Pathway to Japanese Literature

One day, Isezaki Kyūdayū received a strange request from two beautiful women.
They wanted him to attend a spiritualism experiment and expose the fraud.
Kyūdayū was now an inn owner, but he had originally been a magician renowned as a master of his craft.
From a magician’s perspective, spiritualism was nothing more than an utterly childish magic trick—and, since it was performed in darkness, merely a fraud riddled with tricks and devices crude enough to fool amateurs.
At Atami’s inns, spiritualism experiments—where these spiritualists were invited to conduct sessions—had briefly become popular, so Kyūdayū countered by declaring his own “Spiritualism Experiments with Tricks and Devices,” skillfully demonstrating numerous psychic phenomena using his techniques as a magician.
For a magician who performed tricks in broad daylight before a large audience, conjuring eerie phenomena in darkness was mere child’s play.
Given this background, it was no surprise that a request to expose spiritualism’s fraud would come his way—yet the very necessity of making such a personal request struck him as peculiar.

“Is there someone in your family who’s become obsessed with spiritualism and caused this trouble?”

“Well, yes,”
“Father insists on meeting the spirit of his son—our older brother who died in the war—and says he might go to Burma depending on what the spiritualism reveals.”

“So he died in Burma, then?”

“No—Father believes he survived the war.”
“Because about a month ago, my brother’s ghost supposedly appeared and told him he’d married a native woman there and had two children, so Father should look after them.”
“He mentioned having grown terribly thin from malaria, so Father decided he must have died when the ghost appeared. Now he wants to go to Burma to retrieve these grandchildren and demands we summon my brother’s spirit to learn the woman’s name and their location.”

“I see. However, spiritualism aside, there do seem to be actual cases where the soul’s influence manifests at the moment of death. Therefore, it’s possible your older brother had truly been living in Burma until a month ago.”

“Perhaps so.”
“But if he’d go to the trouble of appearing at his moment of death to deliver a message, you’d think he could’ve at least sent a single letter in these past nine years.”
“I think it’s probably just my father’s delusion, but...”

“I see.”
“It might just be his imagination, perhaps.”
“However, if that’s truly his reason—wanting to meet his son’s spirit, learn the names of the place and woman, and take in his grandchildren—isn’t this noble intention of his rather pitiable?”
“If you were to leave your father to his heart’s content...”

Then, the woman who appeared to be the older sister chuckled softly and,

“The world’s compassion may be like that, but in our clan, it’s just absurd.”
“A father who abandoned his own children without ever showing them real affection now wants to take in half-breed grandchildren from Burma of all places—how ridiculous.”
“He’s just being spiteful.”
“If he’s sincere, it’s sheer madness.”
“Or does he think Burmese half-breeds can be raised like lions or wildcats—costing nothing to keep, easy to toss aside on a whim?”
“Either way, it’s an unpleasant business for us.”

“Excuse me, but who is this ‘father’ you refer to as ‘Mr.’?”

“The usurer Gokan Senpachi.”
“Our father is famously heartless and merciless—and he’s the same even with his own children.”

“So, the manager of Sengoku Inn—the dwarf Mr. Tatsuo—is your younger brother?”

“No, he’s our older brother.”
“That one is our second older brother, and the one who died in the war was our eldest brother.”
“The two of us are married, so we don’t need to work, but our dwarf brother works as a bellboy at an inn like that, and our youngest sister is a fashion model.”

While the older sister spoke with a bitter smile, the younger sister smiled in amusement.

Hearing the name Gokan Senpachi, Kyūdayū thought, *Ah, that explains it.* Yet he found himself inwardly startled by how peculiar these siblings were. What struck him as most unusual was how utterly dissimilar the four siblings’ facial features were. The elder sister Katsumi was an oval-faced beauty, while Midori, the second daughter, had a round face—their eyes and noses shared not a single common trait. Katsumi’s lips were small and upturned, whereas Midori’s mouth was wide, and she occasionally erupted into cackling laughter. As for Itoko, the youngest—a fashion model Kyūdayū had seen years prior at some Miss So-and-So contest in Atami—her face was scrunched up like a chin yet oddly alluring and charming. She had apparently placed around third in that pageant. Then there was Tatsuo, their dwarf brother, whose face loomed as imposingly as Saigō Takamori’s while his neck-down frame barely measured twice the size of his head. He hauled guests’ suitcases just inches above the ground, hefting multiple large trunks in both hands with what seemed like brute strength—all without a trace of exhaustion on his face as he walked.

Generally speaking, people who show neither blood nor tears toward others typically prove exceptionally meticulous in parental affection alone—this being the common pattern.
Perhaps their own blood ties alone become their castle—their land of sanctuary.
However, Gokan Senpachi was an exception; despite grasping billions in wealth, he made his dwarf son work as a guest-attracting manager at an inn.

Midori, the second daughter, had married into the Kishii family—inn owners—but their property had been destroyed in the great Atami fire of the previous year. When Midori’s father-in-law tearfully pleaded for reconstruction funds at that time, the moneylender—true to his trade—agreed to lend the money but demanded exorbitant interest rates typical of his business, using the newly built structure as collateral. He refused to yield even a fraction of a percent, resulting in a bitter falling-out. Katsumi and Midori, being rare beauties, could live normally in their marital homes; otherwise, they would surely have felt out of place and found it difficult to stay there. Senpachi seemed born without any understanding of familial bonds or dealings with relatives. There were even those who greatly admired Senpachi’s character—if such cold-bloodedness could be called admirable.

This Senpachi, after verifying people’s reputations, decided to summon Yoshida Yasumatsu—a spiritualist renowned as Japan’s foremost—from Yamato Province.
Because spiritualism required large stage props, he had them transported all the way from Yamato Province, incurring expenses such as lodging fees and a reward totaling twenty-some thousand yen.
Senpachi—who had never spent a single penny unless it was money that would return with interest—now pointlessly wasted twenty-some thousand yen under the pretext of summoning his son’s spirit to call for half-breed grandchildren from Burma.
Depending on the situation, he might even go to Burma to retrieve his grandchildren.
It was hundreds or thousands of times more wasteful than paying for a grandchild’s birth at a maternity hospital—but what sort of pretext could make him not refuse even that waste?
It was only natural that his dwarf son and three daughters doubted this more than anyone else.
It was only natural that they began to suspect this might be a pretext to avoid giving them a single penny.

“We aren’t expecting even a single penny from Father, but that very pretext is what’s so irritating.”
“We want to expose the tricks of his spiritualism out of spite and make a fool of him.”
“Of course, on the day Father meets Brother’s spirit, he alone can attend while we cannot, but we four siblings explained that simply accepting this wouldn’t satisfy us.”
“In addition, we siblings obtained permission to hold an experiment hosted by us on another day and have Father attend as well.”
“Of course, we’ll naturally cover the expenses for that and any additional lodging fees, but the usurious condition is that we even have to pay half the spiritualist’s travel costs and the freight charges for the stage props.”
“Since this was a negotiation with Father, we were prepared for that much expense. To expose his tricks, my sisters’ husbands and I were quite enthusiastic about spending that amount of money.”
“We fully intend to provide you with ample remuneration, so we earnestly request that you attend and expose the tricks behind this spiritualism.”

“I see.”
“With that, I’ve grasped the matter.”
“I myself have attended quite a few spiritualism experiments out of curiosity—they’ve come to dislike me so much that when a magician shows up, they cancel the day’s experiment on the spot. Fortunately, Yoshida Yasumatsu of Yamato hasn’t yet recognized my face.”
“I cannot say whether he’s Japan’s foremost, but he is a highly renowned spiritualist.”
“Very well.”
“As you say, I shall step forward to expose the trick and immediately demonstrate the same myself afterward. However, should Yoshida Yasumatsu catch wind of this, he’ll refuse to perform. You mustn’t let even a hint emerge that Isezaki Kyūdayū the magician is present.”
“Please simply refer to me as something like ‘so-and-so who’s obsessed with spiritualism.’”

Thus it was settled that Kyūdayū would attend on the appointed day.
For Kyūdayū himself, he had nearly lost interest in exposing spiritualism tricks; yet this being a drama entwined with the blood and money of none other than the Gokan Senpachi clan, his interest now burned anew.
As for the sisters before him—possessing natural beauty and a certain elegance so refined they wouldn't harm an insect—what manner of true nature might lie beneath?
Katsumi's words had been calm and composed, yet their content was utterly abnormal and inhuman.
Were their true hearts given human form, they might well manifest as figures like that dwarf bellboy Tatsuo.

“Pardon my asking, but are all of you siblings from the same mother?”
“Do we not look like siblings from the same mother?”
“Since none of the four of you bear any facial resemblance to each other.”
“We really don’t seem to resemble each other at all, do we? That’s what everyone says. But we are siblings from the same womb. What we don’t share isn’t just our faces. Our hearts and personalities are completely different too. On top of that, we aren’t even on good terms. The only thing the four of us have in common is that we hate our father.”

Before the older sister had even finished speaking, the younger sister continued cackling with vindictive satisfaction.
Kyūdayū, having been in the magician trade since childhood and having traveled not just throughout Japan but even beyond the seas, was not one to be easily daunted—yet even he found himself somewhat taken aback by these sisters.
Just as with spiritualism's mechanical tricks, human psychology's workings were generally well within comprehension; yet when it came to the Gokan Senpachi clan's hearts alone, they seemed beyond any measure of ordinary humanity.
Rather than spiritualism's staged performance, witnessing the Gokan clan's psychological entanglements was an unparalleled spectacle.
With his years-honed magician's perceptive eye, he resolved to observe them thoroughly.

★

The notion that Gokan Senpachi would summon his son’s spirit and bring grandchildren from Burma—no matter how one considered it—simply couldn’t be taken at face value.
To begin with, Senpachi had never treated his eldest son with any special consideration.
He treated Chintarō and his daughters as nuisances just the same, yet he still allowed them to enter university.
When [the son] was conscripted, people speculated that Senpachi’s profuse displays of emotion—declaring it an honor, a family pride, and urging him to serve the nation zealously—were in truth manifestations of gratitude to the state for granting him the immense relief of having one less nuisance to deal with.
There had been no other instances where he had shown special affection.

Given these circumstances, the very notion that his son’s ghost would appear before Senpachi for a single meeting was highly dubious. If it were true that he had survived and settled in Burma, it would likely be because returning to Japan and facing Senpachi would have been unbearable.
Senpachi’s wife had died two years prior, but he didn’t hold a funeral for her under the pretense that these weren’t times for such things.
Admittedly, Katsumi, Midori, and Itoko—the three sisters—wholeheartedly agreed with this decision, arguing that a loveless funeral was better left unheld and that hypocritically chanting nembutsu for appearances’ sake was downright distasteful. Only Tatsuo the dwarf voiced dissatisfaction, likely due to his strong affection for his mother.
Their mother had been the only family member who pitied the dwarf as he tottered under heavy luggage while working as a bellboy at the inn.

However, in any case, given that it was indeed a fact that Senpachi had summoned Yoshida Yasumatsu—a spiritualist from distant Yamato—under the pretext of calling forth his eldest son’s spirit to locate and retrieve grandchildren from Burma, it was only natural that the siblings collectively first considered what his true pretext might be.

However, for about half a year now, there had been something slightly unusual about Senpachi’s behavior.
There were times when he would lapse into a daze with a gloomy expression.
Gloominess was nothing new for him, but Senpachi was not one to let others see him dazed.
There were also times when he seemed irritated and restless.
This too was a side of Senpachi he had never shown to others before.

Therefore, something must have changed within Senpachi’s heart—yet it was unthinkable that this could be affection for his eldest son, who had died in the war.
The fact that he claimed to have seen his eldest son’s ghost and expressed a desire to retrieve grandchildren from Burma came much later; thus, it could only be considered a pretext he devised after some change had occurred within him.

However, the four siblings were not uniformly opposed to this spiritualism experiment.
Far from opposing it, Itoko rather strongly hoped for a divine message to manifest,

“Isn’t this hilarious?
“We can’t figure out Father’s real motive, but if that cold-blooded brute of a miser actually spends millions to go search for grandchildren in Burma—isn’t that just priceless?”
“I’d kill to see the look on that miser’s face then.”
“Let’s stir up such a storm that we force him to Burma whether he wants to or not!”

This was her line of thinking.
Even without relying on Father’s money—being a well-paid fashion model and still young—she carried not a care in the world.

In stark contrast, the one weighed down by gravity was Tatsuo the dwarf.
Since he was both the eldest sibling and only male, he had convinced himself that he would naturally inherit the family.
Thus even while working as an inn’s bellboy, he neglected neither study nor attention to economic affairs—grilling guests like stockbrokers and bankers exhaustively to master financial realities—striving tirelessly day and night to ensure he could immediately assume his father’s role as company president after the old man’s death.
At present he labored as a bellboy, yet in his heart burned an unshakable belief that his future lay as president of a moneylending firm.
For this Tatsuo, any prospect of welcoming grandchildren would deliver a profound shock,

“There’s no way my brother has children in Burma, but since the old man’s saying such things, he must need my brother’s wife and kids.”
“So I bet he’ll definitely bring some country woman from Burma and her kid, claiming they’re my brother’s wife and child.”
“I can’t figure out what his pretext is—the old man’s business practices don’t follow any normal logic—but he must need to transfer assets under the names of ignorant foreign women and children or something like that.”
“So if we let that whole ‘spirit’s message’ thing be accepted, it’s our ruin, right?”
“It’s especially serious for someone like me—a dwarf.”
“We absolutely gotta expose this spiritualism fraud!”

It was a desperate speech delivered with spittle constantly flying from his mouth—a firm determination.

Though Katsumi and Midori couldn’t grasp their father’s true motives, they too found it aggravating to be imposed upon by Burmese people claiming to be their brother’s widow and child.
Even if these were merely foreigners serving as Father’s tools, having them pose as Brother’s widow and child would never work to the siblings’ advantage.
Unmasking the fraud behind spiritualism’s so-called divine messages and nullifying them took absolute priority.

Therefore, Tatsuo and the others placed immense trust in Kyūdayū, and particularly Tatsuo—while conveying the finalized schedule—visited Kyūdayū’s inn,

“I must apologize for this unexpected imposition.”
“The spiritualist actually arrived early this morning at Ginga.”
“After discussions, we’ve postponed summoning my brother’s spirit and will instead conduct an experimental session tonight at eight-thirty.”
“I earnestly request your cooperation.”

“I see.”
“Understood. And the venue?”

“At Father’s residence.”

“That is unusual. While enthusiasts might host in their own homes, spiritualists typically conduct experiments for unfamiliar clients at inns. Transporting those large stage props must have been arduous.”

“An enormous delivery indeed—one massive parcel via Maru Express home delivery. The station-held luggage was even bulkier, and he arrived hauling two large trunks himself. He’s currently unpacking everything alone after shooing us away to prepare the venue. The home delivery arrived late—well past sunset—so the old man and I had quite the row about it. This luggage likely won’t be used today. These might be the famed seven implements of necromancy.”

“Was the meeting with the spirit postponed because of that?”

“I don’t know the details, but it seems he had been discussing things extensively with Father.”
“Father was unusually enthusiastic too. Normally he’d come to Atami Saturday evening, return to Tokyo Monday morning, then stay in Tokyo through the week as usual. But this time he came Thursday night and stayed through Friday and Saturday without going to work.”
“He’s a busy man—he wouldn’t do this unless it was absolutely necessary.”
“He’d even gone to Tokyo the day after Mother died.”
“He must have sky-high expectations.”
“No—there’s some extraordinary motive behind this.”
“Otherwise there’d be no reason for such an exception.”
“If some Burma weirdo takes over me, my future’ll go pitch black—that’s why you’re my only lifeline.”
“Please—I’m begging you—don’t let me down.”

He returned after earnestly pleading with repeated bows.

At eight that evening, when Kyūdayū—picked up by Katsumi and Midori’s car—arrived at Gokan Senpachi’s residence and looked inside, there were two male guests already waiting in the parlor.
One was Katsumi’s husband Motegi Bunji; the other was Midori’s husband Kishii Tomonobu.
As Kishii was in the same inn business, Kyūdayū had become acquainted with him through union meetings and such gatherings, but Motegi—being a Tokyo-dwelling office worker—was someone he was meeting for the first time.
However at first glance he thought—Hmm—I’ve seen that face before.

Due to his trade, Kyūdayū possessed remarkably keen attention, observation skills, and memory. A face that left even a slight impression on him—even one he had merely shared a train ride with—he would never forget, along with the season and location. At first glance of Motegi, he thought this was a face he had seen in the military—a man over six feet tall with a sturdy build, square jaw, and sharp eyes.

At last, Kyūdayū remembered clearly. It was the lieutenant he had seen in China. He was the Demon Lieutenant, fresh out of university. He was the Slaughter Lieutenant—the Demon Lieutenant who would drag residents from civilian homes without a word when he suspected them of being plainclothes soldiers and behead them with his trusted waist weapon. When it came to robbery and rape, he was a formidable figure, immensely popular with his subordinates. Subordinates could partake in the surplus benefits.

During the war, Kyūdayū had traveled to various places as a magician to entertain troops. At that time, in the depths of central China—a place where gunfire never ceased day and night—he had entertained this lieutenant’s unit. He had seen him leading his subordinates on a subjugation mission. And he had heard people speak of his many terrible deeds—in fact, praising them.

He was someone who should have been arrested as a war criminal—Kyūdayū thought. It’s precisely this sort of person who acts swiftly in emergencies—vanishing like mist across three thousand leagues, turning yesterday’s enemies into today’s allies—rarely ever suffering fools.

“I believe we met in the hinterlands of Central China,” Kyūdayū said. “I had gone there to perform magic for troop entertainment, but before my show began, you departed on a subjugation mission. They called you the renowned Demon Lieutenant—”

“Nonsense,” Motegi cut him off. “I was rotting away in domestic units.”

Motegi turned away sullenly, as if to say "Don’t spout nonsense," and blew puffs of cigarette smoke.

★

The magic performance was in a fifteen-tatami-mat room on the second floor.
Having taken his seat, Kyūdayū was astonished.

It was only natural that all but the tokonoma alcove had blackout curtains lowered, but they had even covered the ceiling with them.
The floor was covered with two layers of straw mats.

With this setup, wasn't any trick possible?
Cords and strings could be rigged both above the blackout curtains on the ceiling and beneath the straw mats.
Building such a complete fortress-like setup with blackout curtains and straw mats was typically done only at their headquarters or similar residences; they wouldn’t go to such lengths at unfamiliar locations.
Rather, they couldn’t do it.
This was because, unlike at their headquarters or similar residences, there was a risk that their tricks could be discovered if the setup was altered in an unfamiliar client’s home.

Instead, by constructing this bunker-like enclosure with blackout curtains, one could perform rather bold tricks. For example, they could manifest apparitions or make tables and pianos float midair. However, such feats required elaborate mechanisms that would be exposed if tampered with.

In the center of the room stood a round table. Yet the spiritualist did not sit there—instead, a box stood adjacent to the tokonoma alcove. This box had its back, left, and right sides boarded up along with its top and bottom panels, leaving only the front-facing side covered by a blackout curtain. Inside sat a chair. The spiritualist would presumably occupy this seat. Standard practice involved binding someone’s hands and feet to such a chair. Slipping these ropes was simple—Kyūdayū could manage it in roughly ten seconds. Arrayed atop the circular table lay a megaphone, harmonica, doll, trumpet, clay bottle, teacup, and similar items.

“Did Mr. Yoshida Yasumatsu go out of his way to bring this straw mat as well?”

Kyūdayū, thinking it strange, asked Tatsuo,

“No, this straw mat belongs to our household. The blackout curtains, the box, the chair, and the items on the table belong to the spiritualist.”

“What about the table?”

“That also belongs to our household.”

A portable phonograph had been placed beside the table.
That too was the spiritualist’s phonograph.
They would play music before and after the séance began.

Only the central table lacked any trick mechanisms.
Kyūdayū tested its weight before seeing the spiritualist.
Even with his extraordinary strength, he could barely lift it with both hands—at best managing to make it clatter slightly.

Gokan Senpachi and Yoshida Yasumatsu appeared and took their seats.
Then, right after that, Itoko appeared in a flurry,

“Whew! Made it just in time.
“I’ve been swamped on Saturdays lately, you know?
“Boys are inviting me here and there and...
“Oh, geez.”

She plopped down with a grunt.
Looking over, Yoshida Yasumatsu was already seated in the chair within the box, and Senpachi had bound his wrists with rope and tied him to the chair.
He did not bind his legs with rope.

“Just to be sure, come and check.”

At Senpachi’s words, Tatsuo and Itoko stood up to verify, but Tatsuo wound an extra coil around the chair himself.
Then they lowered the curtain.

“It isn’t too tight, but… well, it’ll do.”

They returned with unimpressed looks. Then Senpachi was already properly seated in front of the portable phonograph,

“Music is played before and after the ritual. The spiritualist gradually enters the ritual state during this music and, likewise, gradually emerges from it during the music as per custom. Since I’m the only one who knows how to handle playing the music, I will take care of this. The piece is Humoresque. Someone turn off the lights. Please refrain from smoking.”

For that reason, no ashtrays had been prepared. While those smoking were hurriedly extinguishing their cigarettes against cigarette boxes, Itoko stood up and twisted the light switch. Because Senpachi had already turned off the lights in the other rooms and corridors, they were instantly plunged into true darkness. Only the items coated with luminous paint on the table appeared to float.

“Ooouu...”

A voice—like an owl from a distant mountain—was heard.
It was Yoshida Yasumatsu’s voice, uttered for the first time.
Then, following that, the portable phonograph began to spin.
It was somewhat shrill music, not particularly suited to the occasion.

At the very moment the music was nearing its end, something unexpected happened to Kyūdayū. For something heavy had fallen with a thud on the other side of the table. It was not one of the things on the table. That was because none of them had moved yet. It seemed to be something like a heavy iron ball that had fallen with a thud and rolled away. Then,

“Screeching, grinding, clanging—”

Something emitting an incessantly, unbearably unpleasant loud noise began moving around on the other side of the table.
This was also not one of the things on the table.
It was something invisible.
Could it be some sort of children’s toy?
But it was a grotesque noise—like the metallic screech of a toy amplified many times over—that could be taken as monsters’ wailing, laughing, or roaring.
The noise filled every corner of the room, bouncing frantically and reverberating so intensely it was unbearable.

“Ugh.”

“Uuungh...”

Groans arose from various directions.
It wasn’t limited to two or three people.
When one heard a groan, they were compelled to let out their own involuntary moan.

When the eerie noise ceased after thirty or forty seconds, the music had already ended.
Suddenly, a harmonica floated into the air and began to blare.
It was not a person blowing it.
For the harmonica was whirling about high above people’s heads.
Suddenly, the megaphone also began floating through the air.
Next, the trumpet rose into the air.
All three together whirled about in a dizzying frenzy before suddenly rolling down onto the table simultaneously.

This time, the flute rose into the air.
And a faint, plaintive flute sound arose from mid-air.
But that too wasn’t being blown by anyone.
Because the flute was continuing its ceaseless, violent motion—right to left, left to right—like a flying squirrel leaping from tree to tree.
The doll danced upward.
The plaintive flute sound continued faintly and intermittently.
Suddenly, two objects soared high into the air and fell.
The clay bottle and teacup were already dancing upward.
The two clattered together. They separated, then clashed again.
The clay bottle tilted and poured water into the teacup.
The vertical distance between the clay bottle and teacup alternately increased and decreased.
The clay bottle and teacup rotated once and fell forward.

The people held their breath and waited on edge, but the spiritual phenomena had already ended there and then. The people were especially waiting, wondering if the table would start moving at any moment. Of course, since that table wasn’t coated with luminous paint, even if it started moving, it would likely only make thudding and clattering noises. However, since people had seen Kyūdayū inspect that table, their expectations for it were all the greater.

However, no matter how much time passed, nothing happened. The concluding music still refused to play. Finally, their patience worn thin, some among the crowd began fidgeting or clearing their throats. Then from the direction of the box came—

“Oo-oo.”

That owl-like cry from some distant mountain echoed through the darkness. When still nothing occurred—

“Oo-oo.”

The same call sounded again. The music seemed to be restarting.

“Something’s wrong. Someone, please turn on the lights!”

Kyūdayū shouted in a frantic voice.
Someone stood up.
The lights came on.
It was Itoko who turned on the lights.
There was no change among the entire audience.

Only Senpachi, separated from the others and positioned portably at the table’s side, lay prone.
There was something protruding straight upward from his back.
It was the hilt of a dagger.
The dagger had been plunged nearly to the hilt into his chest.
Senpachi was no longer moving.
When they tried to lift him up, he was already lifeless.

★

Before proceeding to record the principal testimonies of each individual, we would first present a diagram illustrating their positions that night.

A Box (i.e., Yoshida Yasumatsu) B Senpachi C Motegi D Kishii E Kyūdayū F Katsumi G Midori H Itoko I Tatsuo

Itoko's Testimony

“Do you recognize this dagger?”

“Yes.”
“It was definitely placed together with things like dolls, ship models, and other knickknacks in the display shelf of the reception room.”
“It’s a Western-style dagger and doesn’t seem to be particularly valuable.”

“Do you normally keep knickknacks arranged in the reception room?”

“Since we’re in the usury business, we end up with more knickknacks from seizures out of necessity.”
“Every room in the house—the tokonoma alcoves, display shelves—they’re all crammed with knickknacks.”

“Do you remember when it disappeared?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“So the positions where everyone was seated looked like this, correct?”

“I think it was like this.”

“Did you notice anyone moving toward Father?”

“Not at all.”

“As for any sign that Father was being stabbed—”

“Not at all.”

“It was just you and your brother sitting in the back, wasn’t it?”

“My brother was standing. Because if he sat down, he wouldn’t be able to see. Because he was standing, it must’ve worked out better afterward, I guess.”

Kyūdayū’s Testimony

Yoshida Yasumatsu was known as a master of his craft, but given our traveling circumstances, it was understood he couldn’t perform grand illusions that would astonish spectators.
Nevertheless, he appeared to have exerted considerable effort in utilizing limited materials to create unexpected effects.
For instance, he positioned a table at the center, laid a rug beneath it, and draped blackout curtains around the sides and ceiling—creating every appearance of preparing for a table-lifting illusion by meticulously arranging cords and strings beneath the rug and above the curtains along all sides.
Yet in reality, he hadn’t actually installed any of these mechanisms.
I believe he likely anticipated that observers would inspect these preparations and thus outmaneuvered them—or perhaps he’d received prior notice from the victim about my attendance and devised this unexpected approach.
Consequently, he refrained from using any trick devices from within the box.
He had taken thorough precautions to ensure no mechanisms connected the box’s interior to the exterior.
Thus, all that person accomplished was escaping his bonds, coming forward, and performing sleight-of-hand.
This feat itself proved somewhat surprising initially.
It was rather ingeniously executed.
Rather than using luminous-painted objects first, he began by throwing an iron ball weighing approximately four pounds along with a noise-making device.
The iron ball’s impact produced considerable sound, but we found ourselves particularly disturbed by the device’s eerie rattling clamor.
Naturally, these were attached to strings so they could be retrieved afterward and concealed either in pockets or within the box.
After startling everyone with this abrupt commotion, he commenced manipulating the luminous-painted articles—you follow?
“Are you suggesting those harmonicas and flutes couldn’t have been played?”
“Those particular harmonicas and flutes were utterly unplayable.”
“He used different ones entirely.”
“Kept perpetually in his mouth, you understand?”
“Separate items without luminous paint—things stored in his pockets.”

“And ultimately, I couldn’t distinguish the sound of Mr. Gokan being killed—it was likely during that clattering commotion.”
“Amidst that cacophony of sound effects, everyone became so unsettled that sighs and groans erupted from various corners.”
“Wouldn’t one of those have been the victim’s own anguished moan?”
“They overlapped rather neatly.”
“A coincidence.”
“The perpetrator likely began moving simultaneously with the music’s start, circling behind the victim and using the sound’s origin as a guide—but by exploiting that clattering opportunity, they achieved their goal with remarkable safety.”
“Even without the clatter, they could’ve succeeded—though with greater risk.”
“Agonized cries would’ve given them away sooner.”
“Of course, since some time passed before relighting the lamps, I imagine they had ample opportunity to return to their original position.”
“But masking things like ragged breathing would’ve required considerable effort—truly no small feat.”
“Any leads on the culprit?”
“Not a single clue.”
“Our attention was wholly consumed by the spiritualism act—and given how Mr. Yoshida Yasumatsu had prepared that rug to muffle even his own extensive movements, detecting a stealthy killer’s presence would’ve been impossible.”
“If one could perceive that much, they’d have immediately seen through the spiritualist’s rope-escape trick too.”
“After all, none of the spectators noticed Mr. Yoshida Yasumatsu slipping free of his bonds, walking forward, and performing his array of tricks.”
“Are you asking about everyone’s conduct after discovering the incident?”
“Correct.”
“Beyond universal bewilderment, there were no particularly suspicious individuals present—correct?”

Miss Itoko went outside to call the police.
However, the rest of the group restrained each other.
No one went outside until the police arrived.
Since everyone disliked being suspected, there was no one who said they wanted to go outside.
While this was going on, Mr. Yoshida Yasumatsu reluctantly untied the ropes himself and emerged.
From Mr. Yoshida Yasumatsu’s perspective, he didn’t want others to know he could escape the ropes himself, but once he realized the situation, he could no longer remain seated in the box indefinitely.
That said, he simply rubbed his wrists without uttering a single word, as if the murder were none of his concern.
“He’s a bit of an eccentric, isn’t he?”
“As a spiritualist, his skill in magic is truly solid.”
“Among those I have seen, I can say he was the best.”
“His handling of the luminous-painted props was masterly—playing a harmonica with it held in his mouth while simultaneously manipulating three other items in midair: another harmonica, a megaphone, and a trumpet.”
“If it were me,” I added, “I’m confident I could’ve pulled it off even better.”
“I must apologize for dwelling solely on magic tricks, but since that’s all I was paying attention to, there’s simply no helping it.”

Motegi's Testimony

“As you say, I was in the position closest to the victim, but with that tremendous noise and my mind entirely absorbed by the magic tricks, I noticed neither anyone’s presence nor any sign of the victim being stabbed.”
“Huh?”
“You’re asking if I have any leads on the culprit?”
“In that situation, anyone could’ve killed Mr. Gokan.”
“There couldn’t have been a more tailor-made opportunity for murder.”
“That makes everyone present at the scene a suspect already.”
“Every single person there could be the killer.”
“Of course someone like me—being nearby—would naturally be suspected, but there’s no reason for me to kill him, right?”
“The real issue boils down to why he was killed.”
“Isn’t this fundamentally about motive and reason? Huh?”
“Does Katsumi get a quarter of the inheritance rolling her way too?”
“No, I hadn’t heard a thing about it.”
“There isn’t even equal inheritance for women married off into other families.”
“Since I’ve never bothered thinking about inheritance laws or such, I knew absolutely nothing about this new regulation. Huh?”
“My occupation?”
“Just a regular employee at a construction firm.”
“The president’s secretary—or less politely put, his bodyguard, I suppose.”
“Law’s got nothing to do with me.”

Yoshida Yasumatsu’s Testimony

“Is that man the magician Isezaki Kyūdayū?”
“Well then, there’s no use lying anymore.”
“His reputation precedes him among spiritualism circles.”
“What an inconvenient gentleman to have appear.”
“That’s exactly as he described it.”
“I slipped free of the ropes, came forward, and performed tricks.”
“A clumsy rendition of the Maru-ichi Kotetsu illusion in darkness.”
“But spiritualism isn’t limited to such trifles.”
“The true essence lies in summoning ghosts—as scheduled for tomorrow—to make them hear and speak of worldly matters... Hmm?”
“Revealing those secrets?”
“I must beg your indulgence on that count.”
“Discovery would render both capital and interest forfeit.”
“Though I do possess certain... original methods of my own devising.”
“Were rival practitioners privy to them, such inconveniences wouldn’t arise.”
“Eh?”
“The rattle from that night?”
“My latest invention—crafted to shock jaded audiences weary of stale tricks.”
“Being my inaugural commission, I prepared novel devices as one entering hostile territory... never dreaming they’d be weaponized.”
“The iron sphere weighs three and a half pounds.”
“Did Mr. Isezaki claim it was four pounds?”

“He’s quite the astonishing gentleman, isn’t he?”
“Doesn’t he see right through everything?”
“I’m no match for him.”
“No, there was no indication that the culprit passed near me.”
“Precisely. Since it’s believed the culprit couldn’t discern my position, wouldn’t slipping past me be impossible?”
“Of course, if it were Mr. Isezaki Kyūdayū, he could do that.”
“My position must’ve been laid bare to him—even in darkness, he’d have clearly discerned where to move next... and after.”
“For the others, it would be impossible.”
“Well, I may have spoken with Mr. Gokan most that day, but everything concerned spiritualism—naturally he wouldn’t have uttered a word about danger approaching him.”
“After all, it was our first meeting.”

Tatsuo’s Testimony

Age:

Thirty-one years and five months.

――You hated your father, I hear.

“――If I were to roughly categorize it, he isn’t a father I like, but isn’t saying I hated him an overstatement?”

“With billions in assets rolling your way, you must be happy.”

“That’s not an unpleasant feeling.”
“Just confess honestly.”
“Everyone knows.”

“What exactly do they know? Are you saying I killed him? If there's evidence, show it to me.”

“I’ll show you. Which way did you go around at that time? Behind Itoko, then.”

“I didn’t move.”

“Midori says she noticed signs of you leaving.”
“You’re joking.”
“Itoko has also given the same testimony—she says whoever brushed past her side felt like a child.”

“How could anyone know anything in the dark?”
He must think there’s no way I’d get caught because of the darkness.

“Please consider this,” Tatsuo said. “Even if I didn’t kill father, once he eventually dies, won’t the assets be mine? Is there any need for me to go through the trouble of killing him?”

“When those Burmese grandchildren arrive,” Inspector Tanimura countered, “the assets will no longer be yours.”

“Wasn’t this spiritualism experiment precisely for that purpose? Mr. Isezaki’s been bolstering our confidence by swearing it’s all fraudulent,” Tatsuo retorted. “Since I believed this experiment would block father’s Burma trip entirely, killing him became unnecessary.” He leaned forward, palms flat on the interrogation table. “Look—I’m just some steady bellboy scraping by with decent savings and no grand ambitions. Why would I rush to inherit now?”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Truth is, I preferred drifting through life clinging to retirement dreams—being a bellboy gave me purpose.” His voice dropped as he rubbed calloused hands together. “Immediate succession? Terrifying prospect.”

“Isezaki Kyūdayū was praising Yoshida Yasumatsu’s spiritualism.”
“He’s calling it the best in Japan.”
“He’s heaping praise, saying it might not be impossible to pinpoint those Burmese grandchildren’s whereabouts and names.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of such a thing.”
“I was convinced Mr. Isezaki would expose the spiritualism fraud.”

“There was blood on your kimono!”

“Since I was the one who lifted Father up, it couldn’t be helped if blood got on me.”

“Among those present at the scene—given who they were—wasn’t lifting Father naturally my role alone?”

“You’ve got brute strength though.”

“Since I’m a bellboy, it’s probably from hauling luggage around all year.”

“You could stab someone sitting down with all your strength while standing up, couldn’t you?”

“I could do that.”
“If I wanted to, sure.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Why risk crossing that dangerous bridge when the inheritance would roll my way naturally if I just waited?”

“Did you think you could weasel out of this with just that one line?”

“Truth requires few words. There’s not the slightest need for me to rush to kill Father—that’s why my words end here.”

“Stubborn bastard.”
“I’ll release you today—spend the night pondering it thoroughly.”

Inspector Tanimura’s supplemented report.

The murder weapon was the dagger from the parlor of the Gokan residence.
The sheath was discovered beside the corpse.
The only piece of evidence was this one.
No fingerprints were detected through forensic examination.

Under the current circumstances, no credible testimony was obtained other than regarding all those present at the scene as suspects.
Based on positional relationships, Tatsuo, Motegi, and Itoko were deemed the most probable suspects; however, no grounds existed to conclusively exclude the other four individuals.
End.

★

The following Sunday passed without incident while everyone remained detained, and on Monday, they were ordered to gather at the Gokan residence.
Since it gets dark by 6:30 PM, they decided to move it up by an hour and a half and conduct the reenactment starting at 7:00 PM, replicating the same events as two days prior.

They were proceeding step by step from each person’s arrival at the Gokan residence to their seating in the reenactment room, but things stalled out here with everyone saying things like, “Did I go to the bathroom then?” “Wait, was there tea served?” and “Hmm, was that how it went?”
The boisterous Motegi finally lost his temper.

“I’m a working man! Keeping us cooped up in Atami for this bullshit—your police methods ain’t got a shred of sense! Can’t you use modern science to grab some damn physical evidence already? What kinda Zenigata Heiji-era reenactment crap is this?! You still living in the goddamn Meiji period!?”

“Well, you’ll just have to bear with it and humor us for tonight.”
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll be free.”

And so it went.

First, the spectators took their seats.
The scene remained exactly as before, save for the absence of the corpse.
Yoshida Yasumatsu cut an equally pitiable figure, forced to act out both his own role and Senpachi’s—mimicking where they had stood, what they had said, and which paths they’d taken—all without his counterpart present. He finally managed to reach the demonstration room.
Next, Itoko came flusteredly rushing in,

“I made it! This is absurd!”

She was acting recklessly, rolling around.
All were dressed similarly to the previous day: Motegi and Kishii wore Western clothes with socks, Yoshida Yasumatsu was also in Western attire with socks, while Kyūdayū and Tatsuo had on tabi.
The women, of course, wore either tabi or socks; not a single one was barefoot.

The police officers took over and bound Yoshida Yasumatsu to the chair, finally beginning the reenactment—but this time, Yasumatsu became furious, glaring around at the police officers.

“Why are you all standing there?”
“Then we can’t perform the reenactment.”
“I must ask you to withdraw at once.”

“Without officers present, this reenactment loses its meaning.”

“Having so many of you scattered everywhere is an unbearable nuisance.”

“These police officers have to take your place in approaching the victim and detecting any movements—there’s no helping it.”

“But you—if you’re on my side here throwing iron pellets, shaking rattles, tossing things upward and swinging them around—there’s no way we can carry out this reenactment properly.”

“That’s a fair point. Since the officers on that side are unnecessary, they should gather in an unobtrusive corner—say, near the tokonoma alcove.”

At last, the preparations were complete.
It appeared that only three representatives—Tatsuo, Motegi, and Itoko—were sneaking toward the victim’s side, with police officers positioned behind each of the three.
Meanwhile, while the areas behind Kishii, Kyūdayū, and Katsumi remained unmanned, here sat police officers assigned to listen.

Itoko turned off the light.

“Ooou...”

Yasumatsu’s distant howl.
It appeared the police captain had taken over, and the portable device began to sound.
From then on, it proceeded exactly as it had the previous night.
True to form, Yasumatsu’s artistry proved meticulous—the timing left no room for error, and every swirling object appeared to replicate its prior movements with pinpoint accuracy.

Even attempting such a thing was nothing more than a waste of time.
The difference between concentrating on spiritualism and concentrating on other noises was considerable—no, it was an excessively vast difference.
Since even that effort had barely allowed them to discern any sounds, the results of this reenactment only served to deepen everyone’s suspicions uniformly while completely failing to intensify suspicion against any specific individual.

If we were to single out one individual, Motegi’s representative in particular had initiated action after the rattle began and concluded it before the rattling ended—all while remaining calm and collected—but one could not have anticipated such a rattle occurring (not even Kyūdayū had anticipated it), nor could one have predicted how long it would continue.
Therefore, using that as grounds for suspicion was impossible.

When they concluded the reenactment, Tatsuo detained the group of suspects—

“Let’s all have a drink, shall we? Even if we help ourselves to the old man’s stash, there shouldn’t be any problem with all of us having a round. Tonight’s the first proper feast this household’s had since its downfall, I tell ya!”

That said, it wasn’t much of a feast. They held a drinking feast using whatever was at hand. Not a single person suggested inviting the police officers for a drink. When one becomes a suspect, it’s only natural for everyone to seethe with resentment; given that any attempt at flattery now would only invite dangerous suspicion, they feigned ignorance.

The police officers continued doing something at the scene for a while, and eventually the police chief appeared and,

“Well everyone—thank you sincerely for your efforts. You must have had quite an unpleasant experience, but we won’t detain you any longer after tonight. Those from Tokyo may return to Tokyo, and Mr. Yoshida from Yamato to Yamato—please depart without hesitation. Since the curtains and props at the scene are no longer needed, please pack them up as you see fit. However, as the rug alone has blood on it and is evidence, we will temporarily keep it in police custody.”

“Only **the rug** and **the table** belong to your household.”

“I see.”
“In that case, it’s even more convenient.”
“There are two pieces of luggage still packed in the back—did you not use those, Mr. Yoshida?”

“Those are the props used when summoning a specific spirit, and they were actually scheduled to be used the following night, but that need has now been eliminated.”

“Without props, I suppose a ghost won’t appear.”
“The ghosts of spiritualism seem more akin to stage phantoms than genuine ones, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, that’s how it is.”
“Well then, if you’ll excuse me.”

The police officers departed, leaving behind a touch of sarcasm toward spiritualism.
From the police’s perspective, it must have been that damn irritating spiritualism.
If such things hadn’t existed, such a troublesome incident would never have occurred.

Kyūdayū, ever the enterprising businessman, abruptly seemed to realize something and turned to Yasumatsu,

“Mr. Yoshida, I have a request—as Japan’s foremost spiritualist, you see, the truth is I’ve seldom encountered practitioners specializing in summoning specific spirits. Given this strange twist of fate—or rather, this peculiar chain of coincidences that’s brought us together—might I ask you to demonstrate your method of summoning particular spirits tonight? Of course, I’ll provide proper compensation.”

Then Itoko jumped up, clapping her hands in delight,
“That’s wonderful! Please summon Father’s ghost for us. Let’s ask the culprit, shall we?”

Yasumatsu scratched his head,

“In that darkness, even Father wouldn’t know the culprit.
Moreover, there’s a rule that as long as I don’t know the culprit, the ghost won’t know either. Well, I’ll confess to you all—as the chief said earlier, it’s far too reminiscent of a stage ghost rather than a real one.
It’s hardly an act worthy of being shown to someone like you, Mr. Isezaki.
Moreover—and I may sound rude for saying this—it is certain that among these eight people lies the true culprit. While I don’t know who it might be, even I cannot bring myself to demonstrate the art of summoning ghosts under such circumstances.”

“Of course.”
“Of course.”
“Attempting to conduct ghost-summoning rituals on such a night is fundamentally sacrilegious.”

Motegi shook his large body and shouted in an angry voice.
Itoko was angry,

“What kind of night is this supposed to be? It’s just the old man getting killed.”
“Now that things have settled down, doesn’t that make it a perfectly fine night for now?”

“Maybe so.”
“I don’t feel too bad either.”

Midori backed up Itoko.
And then she added the following.

“Well, I... When that spiritualism music started playing in pitch darkness, I thought if I had a pistol or dagger right then, I’d want to kill Father. Then a rattling sound started. Yes, damn it all—how utterly frustrating, I thought. I couldn’t help letting out a groan of frustration.” What a carefree, unbothered face.

Kyūdayū was appalled.

“Hah.”
“So there was such a sincere groan too?”

“That’s exactly it.”
“My spiritual influence transferred to Mr. Culprit here.”
“In other words, maybe I’m an accomplice?”

“Cut it out!”

Tom Thumb stood up and began stomping around in anger. His face was flushed bright red like a physalis fruit from the alcohol. His anger showed no signs of subsiding; he dashed about the room, stomping his feet.

This might be his usual method of restraining his anger. Itoko was watching this with amusement,

“A world-class big brother we’ve got here.”
“It’s such an honor, you know.”
“Don’t you know the sister of Tom Thumb, who’s out there soliciting customers at Atami Station?”
“I sometimes throw tantrums for him.”
“For my darling boyfriend, you know.”

“Hey, get outta here!”
“All of you, get out!”
“You get out!”

“Hey, Itoko!”

“What’s this? All that stomping around won’t even get you a meter.”
“The lintel’s too high for hanging yourself, and you’re in such a fine position.”

“Ugh!”

Tom Thumb was growing increasingly crimson-faced, desperately holding himself back.

“Then I’ll take my leave first.”

With that, Kyūdayū stood up and hurried back.

That said, Kyūdayū was by no means displeased. Somehow, it was a family he couldn’t quite bring himself to hate. Rather, he felt a stronger sense of goodwill. There was something naively boorish about them. Even if they’d hit rock bottom as reckless troublemakers.

★

Unable to sleep, Kyūdayū turned his thoughts to who the culprit might be.

In that darkness, anyone could have gone to kill.
And anyone could have killed.
However, even when considered from a magician’s perspective, killing someone and then returning unnoticed to one’s original position—without bumping into anything or brushing against anyone—would have been a formidable challenge.
Those sandwiched between others would have found it especially difficult.
Even from a magician’s standpoint, it would have been quite a feat.
Yet since everyone was in their original positions when the lights came on, those between others—particularly the individuals flanking Kyūdayū himself—could reasonably be excluded from suspicion.
As a practical matter, it seemed impossible.
The ones flanking him were Kishii and Katsumi.

Those at the ends—Motegi and Midori, Itoko and Tatsuo—found it relatively easy to return to their original positions. However, Midori was positioned too far away. She would have to return to Tatsuo's front. Returning to the front versus returning to the rear differed in difficulty. Those in the rear could make rough approximations and bide their time to do whatever needed doing. People in front had no eyes in their backs. Moreover, Midori wore a kimono. From her position, circling around the front corner would have made the task easier—but someone unaware of what spiritualism truly was, ignorant of its very nature, could not possibly navigate through the front where the séance was being conducted. This too could likely be removed from the list of suspects.

In the end, it was Motegi, Itoko, and Tatsuo.
Itoko had been constantly coming and going.
It was Itoko who had turned off the lights, turned them back on, and—after the incident came to light—became the only person to leave the room to make a call.
With her statuesque eight-head-tall proportions and likely considerable physical strength, it couldn’t be said that plunging in a dagger—even if the hilt passed through—was entirely impossible for her.
When she turned off the lights and returned, she might have smuggled in the dagger she had hidden beforehand.
When she went out to turn on the lights or make that call—she alone had been granted opportunities to conceal evidence.
Itoko’s position offered the greatest advantage for killing and retreating—since she only needed to withdraw behind the group with zero risk of human interference during that interval—one could decisively conclude there had been no danger of missteps on her return path.
She remained a strong suspect, though her motive was thin.

Motegi was also at the shortest distance from the victim, so the difficulty of making the round trip was significantly less compared to others. While alone with Kishii in the reception room, he could have had the chance to steal the dagger. Since he was a monster who had made murder routine on the battlefield, being granted those ideal conditions to stab Senpachi to death in one thrust might have felt like nothing more than a long-awaited pleasure. The motive here was also weak, but given his inherently murderous disposition, he remained a strong suspect.

From the standpoint of motive, Tatsuo was the prime suspect.
It was true that the logic held up—that the property would naturally become his without needing to kill—but it was only natural that behind this correct logic lay an equal measure of its opposite.
The fear of losing one’s property unless one killed was not limited to one or two causes but could arise from countless reasons; thus, even if the logic held up on the surface, it could not serve as an excuse.

The question was whether any actual reason for such fear to arise had ever existed.

Since Tatsuo and Itoko were also in the back row—following Itoko’s position—theirs were positions involving less risk during their round trips.
In any case, the back row was significantly more advantageous than the front row, and since there were only two people in the back with no one adjacent, it was all the more so.
Tatsuo could be considered more advantageous than Motegi—despite the latter’s shorter distance—when it came to making the round trip.
In Tatsuo’s position, the long distance would not pose a difficulty.
He simply had to walk along the blackout curtains.

Considering this, Tatsuo was the prime suspect both in terms of motive and positioning—but how should one interpret that desperate restraint of his, stomping around frantically in response to Itoko’s mockery? Was he desperately holding back the torment of committing murder once more? Rather, might that frantic stomping not be revealing a timid, overly cautious character utterly incapable of murder? Kyūdayū harbored a certain goodwill toward that frantic stomping. He couldn’t reach this conclusion.

Now, it was the next morning.

“Good morning, Magician-san,” Itoko said as she arrived.

“Did you get so disgusted you ran away last night?”

“No, nothing of the sort.”
“Rather, I’ve come to feel goodwill toward your clan for the first time.”
“Toward you four siblings.”

Itoko nodded sincerely.

“I’ve come to like you too, old man.”
“Telepathy, isn’t it?”
“There’s no accounting for taste.”
“Big Sis Katsumi went and fell for an actual murderer.”
“I came today with an important report.”
“Yoshida Yasumatsu’s such a creep.”
“Last night he sneaked into my bedroom—I kicked him away, so he went to the maids’ room.”
“The racket woke up Mr. One-Meter.”
“When that guy gets worked up, he’s got terrifying strength.”
“His arms are practically sumo-wrestler thick.”
“Knocking out Yasumatsu felt so good.”
“When your straight punches only land below the belt, even a spiritualist can’t take it.”

“So there was no danger to his life, I take it?”

“That’s because he’s already skilled at it.”
“Apparently, knowing the appropriate limits for beating up drunks is one of the crucial professional skills for an inn’s bellboy, you know.”
“Well, about that important report I mentioned—it actually wasn’t that. But the maid Mine-chan, see, after all that happened, seems to have remembered something. Anyway, that unopenable luggage is really strange.”
“It seems that particular luggage was sent directly to our place.”
“When Yasumatsu-kun received the luggage after hearing from Mine-chan, he apparently said something like ‘This is weird—what could this be?’ and was really puzzled.”
“Anyway, they decided to try opening it and had Mine-chan bring a kitchen knife. Just as they were about to pry it open, Father came storming in with this terrifying look on his face, apparently.”
“Wait!”
“That’s mine!”
“and shouted in a terrifying rage, apparently.”
“Even when angry, Father isn’t straightforward enough to show people such terrifying rage.”
“Father is much more underhanded.”
“But at that moment, he got so furious—like a raging demon—grabbed the kitchen knife and hurled it away, they say.”
“Mr. Yoshida was shocked by his terrifying rage but replied, ‘But this luggage has my name on it.’ Then Father flatly declared, ‘No matter whose name it bears, this luggage is mine!’ and had people carry it to the back room.”

“That is rather peculiar.”

“Isn’t it strange? There’s something even stranger. Around eight this morning, Yasumatsu-kun called a car, took only that luggage to the station, and sent it off. As soon as he woke up, he went straight to it without even eating. The demonstration venue is still untouched. After finishing his meal, he started tidying up bit by bit. Why didn’t they wait until everything was ready to transport it all together? I thought there must be some reason—that’s why I came to report it to you, old man.”

“That might be an excellent report.”
“A top-notch one at that.”
“Hmm.”
“Ah—right. I’d forgotten.”
Why had Mr. Gokan Senpachi decided to take in his Burmese grandchildren?
That was the mystery.
Wait a minute—

Kyūdayū inadvertently broke into a grin but,

“Miss Itoko, please wait a moment.”
“I need to think for a moment.”
“But I’ll think quickly.”
“Because if we don’t hurry, we won’t catch up.”
“In the meantime, I’ll have you go to the police station.”
“Have them urgently halt the shipment of that luggage.”
“I’ll explain the reasoning once I’ve organized my thoughts.”
“I might be wrong… No, no—it must be correct.”
“Miss Itoko, hurry! Hurry!”

“Yes, yes.”

Itoko left in great haste.
Perhaps the police judged that temporarily halting the luggage shipment wouldn't cause significant issues, but since it was related to a major case, they held back the shipment as Kyūdayū had requested.

At that moment, Kyūdayū visited the police station and,

“I believe we’ve reached a resolution in this case.”
“At least once we’ve inspected the contents of that luggage.”
“Now, allow me to have some tea.”

★

And then five hours later.

Yoshida Yasumatsu had already been arrested as Senpachi’s murderer and placed in a detention cell.

Kyūdayū was sipping coffee in his inn’s lobby with Itoko and Tatsuo before him, contentedly recounting his achievements.

“You four all wanted to know the real reason your father decided to summon those Burmese grandchildren, didn’t you?”
“That should have been your greatest concern until the demonstration began.”
“But here’s the thing.”
“When the murder occurred, you completely forgot about it.”
“Naturally.”
“Once the man himself was killed, that motive became as dead as he was—no longer relevant.”
“I was no different—until Miss Itoko mentioned the luggage this morning, it hadn’t crossed my mind either.”
“But her report made everything click.”
“I realized the secret of those Burmese grandchildren likely lay there.”
He paused to gather his thoughts.
“When you connect everything to that point, it all falls neatly into place.”
“First: Mr. Gokan always came Saturday evenings and returned to Tokyo Monday mornings—yet this time he arrived Thursday evening and stayed indoors Friday and Saturday.”
“There was no need to arrive Thursday for a Saturday-Sunday demonstration.”
“No child would act so impatiently, however eager.”
“He was waiting for luggage.”
“Luggage addressed to Yoshida Yasumatsu that he needed to dispose of before Yoshida noticed.”
“That’s why he waited so anxiously.”
“Second: Yoshida’s luggage was sent station-collect.”

“However, the other piece was delivered directly to Yoshida Yasumatsu at Mr. Gokan’s residence, with Yasumatsu himself listed as the sender,” Kyūdayū continued. “When the same person sends two items—one via home delivery and another held at the station—it’s peculiar. Miss Itoko’s account neatly unravels this mystery.” He leaned forward, his coffee cooling untouched. “We have Mr. Gokan charging in furiously shouting ‘That’s my luggage!’ while Yasumatsu stood baffled upon receiving it—wouldn’t you find that odd? Of course he’d be confused.”
Itoko twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Because it wasn’t his luggage to begin with, right?”

“So that was Father’s luggage, then.”

“Of course. In other words, the secret of the Burmese grandchildren lay in shipping this luggage from Yamato to Atami. The challenge wasn’t about Atami Station—it was how to transport such large cargo from Yamato without raising suspicion.”
“There were reasons why sending bulky shipments from Yamato would draw attention.”
“So he devised a method to move large consignments undetected.”
“This was the secret behind those Burmese grandchildren.”
“Spiritualists routinely transport heavy equipment for their performances, and crucially, Yamato happens to host a renowned spiritualist—Yoshida Yasumatsu.”
“When Mr. Gokan learned this, he must have been thrilled.”
“He immediately began concocting reasons to summon a spiritualist, spreading tales about his eldest son—supposedly killed in action—appearing as a ghost.”
“He claimed to have conversed with this specter but only obtained fragmentary details—a grandson’s name, a woman’s identity, and an address.”
“Thus he declared it imperative to engage a spiritualist’s services for delivering the ghost’s full message—finally arranging Yoshida’s summoning.”
“Through correspondence with Yoshida Yasumatsu of Yamato, he fixed the date.”
“Mr. Gokan then rushed to Yamato, fabricated that oversized luggage, and shipped it from ‘Yoshida Yasumatsu of Yamato’ to ‘Yoshida Yasumatsu of Atami.’”
“No one would question a spiritualist’s bulky shipment in that region.”
“Though sent earlier via home delivery around noon Saturday—slower than station-collect—it arrived after Yoshida had reached Atami.”
“This timing proved disastrous.”
“Yet once delivered, Mr. Gokan stormed over, berated Yoshida, seized the cargo, and hauled it into the back room—thereby concluding the Burmese grandchildren charade.”
“Hence he casually postponed addressing the ‘Burmese oracle,’ prioritizing his séance amusement instead—though one might ask: if those grandchildren mattered so gravely, shouldn’t their message have taken precedence?”
“He deferred it precisely because that pretext had already served its purpose.”
“Mr. Gokan grew complacent, indulging his experimental diversions while oblivious to the viper he’d nurtured in his midst.”

“Why did Yasumatsu kill Father?”

Tatsuo asked eagerly.

“Well, you see,” Kyūdayū continued. “Yoshida Yasumatsu is a man of low character. After Mr. Gokan berated him in a furious rage and seized the luggage, he must have begun to ponder. It was clear he hadn’t sent it himself, and given it was home delivery, it couldn’t have been dispatched by anyone from his household either. Nor was there any reason for his household to send it. Thus, that luggage undeniably belonged to Mr. Gokan. Moreover, Mr. Gokan hadn’t shipped it under his own name—he’d arranged for it to be sent from Yoshida Yasumatsu to Yoshida Yasumatsu. There had to be a profound motive behind this. Being a man of wicked cunning, Yoshida must have roughly pieced it together—at the very least, it was something too sensitive to ship under one’s true identity. Spiritualists can transport stage props without suspicion—that’s precisely the loophole exploited here. Given its contents were the secret cargo of a notorious usurer, they had to be both illicit and valuable. And considering the pains taken to deliver it, whatever lay inside must have been extraordinarily significant.”

Kyūdayū paused. “He must have concluded as much. Having confirmed the luggage remained unopened in the back room, he resolved to claim it for himself. The method was simple: kill Mr. Gokan. Since such a secret item would be known to few, and with the shipment officially documented between Yoshidas, eliminating Mr. Gokan would make the rest effortless. ‘It contains tools for tomorrow’s experiment,’ he could say—then simply remove them and dispatch the crate from the station once their purpose expired.”

“So the preparations for today’s experiment were made solely for killing Mr. Gokan, you understand.” He had laid down a double layer of carpet beneath them—to muffle footsteps—and selected the highest-pitched Humoresque record from his collection, set up iron balls and rattles, then assigned Mr. Gokan to handle the records himself. “His murder preparations were impeccable.” “That villain could move freely about—even when approaching Mr. Gokan, he could perfectly mask his position by dropping the iron ball and rattle near the center—so escape was impossible for him.” The rattle began clattering. Guided by the record’s noise, he circled behind Mr. Gokan, gauged his position through subtle cues, then delivered the fatal thrust in one motion. Only Yasumatsu knew the rattle would continue sounding long enough for him to calmly complete his task—he simply needed to drop the sheath by the corpse and execute his rehearsed darkness routine afterward. “Yet even this mastermind grew complacent—attacking Miss Itoko and the maid only to get beaten, rushing to ship that luggage—blunders that doomed him.” “Without those mistakes, he might’ve escaped.” “Tatsuo could’ve taken the fall instead.” “A narrow margin indeed.” “I’ll confess—there was a time I believed no one but Tatsuo-kun could be the culprit.”

“So, what was in the luggage?”

“Well, that’s the thing. Around the end of the war, Mr. Gokan seems to have been in Yamato, you see.”

“Yes, since Kyoto and Nara were spared from the fires, he conducted his business there.”

“It’s said to be an ancient Chinese Buddha statue stolen in Yamato.”
“A rare piece that someone brought back from China—they say it’s an unparalleled masterpiece, a national treasure among national treasures even there.”
“Well—”
“Its head, necklaces, bracelets, eyes, chest—even its anklets—all studded with gems unmatched through history. They say its current value runs into tens of billions with no way to pin it down.”
“A life-sized Buddha statue about six feet tall, you see.”

Kyūdayū let out a relieved sigh, but Miss Itoko laughed dryly and—
“Stealing a Buddha statue—that’s too much even for Father.”
“What an appalling phony poet!”
she said, sticking out her tongue.