 "August 9th: The Day of Destiny"

Even when the night of August 8th arrived, Dr. Kose had not returned.

Since the promised August 9th would begin in the late hours of this day, Madame Atapin in the dining hall was working diligently, keeping a watchful eye all day.

Everyone was gathered in the dining hall, but Hatchobana and Yomisugi were stationed at both ends of the corridor—which was lined with empty rooms—maintaining an air of heavy security.

Inspector Kanguri was also present at dinner. “August 8th at 8 PM,” Hatchobana remarked. “All eights, aren’t they? During the war, we shouldered black marketeering and all manner of hardships, but for us police, nothing was more troublesome than those underground dealings. This case reeks of that same black market filth—a downright disgraceful state of affairs.”

At that moment, a call came from headquarters. Inspector Kanguri, having heard this and returned,

“Well, well—it seems Dr. Ebizuka is currently delivering quite the grand speech in the protective custody room at headquarters.” “Tonight, they say a grand battle will unfold in this house by God’s divine will. They also claim Dr. Ebizuka’s soul is coming here tonight—in fact, it may very well be lurking in some corner of this place right now.” “Additionally, Ms. Moroi Kinjiro has been admitted to the prefectural hospital, but her condition remains critical—it’s said she may very well be beyond hope.” “For our part as the authorities, we cannot afford to have her die, so we are sparing no effort in her treatment—but that Madam is said to possess a willpower so astonishing it is rare under heaven.” “Even while unconscious, her willpower is said to be at work—she hardly lets slip any delirious utterances.”

Is this case still not over after all? I looked at Kazuma’s face—he too seemed to have begun growing uneasy again. Today marked the fourteenth-day memorial for Elder Tōmon and Kayoko. Tomorrow was supposed to be the first anniversary of Oki-sama’s death—an occasion that typically warranted an elaborate service. But given the ongoing murders and the ominous date itself, attendees were bound to feel uneasy, and mishaps seemed inevitable. Thus, the memorial service was postponed until next year. There would only be a monk’s sutra chanting.

Kamiyama turned to Inspector Kanguri and said,

“Hmm, indeed. That nurse was truly a master criminal through and through. Her sanpaku eyes—you know, where the whites show below the iris—had an unnerving intensity when she fixed her gaze on you. By the way, will this incident truly culminate on August ninth?” “If we knew that for certain, our job would be done. But regrettably, we lack Dr.Ebizuka’s supernatural powers or psychic vision. I hear you’ve been conducting an exceptionally thorough investigation, Mr.Kamiyama—what does your own insight suggest? Might I ask you to share your analysis without reserve?”

“There is one thing I would like to ask you, Inspector: the estimated time of the crime based on the autopsy results.” “Is that absolutely certain?”

“Hmm, yes. First, while we consider it nearly certain, we cannot declare it absolute. Fortunately in this case, though there are seven incidents, the bodies were discovered promptly—the latest being Ms. Utsugi’s twenty hours after death. Therefore, while the estimated times are considered nearly certain, we ourselves are by no means treating them as absolute.”

“How was Ms. Chigusa’s blindfold arranged?”

“Well, that was... This is Ms. Chigusa’s dark navy cloth. It was folded in two—into a triangular bandage shape—then wrapped from her forehead around to the back of her head and tied there. In other words, the triangular bandage hung limply down the front of her face to her chest. So they strangled her neck with a rope over the cloth hanging down her chest.” “So you’re suggesting... That we might imagine a scenario where the culprit was on such intimate terms with her that they decided to play hide-and-seek—she blindfolds herself, and then he strangles her there? Such an imaginative hypothesis would indeed be permissible to consider.”

“Exactly as you’ve surmised.” “In any case, we should consider that she may have blindfolded herself by mutual agreement.”

Pikaichi bellowed in a rough voice from the side, “Then what the hell’s s’posed to be happenin’? While [someone] was playin’ hide-and-seek, another real demon came along and strangled ’em damn good.” Kamiyama burst out laughing, but

“Surely you don’t think a young lady of marriageable age would go all the way to Mount Miwa to play hide-and-seek?” “No, no—they might very well do it. That’s not off the mark.”

Pikaichi became serious, “With an ugly hag of a stupid girl like Chigusa and some louse poet, they ain’t gonna pull off anything decent anyway.” “How could trash like them manage something as basic as hugging and kissing normally?” “Compared to that, hide-and-seek’s way more their speed.” “So Dr. Utsumi dives into some hole to hide.” “Then the real demon shows up and chokes ’em dead.” “How’s that?” “Even as pure bullshit, this’s got artistic truth to it!” “Frame the whole damn thing this way, even murder becomes art you can appreciate!”

Inspector Kanguri also started laughing, “Oh, absolutely. “Artistic intuition and imagination can sometimes unleash clairvoyant abilities, you know.” “Or perhaps that’s exactly where we’ll find the truth.” “In that case—borrowing your artistic gifts—I’ll disclose this: during the first incident involving Mr. Mochizuki Ouni, a bell from Mrs. Ayaka’s bedroom slipper was discovered rolled beneath the victim’s bed.” “What might your clairvoyance make of this?”

“No, that’s it!” “Exactly—you, Inspector! That’s it!” “That’s precisely how it had to be!” “Isn’t everything perfectly clear?”

Pikaichi’s eyes gleamed as he shouted.

Mrs. Ayaka, sinking into terror, opened her eyes wide and stared at the Inspector.

"Since marrying into this household, I have not once entered the room where Mr. Mochizuki stayed." “Hmm.” “You’ve got to admit—even this fox has someone looking up to her.”

Pikaichi involuntarily groaned.

“When you push your excuses this far, you really go and shock people! You go spouting that crap about never setting foot there since marrying into this household! It’s not some Turkish or Indian harem—this cramped two-building shack packed with ten guests! Upstarts who’ve never seen the wider world go spouting such nonsense! This dump ain’t no harem—it’s the cook’s nap room! A clever mosquito wouldn’t suck blood in every damn room all night! Don’t take me for a fool!”

Mrs. Ayaka was glaring at Pikaichi with anger burning in her beautiful eyes. Inspector Kanguri nodded as if to mediate, “No, it must be exactly as you say, Madam.” “That bell was certainly not something you dropped in that room.” “Because the area under the bed had been neatly wiped with Mr. Mochizuki’s suit jacket.” “And on top of that, only a single bell had been left there.”

This time, Kamiyama Toyo groaned. “That is a strange mystery, isn’t it? So, the culprit intentionally left Mrs. Ayaka’s bell behind, is that it?” “Indeed. The bell is certainly a bell, but as for why someone wiped under the bed—what do your artistic insights make of that?”

No one answered. Inspector Kanguri waited patiently, but when no response came, “Well then—another matter unrelated to supernatural powers.” “I must request your counsel on a rather indelicate question. Given the gravity of circumstances, I ask for your earnest cooperation.” “As you’re all aware, alibis have surfaced repeatedly in this case—indeed they seem its defining feature. We’ve grounds to suspect Ms. Utsugi Akiko’s visit to Mt. Miwa was likewise meant to establish an alibi.” “If that’s true—who was she alibiing herself for?” “The revelation needn’t occur here.” “I’d consider it a privilege if anyone could provide insight.”

“Well, yeah, that’s just how it is. She wouldn’t go wandering around mountains and forests for no reason. But there’s nothing rude about that. Inspector, you clearly haven’t grasped the sublime truth of human nature, have you? Ms. Utsugi was a woman of high moral virtue and profound passions—truly a lady worthy of both love and respect. To kill such a passionate and sorrowful beauty—truly, the culprit is despicable. Such ladies, however, would never be killed by the person with the alibi. Because she’s the type who’ll graciously move on to the next man once a little time passes—these persistent pests clinging to her, that so-called ‘wicked woman’s deep affections’—she might put on such airs, but it’s all superficial. In reality, she wasn’t a troublesome woman after all.”

“Ah ha ha!” Kamiyama Toyo burst out laughing, unable to contain himself any longer. “Master Doi, you truly are remarkable.” “You’re fixated solely on articulating your own state of mind.” “But when a man kills a woman, it isn’t necessarily confined to notions of a wicked woman’s lingering affections or some persistent fool.” “I might be the one smitten, yet it’s the woman who flees.” “As you yourself declared—given time, she shifts to the next man. Doesn’t that very act become prime justification for murder?” “The world far more commonly sees men killed over such matters, wouldn’t you agree?” “Master Doi, you’re truly dreadful.” “To think you comprehend nothing beyond your own self-absorbed perspective—”

“No, well—what I’m saying is, the person with the alibi says they didn’t do it, see?” “So Mr. Doi might be the one with the alibi here.”

Kamiyama Toyo burst into uproarious laughter. "But why on earth would you go traipsing off to mountains and forests for an alibi? If you needed to establish one, a visit to a man’s room would have sufficed." "Well, you see, lately security’s been tight—ha! With detectives stationed all over, you can’t just waltz into that person’s room..." "You can’t exactly say that." "It’s downright sinful!" "But was she really out establishing an alibi?" "But is that basis truly reliable?"

When questioned by Kamiyama, Inspector Kanguri—uncharacteristically flustered— “The fact is, several items meant solely for creating alibis were discovered in Ms. Utsugi’s handbag.” “Or do you suppose a woman of her standing would carry such things as part of her regular affairs?” “That is the very essence of a lady’s preparedness.” “An adage as old as time itself, wouldn’t you agree?” “Cross into forbidden love’s domain, and seven enemies shall arise.” “In all creation, no preparation rivals its importance.” “Inspector, must you reduce all human nature to base appetites?”

“Oh no, how terribly apologetic I am.”

Without showing any anger, Inspector Kanguri grinned slyly and gave a single bow of his head to Pikaichi.

After finishing their meal, the group proceeded to the hall.

On the central pillar of the hall, a single sheet of paper was affixed.

“Oh? What’s this?”

It was Tango who first noticed it and peered at the paper. “Good grief. It’s back again—August 9th, the ‘fated day,’ huh? Lately, that’s all the rage in posters.” Tango made light of it without a care, but we were shocked.

Kazuma stared at the paper, stood frozen, his face twisting unnaturally. It was only natural. While Ebizuka had been under arrest, he must have privately reassured himself. There was no way Ebizuka’s soul could have come rolling in like a fireball to paste up the paper and now be hiding breathlessly in some corner. Suddenly noticing, I realized Inspector Kanguri was glaring at each face with fiery eyes as if devouring them one by one.

Postscript: At long last, the time has come for us to receive everyone’s solutions.

As I have repeatedly stated, Dr. Kose will not attempt to infer the culprit based on facts unknown to everyone. However, while the conclusive evidence he discovered during his travels remains unknown to you all, this was deduced by Dr. Kose from facts already known to everyone, and regarding the basis for identifying the culprit, you all equally possess every piece of knowledge that Dr. Kose himself holds.

Now, regarding your answers: simply guessing the culprit's name won't do. You must provide reasoning substantial enough to be brought to court and secure an indictment. Your deductions may be as long as necessary, but please make them as concise and to the point as possible. You don't need to use manuscript paper. You may use letter paper if preferred, but I most earnestly request that you write in clear block script.

The submission address is Japan Shōsetsu-sha. Please write "Detective Novel Solution" on the envelope.

I must apologize for having blustered on at such length in these postscripts, but the author’s true intent is simply to offer you all an intellectual diversion—to present a few days or hours of enjoyable respite in this utterly uninteresting world, and to innocently smooth out the wrinkles of our stern expressions together. Therefore, I will not commit the heartless act of publishing misguided answers or bizarre deductions that would bring you all shame, so rest assured and please submit your solutions.

Because I dislike splitting the prize money, I will present it in full to the single most outstanding answer. However, I hereby promise that even if none of the answers correctly identify the culprit, the full amount will certainly be awarded to the most outstanding answer. If someone were to deduce things exactly like Dr. Kose, that would truly be the author’s utter defeat. That discovering requires far greater talent than creating should be evident; the esteemed person who writes a perfect answer would undoubtedly be Japan's greatest detective. By setting all this up with such fanfare, I mean to say—Ah-hah-hah—that no such genius exists among you, which should likewise be perfectly evident.

Well then, the author’s performance has come to an end.

From here on, your ardent performances—now, let the show begin!

The deadline is April 15, Showa 23 (1948).

Sakaguchi Ango

23. The Final Tragedy

The vigilance that night was at its most stringent.

At the top of the Western-style building’s staircase, Detective Yomisugi stood guard before my room, while Hatchobana kept watch before Kazuma and Ayaka’s door, both officers glaring across at each other’s doors from opposite ends of the corridor.

Downstairs, Inspector Kanguri and Officer Minamikawa prepared an emergency ladder and observed the garden’s condition. Ms. Atapi served as the roving guard, pacing the upstairs corridor with such thoroughness that whenever one of us went to the restroom, she would escort them there and back. Even when a maid brought water for a hangover, Ms. Atapi would first take it to test for poison.

Then, Hatchobana sullenly snatched the cup away with an angry glare, “Hand it over to me.” “What do you think you’re doing?” “I’ll test it for poison myself.” He gulped it down. “Oh my!” Ms. Atapi was startled, and as she stared at Hatchobana, her expression rapidly transformed into one of profound emotion, “Oh my, oh my. You’re so kind.” “Do you care for me that much?” “How delightful!” “If you’re that devoted, I’ll marry you.”

Hatchobana glared with displeasure, “Don’t talk nonsense. I already have a wife!” “What’s the fuss? Having a wife or two isn’t anything to get worked up over! I’ll be your wife too. I hate being a mistress, you see. What’s wrong with having two wives? I’ll dote on half of you. If it’s everyone, they’ll get too full of themselves, I tell you!” “Don’t be absurd.” “You’re such a fool. Love is something best kept at about half each—just the right amount. So I’ll just dote on Yonchobana then.”

“Hmm, I see.” “You must be thrilled. Come on, just a bit.” As Atapi poked his cheek, Hatchobana went limp. Ms. Atapi was thoroughly worked up, “Isn’t tonight just wonderful?” “Let’s hold our wedding with fugu cuisine in Tokyo this autumn.” “You’ve got savings, haven’t you?” “Don’t embarrass me.” “There, there. I’ll let you have some fugu.” What a preposterous notion—this scandalous commotion would shame even demons or murderers into hiding! Such was mere amateurish thinking. Around four in the morning, a shrill scream erupted from beyond the door of that very scandalous affair. It was Kazuma and Madame Ayaka’s room.

The sound of a desperate struggle echoed. The thud of a body collapsing from exhaustion. Then silence fell. They pushed against the door but found it locked. “Hey—you two! Don’t move from this spot!” Hatchobana raced downstairs. He and Inspector Kanguri propped up the pre-positioned ladder, smashed through the window from outside, and forced their way in. With the lights extinguished, they swept their flashlights across the room. A figure lay crumpled on the floor. Madame Ayaka sprawled on her back, chest exposed, Kazuma’s body collapsed face down atop hers.

“Don’t disturb the crime scene. Find the switch and turn on the lights.” At Inspector Kanguri’s command, Hatchobana turned on the lights. When they lifted Kazuma, he had already stopped breathing after his agony. On the desk lay an unfinished cup of water with white powder scattered around it. It appeared to be potassium cyanide. Blood flowed from Madame Ayaka’s mouth. As they moved Kazuma aside and tried to lift Madame Ayaka up, she opened her eyes.

“What happened?” Madame gave no answer. While her eyes remained open in a daze, her consciousness seemed to return abruptly. Her eyes filled with grief, she tried to move her head. As the two inspectors leaned in and lifted her up, they noticed the blood flowing from her mouth and showed looks of desperate horror, but after making her rinse her mouth and treating the injury, they found she had merely bitten her tongue, with no major wound. Madame Ayaka had fully regained her senses and adjusted her collar, but upon noticing Kazuma’s corpse laid to the side, she let out a small, despairing cry.

“What happened?” “Please try to remember.”

Inspector Kanguri stared sharply at Madame Ayaka, waiting for her response, but she merely returned his gaze with equal intensity for some time. “When did you arrive?” “We’ve only just come,” he replied. “Hearing noises from inside, we set up a ladder outside, smashed through the window, unlocked it, and rushed in. What happened?”

Madame Ayaka lifted Kazuma’s corpse onto her lap, but finding no response, looked up at the two men as if in prayer. Inspector Kanguri shook his head. Madame Ayaka returned her vacant gaze to emptiness before lowering Kazuma's corpse from her lap. Placing her hands on the bed, she stood up. Pausing pensively at intervals, she walked from the bed to the desk, to the chair, leaning against objects as she made her way to the window. A cool wind blew in through the shattered window. Her composure seemed to have naturally settled.

Night was beginning to break. Madame Ayaka returned and sat down on the bed. “Were the lights on?” “No, we rushed in and turned them on.”

Madame Ayaka nodded.

“My husband was awake until late. “Whenever I woke up, the lights were on, and my husband was at his desk doing something. “Then when I suddenly woke up again, it was dark. “Someone was pressing down on my neck. “When I tried to get up in shock, I heard my husband’s voice say ‘It’s me,’ and he loosened his grip—though not with enough force to feel like murderous intent—so in utter confusion, I only managed to sit halfway up. “My husband gently pulled me close and said, ‘I’m going to die. Die with me—I can’t go on anymore.’”

Inspector Kanguri nodded and urged her to continue. “I was dumbfounded and asked, ‘What do you mean you can’t?’” “Instead of an answer came a groaning sound.” “Just as I felt myself suddenly seized with violent force, he thrust at my neck.” “I fought back desperately.” “And then I fell rolling down, and after that, I don’t remember anything.” Inspector Kanguri nodded.

“Please think more carefully. Did your husband say anything else?”

Madame Ayaka was thinking but shook her head.

“I see. ‘Die with me. I can’t go on anymore.’ I see. So he said it like that—‘It’s over now that the police have closed in’?” “No, that’s wrong.” Madame Ayaka declared firmly.

“I would never phrase it that way.” “He only said, ‘It’s hopeless now.’” “Last night, from the moment my husband entered our bedroom, he looked shockingly gaunt.” “He kept pacing restlessly, unable to stay still for even a moment—utterly terrified.” “This was because he’d seen that threatening notice on the entrance pillar, and I understood exactly why.” “My husband had been convinced Dr. Ebizuka was the culprit, so he’d felt relieved after that man’s arrest.” “That’s why the shock of finding another notice was too much for him.” “Though my own anxiety made even falling asleep first feel perilous, every time I stirred awake, there he remained at his desk, brooding.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded. And he began examining Kazuma’s corpse anew. There were scratches on his face and hands from Madame Ayaka’s resistance, his pajamas had been torn, and the buttons on his chest had flown off.

“That was a close call.”

Having finished his examination, Inspector Kanguri said. “It was fortunate that you fainted.” “If you had kept resisting, he wouldn’t have been able to revive.” “Assuming you were dead, your husband steeled himself to commit suicide.” “Why?” “I regret to inform you that your husband was responsible for all these tragedies until now.” “We had known.” “But lacking physical evidence, we couldn’t make an arrest.”

“That’s not true.”

Madame Ayaka shouted.

“I am aware. Last night when we went to the dining room, there was no notice on the pillar. At that time, I distinctly remember glancing at it without particular thought, so there can be no mistake. And my husband entered the dining room with me and did not leave his seat even once until the meal ended.” “That’s quite right.” Inspector Kanguri nodded with a troubled, almost sheepish expression, but—

“In truth, we were the ones who posted that notice. August ninth—the day of fate. That is to say, the culprit’s fated day. This irony would only have been apparent to the criminal alone.” With Madame Ayaka standing dazed under his cold glare, Inspector Kanguri wore a faintly triumphant expression before finally ordering Hatchobana to open the door.

The forensic team from the main station arrived around 10:30, having hurried their car.

A little past eleven, Dr. Kose returned.

As the Utagawa family's downfall—an unexpected outcome—finally came to pass, and while I was dazedly standing in the hall, Dr. Kose came rushing in from the dining room entrance. "A police car had the nerve to overtake me on the road, so I blindly dashed off after that, but I've been out of shape lately."

Just as he was catching his breath, Inspector Kanguri and his group came down from the second floor. “Oh, Dr. Kose, you’ve returned? You’re a step too late. While you were away, the tragedy has finally come to an end.” “It’s over? Then, was Mr. Utagawa killed?”

“No, Mr. Utagawa Kazuma committed suicide.”

Dr. Kose’s complexion changed. It was a look of anguish bordering on collapse and despair.

“Damn! Too late?! I am a fool. No sleep, no rest. But, ah—the blunder of a lifetime!” Despairing regret and anguish were carved into his being. Inspector Kanguri started laughing,

“You looked positively haggard with busyness. “No sleep or rest? “How pitiable for you. “Though we too went sleepless last night. “But regardless—things have settled where they belong.” Dr. Kose’s entire frame seethed with ferocious wrath.

"You bastard! I won't let you escape anymore!" "Ah, but I was too late!" But there was nothing to be done. "I've lost all face at this point, but I'll at least tear off the mask." "Whose mask will you tear off?" "The criminal's." "Mr. Utagawa Kazuma has committed suicide." Inspector Kanguri answered with a composed expression, but Dr. Kose paid it no heed. "Mr. Utagawa died by poison, then?"

“Indeed, potassium cyanide.” “Is there a suicide note?” “No, but there’s something he wrote and erased repeatedly all night long.” “Though it’s been obliterated beyond legibility, he may have meant to compose a suicide note.” “It’s presently with forensics.” Dr. Kose nodded. “I assumed at minimum a suicide note would’ve been prepared.” “I had anticipated this murder.” “I knew it would be executed as a suicide—that everything was already in place.” “When Mr. Mochizuki Ouni was killed in that first murder, preparations had already been made for Mr. Utagawa to be murdered under the guise of suicide.”

At Dr. Kose’s resolute assertion, even Inspector Kanguri appeared dumbfounded.

“In any case, let us adjourn to another room. Let me explain the methods of this abominable killer.”

Dr. Kose urged Inspector Kanguri and the group of detectives onward. The policemen reluctantly followed Dr. Kose and departed.

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Culprit Appears?

At lunchtime, Dr. Kose and the officers did not appear in the dining hall. Around the time lunch ended, Madame Atapin arrived and ordered everyone to remain. When the dishes were cleared, the elderly Nagumo couple, Ms. Shitae, even the Tsubodaira couple—all those involved filed in one after another and took their seats. Following them came the police officers and Dr. Kose’s group; then a dozen or so uniformed and plainclothes officers took up positions along the walls, forming a complete encirclement. The one who took the seat set at the head of the table was Dr. Kose.

Dr. Kose wore a somber, resigned expression as he quietly began to speak. "Given this criminal's refined connoisseur sensibilities, I'd vainly hoped they might postpone their final act until my return." "Unlike the desperate, time-critical murders of Chigusa and Utsumi, the finishing stroke had been fully prepared during Ouni's initial killing - ready for execution at any moment." "There's no helping it now." "I'd relied on the killer's self-assurance, but when August Ninth - that fated day - arrived with its ominous poster, they evidently seized the chance to spectacularly unveil their grand finale."

Kamiyama Toyo interjected. "In our Canned Food Group, we've been tormented by rampant rumors since earlier—about Mr. Kazuma being suicide or murder. Please clarify this definitively!" "That goes without saying—it's murder." "Well now. "This is bizarre. "And the culprit?" Dr. Kose did not answer. He stared fixedly at Kamiyama Toyo for a long moment,

“Mr. Kamiyama. With your precise observational skills, you previously made estimations regarding the criminal’s identity and possible scenarios. Could you please recount the circumstances of that fourth incident—the Utsumi murder—once more?” “I see. That night—indeed, when Master Painter Doi was shouting in front of Madame Ayaka’s door—is this about the potential developments arising from that?”

“No—before that, first we had finished our meal and were in the hall. “Around nine-something? Granny Oyuya came with Nurse Moroi and reported that Ms. Chigusa’s whereabouts were unknown.” Then Nurse Moroi said something unexpected. “Are you saying Ms. Chigusa went to a secret meeting? “To explain how we know this—Ms. Chigusa showed us a note from a man arranging a meeting. That note had been given to her by Madame Ayaka at the man’s request, and she read aloud the man’s name written on it—is that correct? “When we asked ‘Who is this man?’, she replied that she couldn’t disclose it. “And then...”

Dr. Kose, having said that, urged Kamiyama to continue. "Indeed, my notes should be accurately recorded, but..."

After examining his notes, "After that, immediately following Dr. Ebizuka suddenly shouting 'Bakayarou!' and storming off, this time a brutal life-and-death struggle between Master Painter Doi and Madame Ayaka commenced." "What caused that deadly struggle?" "Since that isn't clear, it's not in my notes either—in short, probably over some trivial reason." Dr. Kose nodded.

“That’s precisely what’s critical.” “In other words, the fight started from such a trivial complaint—one so baseless that it wasn’t even recorded in your notes.” “The incident began when Dr. Ebizuka shouted ‘Bakayarou!’ and stormed off, whereupon Master Painter Doi guffawed and declared, ‘This place is nothing but a nest of sex-crazed lunatics and a brothel!’” Upon hearing this, Madame Ayaka turned livid and shouted, “You thug! You’re the one who should go back to Tokyo!” This was the beginning of the struggle. “And then…”

Dr. Kose urged Kamiyama again. Kamiyama nodded and,

“Indeed, that was exactly how it was. ‘Was it due to Master Painter Doi’s state of mind? He did display some tendencies toward drunken violence.’ He suddenly lunged at Madame Ayaka and began flailing wildly. Madame Ayaka’s garments were torn to tatters in the process. Finally, we forced our way between them and pulled them apart. Yet even as we separated them, the two kept shrieking at each other. The next moment, Mr. Doi was already charging after Madame Ayaka, pursuing her from the dining hall into the darkened garden. We gave chase once more, apprehending Master Painter Doi as he battered Madame Ayaka beneath the pine tree’s shadow, managing to separate them again. But no sooner had this crisis passed than Madame Ayaka bolted with renewed ferocity, fortunately reaching her bedroom where she succeeded in locking the door. Thereafter, Mr. Doi grappled with anyone who approached, continuing his raving before Madame Ayaka’s chamber until past half past twelve. It was during this period that Ms. Utsumi was murdered—yet alibis held firm for all second-floor residents including Mr. Doi himself, since descending downstairs would have required eluding his vigilant presence. However, given Mr. Doi’s extreme intoxication and apparent lack of memory regarding this commotion, it remains possible someone might have slipped downstairs to kill Ms. Utsumi. This is where matters grow profoundly delicate.”

“Who could not possibly have committed the crime?” “That would undoubtedly be Madame Ayaka and Master Painter Doi—those two esteemed individuals.”

Dr. Kose nodded. And his eyes, as they swept over the assembly, were filled with fierce determination.

“Ladies and gentlemen. “This murder case was likely planned ten months prior. One of the criminals likely disguised themselves and traveled to this area, thoroughly investigating the mountain paths leading to Mt. Miwa and formulating an extremely meticulous plan without a doubt. In fact, it seems they grew a beard temporarily around this spring—during that period, they must have traveled here and committed the local geography to memory. Despite such meticulous planning, unavoidable circumstances forced them to commit murders that deviated from their original scheme. The murders of Chigusa and Utsumi were such instances. Given their thoroughness from the start—having anticipated emergencies that might derail their plans and prepared countermeasures—they disposed of Chigusa’s murder without difficulty. However, they noticed an unforeseen blunder they had made. And thus arose the necessity to kill Ms. Utsumi that very night as well. From the beginning, they had undoubtedly anticipated such contingencies and arranged methods to handle emergencies. And just as planned, they skillfully executed these measures and completed their scheme. Yet plans conceived at a desk often contain oversights—this time, they left behind not physical evidence but psychological footprints. But given this was a plan devised by criminal geniuses, even with Japan’s foremost psychologists gathered here, none of you esteemed experts have yet noticed these footprints. I too only became aware of these footprints at a considerably later date.”

Dr. Kose let out a frustrated sigh. "These psychological traces were likely the only footprints left by the criminal in this case. The murder of Utsumi represented both a critical juncture of survival for the perpetrator and what might be called the sole decisive pressure point." "Then what was this singular trace left behind?" "I shall explain this naturally by following the sequence of criminal acts, beginning first with declaring the culprit's name." The assembly's tense agitation subsided immediately, so thoroughly did Dr. Kose maintain his composed demeanor as if nothing were amiss. Dr. Kose turned toward Kamiyama,

“As I heard earlier, who are the individuals with the strongest alibis for Utsumi’s murder?” “Madame Ayaka and Master Painter Doi.”

Dr. Kose nodded, “Precisely. Master Painter Doi is first and foremost the most impossible.” “Because he kept shouting continuously from the same position.” “And that position overlooked all of your doors, serving as the perfect vantage point to monitor comings and goings.” “If any of you were to show your face from the door, Master Painter Doi would undoubtedly start shouting and lunge.” “Because by doing so, they could confine all of you to your rooms, and during that time, it was necessary to have someone else kill Ms. Utsumi.” “In other words, Master Painter Doi was not only creating his own alibi but also fulfilling an even more crucial role—that of surveillance.” “And under the cover of Master Painter Doi’s ingenious surveillance, Madame Ayaka slipped out of her room, went downstairs, stabbed Ms. Utsumi repeatedly to death, and returned.” “With Master Painter Doi’s surveillance providing cover, Madame Ayaka was able to remain perfectly calm, wash and dispose of the dagger, clean her bloodstained hands and feet, and return to her room at her leisure.” “However, fearing what might happen, she went to wake Ms. Utsumi in her bedroom the next morning and discovered the incident.” “In other words, at that time, even if fingerprints had been left somewhere, there would have been an excuse—they had created such a convenient arrangement.” “Before the crime’s discovery, Madame Ayaka could have hidden her bloodstained clothes anywhere outside the Western-style building’s living quarters. Or perhaps she went to kill Ms. Utsumi wearing nothing but her undergarments—or even ventured out completely naked.” “It was a do-or-die moment of life and death, where the full intellect and daring of the two of them had been staked here.”

Pikaichi's mocking laughter erupted.

“Mr. Great Detective! What’s this nonsense about ‘psychological footprints’? Listen here—this concerns the killer of eight people! This ain’t some cheap farce or rakugo act! You can’t wrap this up with your half-baked conjectures! Show us real evidence!” Dr. Kose’s expression remained immovable. He gave a quiet nod. “The matter of these non-physical footprints will become clear as I lay out the sequence of events chronologically. Let us begin with the initial crime. When Mr. Kazuma Utagawa developed passionate feelings for Madame Ayaka upon their reunion and she became aware of the Utagawa family’s extraordinary wealth, Master Painter Doi and Madame Ayaka conspired to divorce so she could marry into the family—meaning this murder plot had been devised even before their marriage. Master Painter Doi deliberately engineered a dramatic breakup with Madame Ayaka, even obstinately demanding severance pay. Creating such intense animosity between them formed an essential component of their preparations.”

“Ridiculous. “So when it’s handled by the *Great Master*, even our bad blood becomes proof of collusion? “Let’s hear some solid evidence then!”

Dr. Kose remained utterly composed, paying no heed. "When Madame Ayaka married Mr. Kazuma last autumn, she had thoroughly investigated and reported every detail she could uncover regarding the Utagawa family’s affairs—the rumors of Lady Okaji’s suspicious death, Kayoko’s mother’s sudden demise, and Tamao’s pregnancy—all were reported. With these materials compiled, Master Painter Doi disguised himself and traveled to survey the local geography meticulously, thereby completing their preparations." "Madame Ayaka skillfully incited Ms. Tamao to first invite three gentlemen: Mr. Mochizuki Ouni, Mr. Tango Yumihiko, and Mr. Utsumi Akira." "When these three accepted the invitations, they sent Mr. Kazuma a threatening note insinuating someone had killed Lady Okaji, then invited Mr. Miyake and Mr. and Mrs. Yashiro as guests." "At this juncture, following their longstanding plan, four individuals—the uninvited guests: Master Painter Doi, Mr. and Mrs. Kamiyama, and myself—were summoned to assemble." "The hidden mechanism lay in how Mr. Kamiyama—a universally disliked figure—appearing alongside Master Painter Doi, another disliked man, lent unexpected naturalness to their status as uninvited guests; moreover, by summoning an amateur detective like myself into this mix, criminal intent was artfully layered into the situation, making Master Painter Doi’s otherwise incongruous presence appear perfectly reasonable through careful contrivance." "Furthermore, both Master Painter Doi and Madame Ayaka were complete strangers to me." "Though Madame Ayaka likely learned of my existence through dinner table conversations at the Utagawa household, their act of luring an unknown amateur detective like myself revealed the ingenious mechanism these two had devised." "Thus, with all planned participants assembled, the first crime was executed as scheduled that very day."

From my seat, I could not clearly see Madame Ayaka's face, but the glimpse I caught of her at that moment showed an expression of someone earnestly listening to serious, weighty matters—innocent as a young girl, yet seemingly devoid of any ulterior meaning.

Twenty-Five: The Fatal Error

Dr. Kose continued his explanation. "We must not forget that committing crimes starting from the very day of Master Painter Doi’s arrival created the most advantageous conditions for him, as he was the sole newcomer to this household." Not only that, but Master Painter Doi alone—due to Madame Ayaka’s hate-filled directive—had been refused residence on the same upper floor and was instead assigned a room in a Japanese-style chamber downstairs. This too had been one of the meticulously planned elements of their scheme. First, regarding Mr. Mochizuki Ouni’s murder, the method employed was to administer a sleeping drug before stabbing him to death; given that Mr. Ouni was a powerfully built giant who frequently interacted with women, rendering him unconscious first proved necessary to prevent resistance. However, relying solely on the sleeping drug risked casting suspicion upon Madame Ayaka—hence this elaborate method of drugging followed by stabbing had been adopted. Now, when it came time to add the sleeping drug to the geranium tea preparation, a critical mishap occurred. "This mishap ultimately became a fatal error—necessitating Chigusa’s murder and subsequently Utsumi’s killing—thereby plunging both conspirators into an unforeseen predicament."

Pikaichi now wore an air of complete detachment. "Now, at the time when the geranium tea was being brewed, they were making soba noodles in the kitchen, so present were the Tsubodaira couple, Ms. Akiko Utsugi observing, along with Ms. Chigusa and Madame Ayaka." "Madame Ayaka alone was making meat pies in a separate area near where the geranium tea was being brewed, while the rest of the group remained in a distant location on the opposite side."

At that moment, as per their prearranged plan, Master Painter Doi made a lively entrance, dangling a six-foot-long green snake beneath the dining room window while declaring he would subdue the great serpent that had swallowed a chicken—slit its belly and serve it up as dinner’s side dish. The plan proceeded smoothly: everyone leaned out the windows to watch, and Mr. Tsubodaira—an enthusiast of snakes—even leapt down in eager cooperation, creating the perfect opportunity for Madame Ayaka to slip in the sleeping drug. Yet there remained one contrarian—Ms. Chigusa—a young lady who couldn’t be bothered to spare even a glance at Master Painter Doi’s impassioned performance, resulting in the plan’s catastrophic collapse. "In other words, they were forced to commit increasingly desperate crimes—first Chigusa’s murder, then Utsumi’s."

“I take it that Ms. Chigusa had witnessed the scene where the sleeping drug was administered?” Kamiyama Toyo asked in a rather disinterested voice. “She had not actually witnessed the scene,” replied Dr. Kose. “Ms. Chigusa believed that the culprit was Ms. Tamao. Because Ms. Tamao had transferred the decoction into a flask to cool it, she had believed as much.” “However,” he continued, “it was discovered that the sleeping drug had not been put into the flask but had been added earlier to the brewing kettle—and moreover, Ms. Tamao herself had been killed.” There, Ms. Chigusa abruptly realized. “Ms. Chigusa paid no mind to Master Painter Doi’s snake-handling spectacle,” Dr. Kose explained, “remaining exclusively in a position facing Madame Ayaka. She therefore saw that the only person who approached the decoction—aside from Ms. Tamao—was Madame Ayaka.” “Thus,” he concluded, “when I informed them of Ms. Tamao’s strangulation, Ms. Chigusa—who had been firmly convinced of her guilt—startled, cried out ‘Something’s wrong... Then who...’, and suddenly fell deep into thought.” “It was here,” Dr. Kose stated with finality, “that the absolute necessity to kill Ms. Chigusa arose.”

Dr. Kose continued speaking with perfect composure.

“Regarding Chigusa’s murder, I shall discuss it in due order, but let us first return to Ouni’s murder.” Around 1:00 a.m. that night, when Ms. Akiko visited Mr. Ouni’s bedroom, the door was locked. The key was one that Ms. Utsugi had coincidentally received from Mr. Ouni and should have placed in her own room. Needless to say, at that time, Master Painter Doi was present in Mr. Ouni’s bedroom. Madame Ayaka had likely obtained the key by placing the duplicate she stole as planned into Master Painter Doi’s room; after locking the door from the inside and just as he was about to begin his task, Ms. Utsugi arrived. He hurriedly hid under the bed; when Ms. Utsugi came and left again, he delivered a single strike aimed at Mr. Ouni’s heart, stabbing him to death. He wiped fingerprints from the dagger and cleaned under the bed with Mr. Ouni’s jacket, fearing that traces left in the dust might reveal his height. After thoroughly wiping it down, he deliberately left behind one of Madame Ayaka’s slipper bells on the cleaned surface. “This very act was a rare display of the criminal’s cunning artifice—within this single abandoned bell lay all the preparations for murdering Mr. Utagawa Kazuma under the guise of suicide.”

Even the ever-calm Dr. Kose now showed, for the first time, a flicker of emotion on his face. Though its meaning differed, it resembled the awe of one savoring a work of art. "As you are aware, that night, Madame Ayaka slept in the same room as Mr. Kazuma. Moreover, Mr. Kazuma had been at his desk until around 3:00 a.m. His beloved wife had been sleeping right before his eyes the entire time, meaning Madame Ayaka was the only person with an alibi that night. Of course, since this alibi relies on testimony from someone in a spousal relationship, the police authorities may doubt it—in that sense, this alibi does not necessarily hold. However, in all the world, there was only one person—Mr. Kazuma himself—who could not possibly doubt Madame Ayaka’s irrefutable alibi. Moreover, in Mr. Ouni’s room lies Madame Ayaka’s bell. Moreover, it has been placed in a spot that was neatly wiped. Therefore, it was not something that had been there previously but had undoubtedly been placed there by the criminal’s design. Someone was attempting to frame Madame Ayaka. Moreover, Madame Ayaka absolutely cannot be the culprit. For Mr. Kazuma alone, this was an irrefutable fact. In other words, for Mr. Kazuma—even when all others should be suspected as culprits—Madame Ayaka alone could not possibly be the perpetrator. This absolute trust had been cleverly established during the initial crime. In other words, this was preparation for the final act—arrangements to kill Mr. Kazuma while making it appear as suicide. Because even at the final moment—when suspecting everyone else—Mr. Kazuma would continue to trust Madame Ayaka and would likely drink without hesitation any beverage she offered him. It is entirely possible that he could drink the potassium cyanide recommended by Madame Ayaka while believing it to be a sleeping drug. ‘And just as planned—Mr. Kazuma was poisoned to death.’"

"Why didn't you advise Kazuma-san about that?" Kamiyama Toyo asked.

Dr. Kose contorted his face. “I was the greatest fool in the world. “I had anticipated that Mr. Kazuma would likely not suspect Madame Ayaka—his beloved wife—even if I had warned him, but more than that, I had overestimated the criminal. “I had assumed the criminal would not carry out this crime until I returned. “However, perhaps the criminal saw the posted notice last night—August 9th, the fated day—believed it to be my handiwork, and trusted that I had returned to the villa. “That posted notice was put up by Inspector Hara. “This is not a complaint. “It is not Inspector Hara’s oversight. “All of this was my great blunder.”

Dr. Kose also lowered his face darkly for a while.

26: Desperate Struggle Against Hopeless Odds

Dr. Kose raised his face and continued speaking. "Now, regarding the second murder—that of Tamao—this one is exceedingly simple. Ms. Tamao, who was drunk, had become especially intoxicated that day and fell into a deep sleep after suffering through vomiting. Originally, Ms. Tamao’s bedroom was situated in such an advantageous location—virtually inviting murder—that the task proved extremely straightforward. Master Painter Doi sneaked in, killed her with an iron cord found in the room, turned off the light, and withdrew. As for why they spilled morphine powder—perhaps upon seeing the presence of questionable characters like Ebizuka and Nurse Moroi, they left such mischief behind to broaden the suspect pool. However, even I cannot determine its exact significance. So far, this has been simple. However, once Tamao's murder was discovered, Chigusa-san became visibly shaken and apparently began suspecting Madame Ayaka regarding the sleeping drug incident. Thus, they were compelled to carry out Chigusa's murder immediately afterward. It was truly a situation permitting not a moment’s delay."

A passionate intensity appeared on Dr. Kose’s face. Apparently, this was where the case would reach its climax. Pikaichi remained composed, keeping his mouth shut. Madame Ayaka too, like a young girl, seemed to be listening intently. “That afternoon was, according to plan, the day to frame Mr. Ouni.” “Through some method, Master Painter Doi and Madame Ayaka must have coordinated the preparations for Chigusa’s murder.” “First, Madame Ayaka forged Mr. Utsumi Akira’s Ibiki letter and passed it to Chigusa-san under the pretense that it had been entrusted by Mr. Utsumi.” To give it an air of authenticity, when the coffin was being sent off, Madame Ayaka went out to see it off alongside Mr. Utsumi, all the way to the gate. “Even Madame Ayaka had never dreamed that Chigusa-san would attempt to show this letter to others.” “That’s right.” “Beautiful women, in matters of love, generally cherish secrecy.” “However, ugly women have a tendency to flaunt their love affairs, and even the seasoned Madame Ayaka—blinded by her own proclivities—had failed to discern Chigusa-san’s peculiar disposition.” “She had never even dreamed that Chigusa-san would attempt to show the Ibiki letter to others.”

For me, this half-believed truth now seemed to be hardening into something I could no longer deny. Yet even now, I couldn't bring myself to accept Madame Ayaka as the culprit—it all felt like one of Dr. Kose's elaborate pranks, and I remained convinced he would suddenly point to a different true criminal at any moment. Dr. Kose continued his explanation. "When we finished reciting sutras at the crematorium and lit the pyre at 6:06 PM, the forged Ibiki letter specified a meeting behind Miwa Shrine between 6:30 and 7:00 PM. Though Master Painter Doi had likely prepared multiple methods, he seized an unexpected opportunity upon noticing an empty handcart—the same one that had delivered a corpse—returning unused." "With silver-tongued persuasion, he convinced Mr. Utsumi to ride the cart while pushing it himself. The trio—Master Doi and two young men—charged up the valley path with such ferocity that they soon disappeared from our view." "Upon reaching the valley's crest, Master Doi ceased pushing. After a brief pause, he darted onto a hidden trail and sprinted at full speed to Miwa Shrine's rear where Chigusa-san waited. Though I don't know his exact words, he likely said something like: 'Dr. Utsumi's hobbling along behind us—shall we play hide-and-seek?' Then he threw cloth over her head and strangled her without resistance." "He immediately rifled through her handbag to retrieve the forged Ibiki letter. The entire operation couldn't have taken five minutes. Racing ahead, he overtook the handcart and returned to Utagawa Manor moments before Mr. Utsumi." "Mr. Utsumi had dismounted before the rocky slope and painstakingly picked his way down with unsteady steps—pausing frequently—while Master Doi effortlessly circled back first. This became key to their meticulous plan: as a supposed newcomer unfamiliar with local paths, Master Doi would naturally be excluded from suspicion regarding shortcut usage." "Thus concluded Chigusa's murder with chilling efficiency—or so our culprits believed. But fate had prepared a thunderbolt from clear skies." Dr. Kose's voice sharpened. "The unforeseen complication emerged when Chigusa-san showed that Ibiki letter to Nurse Moroi."

At last, it was what Dr. Kose called the crux of the case. I looked at Pikaichi again, but he already appeared completely detached, as if it had nothing to do with him—letting things take their course, as though finding it all utterly ridiculous. “That night—around nine-something?—when Oyuya Baasama and Nurse Moroi entered the hall and revealed that Chigusa-san had gone out to Ibiki around six o’clock, that Nurse Moroi had been shown that letter, that she even knew the man’s name... When this became clear, imagine Master Painter Doi and Madame Ayaka’s sheer shock and panic! There was no longer any room for calculation or deliberation.” “Unaware that Chigusa-san had been killed, Nurse Moroi hesitated to name the man from Ibiki—but once the murder was discovered, she couldn’t possibly stay silent.” “Then the letter forgery would be exposed.” “Moreover, since Madame Ayaka herself had handed that forged letter to Chigusa-san, the forger’s identity would inevitably come to light.” “And the entire case would unravel naturally.” “To prevent this, they had no choice but to kill either Dr. Utsumi or Nurse Moroi.” “Killing Dr. Utsumi was easier under the circumstances. And though Nurse Moroi refrained from naming the man in the hall, she might’ve already told someone in the main house or written it in her diary.” “In that case, their only escape was to kill Dr. Utsumi that very night.” “Not a moment’s delay could be spared—no time left for deliberation.” “They had to immediately coordinate plans for Utsumi’s murder.” “As for their method—this meticulous pair must’ve prepared emergency measures beforehand. That infamous brawl: grappling, pummeling, wild swings... It all culminated in Madame Ayaka fleeing to the deserted outdoors with Master Doi chasing her down.” “Before others could catch up, they pretended to struggle while finalizing their plans. That desperate, gruesome fight must’ve been—for them—an even fiercer battle for survival than what we witnessed!”

I too—and indeed many others—had apparently been persuaded. So then, was Madame Ayaka the true culprit after all? It now seemed impossible that Dr. Kose would declare everything up to now had been a joke and name another true criminal. And yet, how impossible it was to believe that Madame Ayaka was the true culprit. That seemed to be the same state of mind for many people as well.

Dr. Kose continued speaking, utterly disregarding our speculations.

“The esteemed pair skillfully acted out their brawl according to the script: Madame Ayaka fled outdoors like a startled hare, Master Painter Doi pursued and cornered her, and by the time we rushed to the scene, they had finalized their preparations for Dr. Utsumi’s murder. The method was, as I mentioned earlier, Master Painter Doi continuously shouting in front of Madame Ayaka’s door, confronting anyone who showed their face—thereby creating his own alibi while fulfilling his role as lookout. Madame Ayaka, under the cover of that surveillance, descended downstairs, took out a dagger from the parlor, and killed Dr. Utsumi. It was a truly ingenious method. For us, who had no way of knowing that the esteemed pair—who appeared to be bitter enemies on the surface—could have collaborated in such a manner, Madame Ayaka herself was placed furthest beyond suspicion; even in Mr. Kamiyama’s deductions, it was concluded that those two alone could absolutely not be culprits. The clever and meticulous Madame Ayaka had prepared for this night’s emergency by establishing a habit of leaving her room door unlocked from the inside during ordinary times—thereby making people believe it—and had arranged this meticulous preparation so that fleeing to her room in this crisis would not seem unnatural. In other words, since Master Painter Doi’s arrival—with Madame Ayaka having resided in Mr. Kazuma’s bedroom—she would not have been able to justify fleeing to her own room in this emergency without that preparation. At first, I found it suspicious that the story was too perfect—that the key had been properly inserted into her own room’s lock from the inside. However, upon inquiring with Dr. Yashiro and others, it turned out Madame Ayaka was rather careless by nature, habitually leaving her room unlocked from the inside at all times. This made the story seem even more perfectly convenient—leading me instead to become increasingly convinced that everything was part of an extremely meticulous crime planned over many months. However, even a crime prepared with such meticulousness faced a crisis on that day too sudden and grave to allow for deliberation—a veritable bolt from the blue—and thus even those two ultimately left behind unconscious psychological footprints here.”

XXVII. Psychological Footprints

Dr. Kose's psychological footprints—a concept he had been laboriously expounding since earlier—though we literary men consider psychology our bread and butter, still left me utterly baffled. As if responding to this unspoken bewilderment, Dr. Kose swept his gaze across us. "You assembled here represent what might be called Japan's foremost authorities on human psychology—seasoned connoisseurs of mankind's inner workings." "And yet none of you detected these footprints." "This isn't due to any failing on your part, but rather because the culprits' performance proved so consummately realistic that it precluded all doubt." "Yet if I may impertinently append my own observation, your blind faith in surface appearances—your absolute conviction in the animosity between Master Painter Doi and Madame Ayaka—created the very blind spot through which these psychological traces escaped notice."

Dr. Kose—a timid urbanite who detested self-aggrandizement—appeared somewhat bashful and awkwardly self-conscious of his own grandiose declaration. “And so, facing this bolt-from-the-blue crisis with not a moment’s respite, the two esteemed culprits seized on each other’s words to start a quarrel—suddenly erupting into a ferocious brawl: punching wildly, grappling and swinging each other around, hurling one another aside—until finally Madame Ayaka broke away and ran off toward the outdoors.” “The performance was truly convincing.” “However, ladies and gentlemen, I would like you all to once again envision the circumstances of that night in your own minds.” “In other words, this room contained Mr. Hitomi, Mr. Yashiro, Mr. Miyake, Mr. Kazuma, Mr. Kamiyama, and myself—all men who were undoubtedly Madame Ayaka’s allies, people who would protect her and fight against Master Painter Doi’s violence.” “In fact, just the previous night as well, when Master Painter Doi attempted violence against Madame Ayaka, didn’t Mr. Hitomi, Mr. Yashiro, Mr. Kamiyama, and others resolutely confront Master Painter Doi and come to Madame Ayaka’s rescue?” “That night was no exception.” “The situation was too sudden; before we could even process what was happening—before we could so much as gasp ‘Ah!’—Madame Ayaka was struck, swung around, and hurled aside.” “But when we came to our senses, we naturally leaped at Master Painter Doi, restrained him, and kept him at bay.” “And so we thought the matter was settled.” Then, after exchanging a few heated words while still restrained, before we could anticipate it, Master Painter Doi suddenly lunged at Madame Ayaka again—and the moment she twisted free, she fled toward the outdoors like a startled hare. “In other words, ladies and gentlemen, this is precisely where what I refer to as psychological footprints lies.” “Because the majority of Madame Ayaka’s greatest allies were present at that very location.” “There is nothing outside.” “There are no allies out there.” “Even if she circled around outside and fled to the main house, the men there were none other than an elderly invalid and an elderly manservant.” The village houses were over a ri away, and the police station was likewise removed by a ri. “If we—unfamiliar with the terrain—were to encounter some demon on a midnight path, we might naturally flee blindly into the darkness to escape it.” “However, as on that night—when most of her allies were actually present at the scene—would it be natural for her to flee toward the dark outdoors where no allies should be, rather than taking refuge with those allies?” “Wouldn’t that be rushing headlong into certain death?”

“Even before our very eyes—where she was being swung around and hurled, suffering assault severe enough to tear her clothes and make blood flow from her knees—for her to flee into the dark outdoors rather than taking refuge among allies constitutes an utterly inconceivable anomaly in human psychology.” “In other words, there absolutely must have been a necessity compelling her to flee toward the deserted outdoors.” “There must have been a reason that compelled them to act so.”

Dr. Kose fell silent.

However, perhaps having grown self-conscious of his own earnestness, he immediately resumed speaking.

“I too was deceived by their masterful performance and failed to notice anything unnatural that day. “It wasn’t until discovering Ms. Utsumi’s brutal murder the next morning—a full week before Professor Utagawa Tōmon and Kayoko were poisoned—that doubts first took root in my mind. “You all surely recall how Madame Ayaka immediately pointed at Master Painter Doi during Inspector Hirano’s interrogation that day, denouncing him as ‘the Finger Magician.’ “In response,” Kose continued, “the painter calmly picked up nearby go stones and performed his sleight-of-hand routine—that ‘Scroll of Black-and-White Dream Romance’ demonstration with his ‘east-west-east-west’ incantation. “Even after concluding this farce,” he pressed on, “their argument escalated further when Master Painter Doi declared—and I quote—‘I might be poisoned next! I refuse to stay in this accursed house!’ To which Madame Ayaka shrieked: ‘You’re the killer! Who else could’ve administered the poison?’ “That precise moment,” Kose leaned forward slightly, “marked my first inkling of discrepancy. “Something felt fundamentally wrong about their exchange—a dissonance that lingered until realization struck. “Consider this: Utsumi’s murder stemmed from trivial circumstances escalating into violent frenzy. “Yet on this later occasion,” his finger tapped the armrest rhythmically, “their verbal hostility reached unprecedented heights—venomous accusations dripping with malice far exceeding previous encounters. “Why then,” his voice sharpened like a prosecutor’s blade, “did Master Painter Doi refrain from physical assault despite such provocation? “This contradiction resurrected memories of that earlier brawl’s unnatural ferocity—and with them came clarity about those psychological footprints. “Only then did I pierce through your meticulously crafted mechanism. “Far too belatedly. “Yet one must acknowledge—” Kose spread his hands in theatrical concession “—the sheer brilliance of both performance and design.”

Pika-ichi remained as composed and silent as ever. That silence wasn’t entirely unnatural. Though they were psychological footprints, they still lacked decisive persuasive power in some way. Our thoughts and Pika-ichi’s composed face formed a strange harmony, creating—in short—an oddly vacant and dull-witted state.

Dr. Kose continued speaking. "Now, let us proceed to the fifth case—the poisoning of Tōmon and Kayoko. "In Professor Tōmon’s case, Madame Ayaka had mixed morphine into his personal sugar jar and laced the pudding with morphine. However, had she only laced the pudding itself, suspicion would have immediately fallen upon her. Therefore, she first adulterated the professor’s sugar jar to create the appearance of accidental contamination—this was the preparatory measure she engineered." "This task was straightforward enough that Madame Ayaka likely encountered little difficulty." "The true challenge lay in Kayoko’s murder." "Fortunately, Master Painter Doi’s nightly revelries had broken over a dozen coffee cups, rendering complete matching sets unavailable and allowing a single chipped cup to enter circulation. They exploited this circumstance to construct their scenario, arranging simultaneous murders of Kayoko and Professor Tōmon timed to coincide with Mr. Kazuma’s birthday celebration." "As Ms. Kayoko ordinarily never visited this dining room, her assigned coffee cup naturally became more chipped than even Master Painter Doi’s." "Given Ms. Kayoko’s official status equivalent to the maids, her receiving inferior tableware compared to external guests appeared perfectly natural. Master Painter Doi leveraged this perception to switch her cup—employing his renowned ‘finger magic’ technique to introduce poison as he offered it to her." "To ensure this feat’s success, it proved necessary to create opportunities for multiple individuals to potentially poison the cups—Madame Ayaka’s designated role." "Specifically, Madame Ayaka timed her moment perfectly—first inviting Madame Yashiro to accompany her to the restroom. After verifying the coffee service had been laid out in the hall as planned, she rushed back to the dining room claiming to have spotted a suspicious figure through the restroom window, then summoned Mr. Kazuma, Mr. Yashiro, and myself to investigate." "When several people abruptly rise during meals, others often follow suit—a common occurrence we witnessed as Mr. Kamiyama, Mr. Miyake, and others excused themselves." "Thus was created an apparent opportunity for five or six individuals to access the coffee cups arrayed on the hall table." "With these supporting performances complete, Master Painter Doi’s technical execution could proceed flawlessly." "After skillfully introducing the poison through ingenious means and switching Kayoko’s cup, their theatrical performance reached its crescendo—Master Painter Doi glaring furiously at Madame Ayaka while declaring ‘That woman tried to kill me!’, countered by her finger-pointing denunciation: ‘Lies! He’s the culprit! That man’s a genius of finger magic!’ Here unfolded their meticulously rehearsed comedic duo act." "Having thus accomplished most primary murder objectives, only Kazuma’s elimination remained—though requiring an intermediate atrocity to maintain the murders’ discontinuous pattern. Ms. Utsugi Akiko became this sacrificial stone cast into the narrative waters, pushed into the waterfall basin to drown." "As I mentioned earlier, I only uncovered the case’s truth after Tōmon and Kayoko’s murders—through deduction based on psychological footprints rather than physical evidence." "Faced with this evidentiary void, I resolved to await the next crime’s occurrence while shadowing Master Painter Doi—reasoning proximity might reveal investigative threads. Thus did I join his daily dice games with Mr. Kamiyama." "Once again, this constituted my failure." "I had miscalculated." "The Utsumi murder’s sudden life-or-death urgency forced Madame Ayaka’s desperate dagger-wielding performance—a thousand-to-one gamble beneath the blade’s edge. Yet this represented an extraordinary exception; I concluded beyond Kazuma’s final killing, Madame Ayaka would likely abstain from further direct participation in discontinuous atrocities."

“And by persistently shadowing Master Painter Doi and keeping close watch here, I had been certain I would grasp the thread leading to the next discontinuous performance.” This rash assumption was masterfully countered. To elaborate—Master Painter Doi had secretly arranged an aibiki rendezvous with Ms. Utsugi at Mt. Miwa’s waterfall basin. Meanwhile, Madame Ayaka visited the hot spring inn that day; on her return journey, she dashed through the mountain shortcut Master Painter Doi had used during Chigusa’s murder to reach the basin. There, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Ms. Utsugi—who had been anxiously awaiting Master Painter Doi—while maintaining an innocent demeanor as they strolled by the falls, she abruptly shoved Ms. Utsugi over the edge. “Then she raced back through that same shortcut to reemerge on the main road, returning to the mansion from the beech forest direction as though nothing had transpired—as if she’d come directly back from the hot springs—thus completing her scheme.”

28: Inescapable Physical Evidence

It was a brilliant deduction. The full scope of the Discontinuous Murder Case had been laid bare, its truth exposed without omission. I could not help but be convinced. Yet Pika-ichi’s face remained composed and indifferent, and Madame Ayaka’s face listened with childlike innocence—there could be seen no trace of brazen defiance in either. And while we were convinced by Dr. Kose’s deductions, we could not help but also be swayed by the artless demeanor of the two culprits—the man and the woman.

And yet these two persuasive forces maintained a strange equilibrium—in other words, both lacked that ultimate persuasive force. And what Dr. Kose lacked in the end was, needless to say, none other than irrefutable physical evidence.

However, Dr. Kose appeared not troubled in the slightest by this equilibrium of persuasiveness and resumed speaking in his usual composed manner.

"Now, moving on to the final act of the crime—had Dr. Ebizuka and Nurse Moroi not ended up in such a state, these two would have been the most suitable individuals for you both to exploit." "Dr. Ebizuka and Nurse Moroi were individuals that even the meticulous culprits could not have anticipated." "That was unavoidable." Even Mr. Kazuma—the master of this household—remained unaware that Dr. Ebizuka was in fact Professor Tōmon’s grandson until after Professor Tōmon’s tragic death and old man Katakura’s revelation. Therefore, the culprits too were unaware of this; precisely because of that, this unforeseen individual’s emergence held significant exploitative value, and had Dr. Ebizuka’s derangement not occurred, he would likely have been assigned the most crucial role as prime suspect in Kazuma’s murder during the final phase. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Dr. Ebizuka went mad, injured Nurse Moroi, and was detained; thus, the final phase had no choice but to revert to the original plan—that is, the murder of Mr. Kazuma in the form of a suicide was carried out as scheduled. "I have not yet seen the scene of Mr. Kazuma’s poisoning." "I have only heard the details from the police, but since I had already anticipated this incident more than ten days ago, if my deductions thus far are correct, then the next deduction should also hold true." "I think Mr. Kazuma probably lay awake restlessly agonizing until nearly dawn this morning, sunk into anxiety." The reason being that the previous night, he had seen ritual paper on the hall pillar; having believed Dr. Ebizuka to be the culprit behind the incidents and having been reassured of his safety following the doctor’s arrest, Mr. Kazuma’s state of shocked disarray was truly pitiable. To Mr. Kazuma, who had lain awake in anxiety until dawn without sleeping, Madame Ayaka presumably offered a sleeping drug. "And so, Mr. Kazuma would die from drinking potassium cyanide—that alone would have passed as a suicide. However, since there remained no evidence of his suicide as the true culprit, Madame Ayaka had to stage signs of a struggle from a forced double suicide and, to convey Mr. Kazuma’s final 'It’s over' to the world, perform such an elaborate farce that she even bit through her tongue to feign temporary unconsciousness." "And thus, the crime that had been planned over ten months had flawlessly completed its final touches."

Pika-ichi remained composed, not attempting to pose a single question. He wore an expression of refusing to engage with foolishness. By all rights, this moment demanded Dr. Kose's final gambit - his challenge and assault. And indeed, Dr. Kose began his ultimate challenge in that same unwavering voice, speaking with detached clarity.

“I went to Tokyo.” “After her marriage, Madame Ayaka had made it her custom to travel to Tokyo once or twice every month without fail.” While Mr. Kazuma always accompanied her on these trips to Tokyo, their activities during these visits were not necessarily conducted together. Since exchanging written correspondence would have been too risky for Master Painter Doi and Madame Ayaka, they must have met in person somewhere. “To carry out such a meticulously planned crime, it was necessary to be thoroughly informed of all circumstances beforehand and conduct detailed consultations based on that framework—holding multiple meetings and discussions was essential.” Therefore, every time Madame Ayaka traveled to Tokyo, the two must have met somewhere without fail. Since Mr. and Mrs. Kazuma stayed at the Tsubodairas’ house during their Tokyo visits, I discreetly inquired with Mr. and Mrs. Tsubodaira and learned that even when Madame Ayaka went out alone, she always returned by that same night—it was said she had never once gone out alone and stayed overnight. Considering this, the meeting place could not have been far from Tokyo or the cities around Tokyo. “I returned to Tokyo clutching photographs of Master Painter Doi and Madame Ayaka, had copies made, enlisted the cooperation of about thirty acquaintances, and conducted exhaustive inquiries—not just in Tokyo but extending to Yokohama, Urawa, Omiya, Chiba, and Hachioji—at every meeting place, inn, and restaurant.” As a result, even in their own backyard—a surviving meeting place not far from the city center—we discovered the nest of the two of them. The two of them would meet there once or twice a month without fail, enjoying a quiet half-day together. The landlady and maid from that meeting place, accompanied by my colleagues, departed from Tokyo on the first departure this morning. “By five PM, they should arrive here at the latest.”

Dr. Kose took out a single piece of paper from his pocket. “This is a telegram that has just now been delivered to me from a friend.” “In other words, it’s to inform us of this morning’s departure.”

Dr. Kose opened the telegram, placed it on the desk, and quietly began reading it. "SEMIMARUNOOKAMITOJOCHUU, YOTEINOTOORI, ICHIBANNITETATSU"

Dr. Kose muttered. “Semimaru, Semimaru. This is the name of the meeting place.” Pika-ichi remained perfectly composed, not changing his expression in the slightest.

At that moment, a noise arose from one side of the wall. Several detectives rushed forward in a panic. Madame Ayaka’s chair fell over, and Madame Ayaka, who had stood up, clawed at her chest as if clutching it before collapsing unsteadily. The detectives’ hands that tried to catch her came too late—Madame Ayaka collapsed to the floor, crawled as if clawing at the floorboards two or three times, then finally crumbled and lay still.

The doctor who had been among the detectives stepped forward and examined her, and several people performed something like artificial respiration, but they eventually gave up and stood up.

When I suddenly noticed and looked at Pika-ichi, five detectives were flanking him closely on both sides and from behind, their hands firmly gripping his arms. Pika-ichi was standing. He was staring at Madame Ayaka’s collapsed form across the table, though it seemed he could probably see only a very small portion of it.

Pika-ichi directed a fierce gaze at Inspector Kanguri,

“Let me go to her.” “That person—Ayaka.” Inspector Kanguri remained silent with his eyes bulging, at a loss for judgment. “Inspector Kanguri, you understand, don’t you? "I’m telling you, I want to go to her—to Ayaka." "I am Pika-ichi—no ordinary adversary." "Doesn’t that make everything clear?" "In other words, I am now publicly admitting that I and Ayaka were the culprits.”

Inspector Kanguri nodded and indicated his consent. “Then let go of my arms,” he said. “Grant me this last moment of freedom.” Pika-ichi shook off the detectives’ grip and walked alone around the table with heavy, lumbering steps. As he passed behind Dr. Kose at the head of the table, he lightly patted the doctor’s head. “Well done,” he declared. “Detective brat. Thou art worthy of praise.” With this grandiose pronouncement, he knelt before Madame Ayaka’s remains.

He took Madame Ayaka's hand and stared at her lifeless face for several minutes, then raised his head and, without addressing anyone—

“That was foolish of you.” “You didn’t need to die.” “What difference would it make if some landlady and maid from our meeting place showed up?” “You could have trusted me to blow away such flimsy evidence—was that too much to ask?” “You always did act rashly.” “Now there’s no helping it. Suicide—I suppose this counts as the culprit’s final confession.” “Very well. Out of devotion to my beloved, her husband Mr. Pika-ichi shall join her in confessing.” “Amen.”

Pika-ichi reverently took Madame Ayaka's hand and kissed it long and lingeringly. It was an exceedingly long time. And even as the heinous Pika-ichi, it was also a sight that conveyed a sadness that seeped into people's hearts. Pika-ichi released Madame Ayaka's hand, staggered forward, and collapsed.

That was Pika-ichi’s end.

“Announcement of Winners for ‘The Criminal Search Contest’”

First Prize: Perfect Correct Answer (95 points) – Prize Money ¥10,000 Tokyo-to, Meguro-ku, Kamimeguro 5-2559, Mr. Kataoka Teruo Second Prize: Correct Answer (90 points) - Prize Money ¥5,000 Each Nagano Prefecture, Kamiminochi District, Wakatsuki Village, Higashijo, Mr. Akimoto Shusaku Kochi Prefecture, Hata District, Nakamura Town, Mr. Shoji Kimihiko

Osaka City, Higashi Ward, Kawara-cho 1-chome 1-banchi, Mr. Sakai Atsushi Third Prize: Close to Correct Answer (70 points) – Prize Money ¥2,000 Tokyo-to, Nakano-ku, Nogata-machi 1-795, Mr. Tanaka Atsushi

Fourth Prize: Partial Correct Answer (50 points) - Prize Money ¥1,000

Tokyo-to, Shinjuku-ku, Shimoochiai 1-369, Ms. Murata Motoko Tokyo-to, Shinjuku-ku, Totsuka-cho 4-758, Mr. Arai Kan Tokyo-to, Meguro-ku, Senzoku 1463, Mr. Ohi Hirosuke

Post-Contest Reflections There were eight entries in total that inferred Pika-ichi and Ayaka as accomplices. Of these, the four individuals—Kataoka, Akimoto, Shoji, and Sakai—perfectly matched Dr. Kose’s deductions regarding why Chigusa and Utsumi had to be killed, as well as the methods of each murder, without a single discrepancy. As for why they had to engage in a struggle prior to Utsumi’s murder, that too had been completely deduced. The only shortcomings would be their oversight of two points: the shoe bell being part of the preparations for Kazuma’s murder and Ayaka’s unnatural act of fleeing into the darkness outside.

Particularly, Mr. Kataoka demonstrated meticulous precision across all remaining details without a single discrepancy, proving slightly superior to the other three individuals, and was therefore accorded the top position. The three were nearly indistinguishable in merit.

The prize money was supposed to be awarded solely to the top winner, but with four correct answers emerging, the author found it unbearable to discard the other three individuals. Thus, it was decided to pay ¥5,000 each to these three as the author's concession fee. However, this payment of concession fees proved agreeable to the author. Having every detail matched so precisely truly brought joy. Third Prize winner Mr. Tanaka showed accuracy regarding the necessity and methods of Chigusa and Utsumi's murders. Yet since not all murder techniques could be considered fully correct—containing certain flaws—he fell far short when compared to the aforementioned four individuals. His examination of details also remained inadequate. Still, even this warranted the author paying some form of concession fee.

The Fourth Prize winners Murata, Arai, and Detective Ohi Hirosuke of Shichobana—one of my challengers—had indeed correctly identified the culprits, but their interpretations were greatly flawed in the details, not making this author feel defeated. However, I decided to acknowledge that they had correctly identified the culprits. As for Detective Ohi Hirosuke and his ilk, starting from the abstract premise that inheritance issues alone must be the motive for committing murders on such a scale was merely applying a formulaic interpretation typical of detective novels and not something logically deduced from each concrete fact. Therefore, their interpretation of details was utterly disordered and had no merit beyond correctly naming the culprit.

I believe that having four individuals deduce every minute detail in perfect alignment with Dr. Kose's reasoning is something I should take pride in rather than feel ashamed of. In other words, it was constructed to align perfectly. The conventional formulas of detective novels are irrelevant. Detective novels must necessarily be rational. When human nature is unduly distorted through irrational means and impossible actions are materialized, demanding their rational solution becomes unreasonable. I maintain that not only in Japan but throughout the world, ninety-nine percent—no, ninety-nine point nine nine percent—of detective novels are irrational.

Many of the culprits' incorrect answers employed the elimination method, but indeed, detective novels differ from real crimes in that if there are thirty characters, the culprit must necessarily be among those thirty; therefore, the elimination method initially seemed the most convenient and effective approach. However, as long as one relied on the elimination method, they would inevitably fail to identify the culprit. In other words, the tricks of detective novels were crafted precisely to counter the elimination method—they ensured inevitable failure for anyone depending solely on that approach. According to the elimination method, the person who would first be dismissed as a suspect due to possessing a perfect alibi was actually the culprit—therein lay the trick and the allure of detective novels. Yet most traditional detective novels forced this trick, thereby distorting human nature and fabricating illogical behaviors and psychologies; moreover, both authors and readers unquestioningly accepted that detective novel tricks were supposed to function this way.

When I was in middle school, I read a short detective story by Mr. Haruo Sato that left a deep impression on me—though I’ve since forgotten its title—about a man who lost a book. The story follows a friend well-versed in psychology who helps search for it: essentially, when the man stood up holding the book, he felt the urge to use the restroom and casually placed it on what resembled a dimly lit wall ledge while descending the second-floor stairs. After relieving himself, people often forget what they were doing upon finishing such an act; by the time he suddenly remembered the book, it had already vanished beyond recovery.

When I speak of criminal psychology's rationality, I mean that which stems from such precise sketches of human nature. Each time my love for detective novels betrayed me in matters of humanity and rationality, I found myself wanting to develop a murder case of dazzling scale—urging readers to deduce the culprit while striving to write a detective novel perfectly rational in human terms. It was Mr. Sato Haruo's short story, mentioned earlier, that taught me this human rationality in detective novels.

In that sense, the fact that there were as many as four individuals who submitted completely correct answers seemed to me a piece of evidence that my long-held objective had been achieved, and I was pleased.

To begin with, when I first pulled from the mountain of submissions—of all things—the correct answer from Mr. Akimoto of Nagano, which turned out to be a perfect solution right off the bat, I was so startled that I thought, "This can't be happening!" Then after reviewing about three more entries, the third one turned out to be another correct answer from Mr. Shoji of Kochi, and I panicked—"This is disastrous! Could fifty or sixty people have solved it?" As ill luck would have it, all the correct answers were concentrated in the first third of what I'd reviewed. One after another, they kept startling me anew.

The most masterful entry came from Mr. Kida Michio, an actor of the Morikawa Shin troupe—a work that, through an unprecedented conceptual approach and from an angle modern mystery novels had never before conceived, swept aside the author’s defenses at the shin and emerged triumphant.

It began with an article stating that Shitae entered service at the Utagawa household—that is to say, Shitae, a rare beauty among fledglings, became employed by the Utagawa family. While serving as Old Man Tōmon’s maid, she idly took out and read detective novels from his bookshelves spanning East and West. The murderous poison in her blood, innate since birth, now surged back to life. Night and day, she became engrossed in visions of bloody tragedies, constructed fantasies of discontinuous murder incidents, and finally proceeded to execute them—all crafted into an antiquely elegant tale.

This was a masterpiece that struck at the author's blind spot.

I extend my deepest gratitude to all of you who submitted such enthusiastic entries and to all of you who have graciously read this work.

Sakaguchi Ango