Pathway to Japanese Literature

Chapter One

I. Furuichi Kaju Looks at the Moon

II. The Beauty’s Coquetry

As the year 1934 drew to a close—on this final day of December—a man emerged from the grand entrance of Tokyo Kaikan, its electric lights dazzling, wearing an expression of resentful determination. Clutching a calico handkerchief in a fierce grip, he vigorously scrubbed at his nose, then stepped down the stone steps of the carriage porch in large strides and walked toward the moatside, his clumsy footsteps echoing on the pavement. Looking up, above the verdant pines of Ōuchiyama hung a hazy year-end moon. Arched like the sorrowful brow of a weeping beauty.

The man abruptly came to a halt at the corner of Fukoku Life Insurance's construction site and gazed up at the sky; then, “Tch—the moon? Mocking me now?” After muttering as if spitting out the words, he turned sharply toward the wooden fence and began firing the water pistol with loud popping sounds. From what could be observed, there seemed to be something simmering within him—some agitation that refused to settle in his gut. Since merely referring to him as “the man” would leave you none the wiser, allow me this small indulgence of description. He appeared in his late twenties, of average build and height—the sort of modern frame that allowed a No. 32 ready-made Western suit to fit perfectly without alterations. The Chesterfield coat he wore with affected elegance revealed its provenance when one flipped up the collar lining: there clung the label of “Tokyo Tailor,” a renowned secondhand dealer. The rest you might well imagine. As for his face—nothing particularly merited detailed description. It bore that pinched salaryman look common among those swarming Nakanodōri at noon cannon-fire hour—not quite foolish yet far from refined—a petty countenance perpetually puckered with discontent. Yet those lips pressed into a stubborn へ-shape seemed to radiate boundless ambition. This might suggest some distinction were he not in truth Furuichi Kaju—a tabloid reporter for the four-page Yūhi Newspaper. As you’ve likely surmised—though what vexations plagued him remain unclear—to thus rail against an innocent moon betrayed how green he yet remained in his journalistic trade.

A newspaper with such a name has never found its way into our households, so some may be unfamiliar with it, but consult the Newspaper Annual and you’ll find that the Yūhi Newspaper does indeed exist. Published every evening as a four-page tabloid, it was headquartered on the third floor of the Suehiro Building in Nihonbashi and operated a side venture publishing something called Cosmetics News. However, it was unclear which was their main operation. By reputation, this new publication was said to be more profitable than their main operation due to its aggressive peddling, but such inquiries hardly mattered here. Meanwhile, their main operation lived up to its name as the company’s fortunes continued their decline—a pitiful state akin to an autumn sunset perched precariously on a mountain’s edge, soon to sink into utter darkness. On this very day when fellow journalists’ year-end party was being held at Tokyo Kaikan, Furuichi Kaju attended as Yūhi Newspaper’s representative—but his seat could not be found at the reporters’ table. As he pressed further in his search, there—in the far-blurred depths of the lowest seats—Kaju’s nameplate had been tossed beside that dubious society gossip rag Ginza Dayori. This man, though lacking in courage, was generally prone to impulsive fervor; so upon seeing this, he flew into a rage, snatched up his seat tag, and marched toward the upper seats, attempting to claim a place beside the Asahi Newspaper—but of course, there was no conceivable way for the evening sun (Yūhi) to intrude beside the morning sun (Asahi). Immediately, a committee member came running over, hoisted him up like a stray cat, and threw him back to his original seat along with the nameplate; then, with a jerk of the chin, he was informed that this haberdasher’s seat was where he belonged. Even Furuichi Kaju—who should have been thoroughly accustomed to such humiliation given how the journalists at the Metropolitan Police Press Club habitually shunned him—could no longer endure this blatant disgrace before the entire assembly. He resolutely kicked his seat and stormed out of Tokyo Kaikan, but no matter what he did, the frustration in his chest refused to subside. Given that he was a shallow-rooted tabloid reporter, it stood to reason that no complex sentiments would arise in him at this juncture; he simply flew into a senseless rage. Even the polished yellow crescent moon now resembled a Kao Soap advertisement, churning his frustration further until he couldn’t help but lash out at its mockery—an episode already recounted earlier.

Just as Kaju was about to cap the nozzle and saunter off, thunderous applause erupted behind him, accompanied by a roar of cheers. When he instinctively turned to look, the venue now appeared to be in full swing; through the brilliantly illuminated windowpanes, he could see four or five colleagues gesticulating like dancers as they passed by. Kaju glared up resentfully in that direction, “Damn it, just you wait. Tomorrow I’ll turn every last one of your guts inside out. What kind of outlandish plans our Yūhi Newspaper has in store—you lot haven’t got a clue. Still, our editor-in-chief Kōda Sessan must be one hell of a sharp mind. Ah, once tomorrow comes—”

After muttering something with meaningful implication, he suddenly quickened his pace and walked toward Yūrakuchō. The author now took Furuichi Kaju into Ginza's back alleys. By some twist of fate, Furuichi Kaju was fated to encounter a certain mysterious figure there. This would become the genesis of a tumultuous mystery, but I must ask you to read the next chapter to learn how these events unfolded.

II. Kaju Meets a Mysterious Figure

III. And Matters Concerning the Crane Fountain

Hattori’s clock tower was just about to strike nine. Ginza was now at the height of its crowds. On ordinary days, for no apparent reason, waves of eager people surged toward Ginza again and again, streaming along the western side street in rippling currents. Though too early for a soirée’s conclusion, the swarms of ornate furisode and tailcoats with white waistcoats created a scene unmistakably fitting for New Year’s Eve. As Furuichi Kaju jostled through the crowd toward Colombin’s entrance, a woman of thirty-two or thirty-three—a Sentaro-style beauty with delicate features—approached from Yagumo-chō’s police box. The blazing hem of her evening dress fluttered like moth wings as she moved with lotus-step grace toward Kaju. Just as she tried to slip past him, she halted abruptly and released a nightingale-like trill:

“Oh, if it isn’t Mr. Furuichi!” she called out.

This woman, named Murakumo Emiko, had been a celebrated film actress until four or five years prior; unexpectedly shrewd, she entangled a film company executive in an inescapable relationship, kicked away her fellow actresses—who had no income beyond fleeting popularity—and had them open a clandestine bar called "Paris" near Dobashi in Ginza's backstreets, becoming its proprietress. Within two or three years, she reportedly amassed a hundred thousand yen—a woman of both talent and beauty.

Emiko was born in a remote village in Hokkaido, the same hometown as Furuichi. During the period Furuichi knew her, she had been working as an elementary school teacher in that village. However, no sooner had rumors spread of her developing an improper relationship with a younger male relative than—for reasons unknown—the young man committed suicide. Unable to remain in the village after this incident, Emiko came to Tokyo and took up residence as a hostess at a café called Shironeko—unexpectedly, this became her stepping stone to success.

The Emiko of Kaju’s memory had been as lean as a lamp wick—a womanly figure devoid of softness—but now carried excess weight at shoulders and hips that clearly tormented her. Those once-dry eyes bearing sword-like intensity now glistened with viscous allure under layered cosmetics. Even her disdainfully upturned nose softened into coquetry through this transformation. Emiko pressed herself against Furuichi,

“Why, it’s Mr. Furuichi after all! We kept just missing each other and I never once got to see you, but you haven’t changed one bit since then.”

Having delivered this all in one breath, she abruptly stretched out her arm to seize Furuichi’s hand, coiling Kaju’s fingertips into the oily-damp warmth of her lukewarm palm as she— “Mr. Kaju, there’s no one as heartless as you! Here in Tokyo all this time, and not once have you come to visit—I resent you for it.” “You’re so cruel!” With seductive eyes pouring every ounce of her emotion into them, she said resentfully. For Furuichi, the success of a fellow townswoman was indeed cause for celebration; thus, about two years prior, he had once gone to pay his respects at Paris. Yet he’d been coldly turned away without even being offered a glass of water. When he returned to his lodgings and noticed a white, gritty substance on his shoulder, he pinched it with his fingertips and gave it a tentative lick—it was salty. Given this history, Furuichi Kaju felt as if a fox had bewitched him—why of all nights was Murakumo Emiko being so uncharacteristically familiar tonight? Overcome by bewilderment, he could only stare at Emiko’s face. Emiko shook Kaju’s arm impatiently,

“Say something already. You could at least say it’s been a while. Oh come now—I’m just a fallen woman beneath your notice, I’m sure. But we did huddle together warming our backsides by that rickety stove in the teachers’ office once, didn’t we? You needn’t act so coldly. Making that face won’t work—I won’t let you go tonight no matter what. Come along now—you’ll come to Paris with me, and I’ll make you realize your heartlessness,” she said, digging her nails into Kaju’s hand until blood welled up,

“Well? Are you coming or not?” “If you don’t want to, go ahead and say no—I’ll just keep holding your hand like this and scream ‘Thief! Thief!’” “Well? Shall I show you?” Emiko, already deep in her cups, grew increasingly unhinged as she spoke. Planting both feet wide on the pavement like some wrathful spirit about to shriek damnation, she left Furuichi no choice but to throw in the towel. To hell with it, he thought, letting himself be dragged along as she demanded. The two turned at Fifth Block’s corner and, hand in hand without shame for prying eyes, entered a dark back alley of Ginza.

Passing under a shabby New Year’s pine decoration—its princess pines crucified with five-inch nails in mere formality—they opened the bar door to be met with a thunderous uproar and a cacophonous chorus of children’s songs sung wildly out of tune. Such was the party—already descended into raucous bedlam. When Emiko came into view, a red-haired Westerner nimbly rose from a smoky dim corner. This was John Hutchinson of Hovas News Agency—someone Kaju also knew—who now swam out dog-paddling through the crowd, suddenly grabbing Emiko’s waist only to be slapped full across the cheek. “It hurts! It hurts!” he screamed as he retreated. Guiding Kaju through this uproar, Emiko led him to a secluded table along the wall. Once she’d planted him in a chair there—

“Wait right here—try to run and you’ll be sorry.”

With that, she shot him a seductive glare, rolled up the red curtain beside the bar counter, and hurried into the back.

The bar appeared modeled after foreign nightclubs in general layout, with no partitioned booths—about fifteen round tables arranged around a central dance floor. Every table hosted a veritable forest of champagne bottles amidst cups and plates in utter disarray. Strangely, of the over thirty patrons, hardly any sat properly in chairs. All wore the bar’s standard kraft paper crowns, liquor droplets dangling from chins as men and women tangled like ropes rolling across the floor. On the dance floor, a tuxedoed man stepped through paces while clinging to anyone—Indō Tadasuke, an affected Paris returnee and son of Yokohama’s infamous moneylender. In a dim corner near the entrance, Iwai Michiyasu—head of a viscount family—guffawed incessantly with three beauties hoisted on his lap: O-Yuki, Hatsu-chan, and Ikuyo, renowned heroines from Yokohama’s Honmoku. The man who’d once sunk to taxi driving now thrived at the Korean Whaling Company. Their shouted propositions debated heading to the New Grand or Hakone’s Kansuirō. Sprawled across the aisle lay Yamaki Motokichi—a dilettante playboy—pinned under Kawamata Fumie’s silver dance shoe with artificial diamond clasps kicking his spine relentlessly. Nose-deep in his own vomit, he mumbled what might have been Mallarmé verses. Growing impatient, Fumie leapt onto a table, hiked her skirt to thigh-level, and thrust deer-like legs violently in dance. Her precarious undergarments couldn’t contain ceiling kicks that created undeniably risque spectacle. Drunken men roared cheers around the table, foreheads lined along its edge as they gazed upward cackling—a great commotion.

Some reached out only to be kicked in the forehead and sent sprawling onto their backs, while others—attempting to climb onto the table—missed their footing on the chairs and collapsed onto the floor with their hips giving out. The rest were all pounding their liquor bottles, their clinking and clattering merging into a deafening chorus of hundreds and thousands of voices.

But there was no use dwelling on this forever. Leaving the rest to the reader’s imagination—as for Furuichi Kaju, he had been sitting idle since earlier, blankly clasping his hands while watching this drunken bedlam. Such extravagance ought to be enjoyable when indulged in oneself, but merely observing it failed to stir any excitement. For someone of Kaju’s station, such lavishness was as unattainable as a carp leaping up a waterfall—no matter how desperately he might covet it. Thus instead of desire, sheer vexation rose within him, his anger swelling the longer he watched. Yet remaining stone-cold sober amidst such opulent revelry while idly stroking his chin hardly made for an impressive figure. As he continued gazing absently from behind a nearby palm tree—half-concealing himself—he unexpectedly discovered a most peculiar sight here.

When he came to his senses, there in the very midst of this tumultuous uproar—enough to overturn everything—was a man sitting perfectly composed, alone, raising his wine cup with solemn grace. He was a fair-skinned young gentleman of about thirty with a handsome beard, immaculately clad in an unmistakably London-tailored tuxedo, a crimson carnation elegantly arranged in his lapel’s buttonhole. Holding a whiskey soda cup between his white, slender fingers adorned with a large diamond ring, he leaned back slightly as he observed the commotion. His utterly unflappable demeanor was truly uncanny—like an emperor watching his subjects’ raucous revels with an amused half-smile. It neither seemed affected nor distasteful—the way it suited him so perfectly was truly remarkable.

The author found this figure quite peculiar, but considering that some readers might take offense at what could possibly be considered strange about such a thing, I shall now efficiently provide a more detailed account of these highly suspicious circumstances. First and foremost among these mysteries was his extraordinary countenance. When I speak of an extraordinary countenance, I do not mean some comical face peering through bushes. Some of you gentlemen may have seen it—his countenance was said to rival even the "Nobleman's Physiognomy" found in the appendix on facial features of Jinguukan's Nine Star Fortune Almanac, which made it all the more suspicious. Was this what they called dragon eyes and phoenix gaze? Within his long, narrow single-lidded eyes lay an undimmed pure light, while his lips—exuding infinite dignity—were drawn together in a broad line. As for his ears—they were extraordinary among the extraordinary: his bell-shaped, thick-fleshed colossal ears drooped luxuriantly from beneath the corners of his eyes down to his jawline, while his jaw bore a dense growth of jet-black beard that concealed his throat like a muffler. To put it simply, you should imagine Qin Shi Huang wearing a tuxedo and drinking whiskey. Given how his bearing and countenance were nothing short of extraordinary, Furuichi Kaju found himself utterly absorbed in observing the man’s profile—when eventually, perhaps sensing Kaju’s gaze, the man turned his head with leisurely grace to look back at him. Thus unwittingly did their eyes lock firmly together. Before Kaju could even attempt to avert his flustered gaze, the man signaled—with a faint smile in his eyes—for him to come over to his table. Being a country bumpkin at heart, Kaju was the type to become utterly helpless when faced with such high-handed attitudes. He was instantly jolted as if electrified, rising from his seat almost unconsciously and slipping through the commotion to take the seat opposite the man. With unnervingly deft hands, the man pushed a whiskey soda glass toward Kaju while—

“Lately there’s been talk that the crane fountain in Hibiya Park sings songs—but is this actually true?” “To tell the truth, I only recently arrived in Tokyo and remain entirely unaware of the details.” He addressed him abruptly. For reasons unknown, the well-formed crane of the fountain standing at Hibiya Park’s pond center had begun occasionally singing in beautiful melodic tones about a week prior. Needless to say, this was no song clock—it didn’t chime at fixed morning hours but sang nonchalantly without schedule. Few managed to catch it at the right moment, yet those fortunate souls described its sound as one of unparalleled beauty. Some likened it to the delicate crystalline tones of a music box; others spoke of solemn notes akin to a pipe organ—impressions varied widely. But this proved no mere urban legend when Hibiya Park’s Head Gardener himself witnessed it and submitted to the Yūhi Newspaper an embellished account complete with a classical poem. Thus did it become indisputable fact that the bronze crane sang amidst its spray—a National Auspicious Sign without doubt—and talk of this “Singing Crane Fountain” suddenly erupted clamorously across Tokyo’s streets.

Around five in the morning about a week prior, as the park’s head gardener—making his usual hungover gulps with his throat—came along a garden path to the pond’s edge, the faintly mist-shrouded crane of the fountain appeared to flap its wings at that moment. This man was by nature an extreme drinker who constantly perceived anomalies in all phenomena around him, so he assumed this too was likely the work of last night’s awamori. Without giving it particular suspicion, he was about to pass it by and leave the pond’s edge when—the bronze crane began singing in a voice of ethereal purity.

It was akin to a passage from a Western-style dance tune—a cheerful melody that could not help but lift the spirits of even the most sorrowful heart. The head gardener stood gaping, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the crane’s beak, but the crane, indifferent to his bewilderment, continued singing resonantly—until, after roughly two minutes, it abruptly fell silent like a clumsy gramophone. The head gardener was, on the one hand, a kind-hearted man who considered every single tree and blade of grass in this park his friends; thus, overwhelmed with admiration at this moment, he found himself addressing the fountain’s crane in this manner.

“Hey there, crane! What on earth made you start singing like that?” “Ah, but still—what a magnificent performance that was!” This account was published in detail in the Yūhi Newspaper as “Head Gardener Sakazuki Enchō’s Record”—ghostwritten by Furuichi Kaju exactly as described—but there were underlying circumstances regarding this matter that required further elaboration. The reason was none other than this: Sakazuki’s daughter had been kept as a mistress by Yūhi Newspaper’s president Kōda Sessan for four or five years, and feeling indebted for this favor, Sakazuki had been striving to serve the newspaper loyally in all matters. Thus, upon witnessing this inexplicable event, he immediately rushed to Kōda’s mistress’s residence and whispered every detail of what had transpired. Kōda Sessan had been sitting cross-legged on his futon listening to Sakazuki’s account when, after a short while, he suddenly smacked his knee and—

“Ah, how fortuitous! “Kōda Sessan! With this, it seems my luck has finally turned.”

...is said to have shouted, then suddenly turned toward the household shrine and ritually clapped his hands twice in prayer. Through such machinations, the "Singing Crane Fountain" became a special feature of the Yūhi Newspaper. Under a grand three-tiered headline proclaiming "National Auspicious Sign," they crafted an elaborate article and mobilized every notable figure and scholar to contribute impressions. While some refused, most people came forward with half-baked ideas fearing future repercussions—thus over thirty dignitaries ended up paying murky tribute to the "Singing Crane Fountain." The other first-rate papers laughed it off as unworthy of mention, but citizens’ fervor unexpectedly surged. Letters condemning the arrogance of ignoring such a grand omen piled like mountains on editorial desks, sending executives into sudden panic as they scrambled for damage control—but by then it was too late. The crane fountain sensation had been wholly claimed by the Yūhi Newspaper. Meanwhile, the formerly obscure Yūhi Newspaper rose to instant fame through this affair, its sales—like the crane itself—soaring as if taking flight.

That Furuichi Kaju had suffered unjust humiliation at tonight’s Tokyo Kaikan year-end party could largely be attributed to the intense jealousy and resentment harbored by rival newspapers toward the "Singing Crane Fountain" incident simmering beneath the surface. The Tokyo City Parks Department couldn’t simply ignore it either, so they commissioned a music school professor to investigate the cause, but all the resulting reports were as elusive as grasping at clouds, leaving it entirely unclear under what circumstances this phenomenon had arisen.

Ah, so the crane fountain had indeed begun to sing songs after all. What even top scientists racking their brains could not comprehend was unlikely to be fathomed by the likes of the author. As for this matter, since there would soon be a lecture by the eminent yet eccentric scholar Dr. Kaneshige, we decided to leave its secrets to be unraveled by the doctor on that occasion. Returning once more to the bar "Paris," Furuichi Kaju at that very moment gulped down the offered Whiskey Soda in one go, wiped his mouth with his palm, and shook his head irritably while—

“Yes—it’s absolutely true! It really does sing—truly, it sings with the most splendid voice.” The mysterious man eyed him dubiously, “There is the saying about hearing cranes in the wind, but I have never before heard of a crane actually singing songs.” “If you claim it sings, how exactly does it produce this song?” “Surely you’re not suggesting it recites the 'Pine Wind Anthology' like Li Bai’s crane?” “It sings not some Li Bai verse but a Mozart-style gavotte.” “Even if you are a traveler, isn’t that rather careless?” “You probably haven’t had the honor of reading the Yūhi Newspaper yet, it seems.” “Be that as it may, if that’s indeed the case, don’t you think this is such a quintessentially Tokyo-esque incident?”

The mysterious man nodded,

“Ah, on that point I must concur,” “This is indeed a quintessentially Tokyo-esque incident.” “Might I trouble you to guide me to view this elegant crane?” “Certainly, I shall be your guide.” “Showing kindness to travelers is undoubtedly a most agreeable pursuit.” “Then let us make haste to depart.” “I should like to hear more regarding this crane phenomenon, though this establishment proves somewhat unsuitable for such discourse.” “We shall drink one whiskey soda each at six establishments—B.R., A.I., Bonton, Étoile, Maxim, and Lido—before proceeding to the crane’s location.” “Let us commence without delay.”

Thus did Furuichi Kaju and the mysterious man leave “Paris” behind and wander out into the dim back alleys of Ginza. What time could it be now? Though the 108 temple bells still dully reverberated inside Kaju’s skull, when he looked up, the moon had already sunk low—perched atop JOAK’s radio tower, or so it seemed—yet whether it truly was the moon remained uncertain to his bleary eyes. The two arrived at the edge of the fountain-adorned pond with staggering steps, stumbling against each other as they came. The bronze crane glittered its shapely wings while spewing pale water’s breath, appearing ready to take flight into the sky at any moment. Gentlemen, would you expect the crane to sing here? However, at this moment, the crane did not sing.

Kaju swayed his head unsteadily back and forth,

“Ah, the crane isn’t singing.”

The mysterious man nodded,

“Yes, it isn’t singing.” “But that’s quite all right.” “I wouldn’t want to make it sing at this late hour.”

With that—as if suddenly remembering something—he loudly clapped his hands together, “Ah, seeing this crane reminded me.” “There still remained one task.” “Now then, let’s hurry to Matsutani Tsuruko’s place.” “We were supposed to have a New Year’s Eve supper there last night with just the two of us, but I had completely forgotten until now.” “Poor thing—she must have waited until exhaustion and fallen asleep by now. After all, it’s already three o’clock.”

III. The Matter of Matsutani Tsuruko’s Lover

And the Unexpected Course of Events

On the edge of the cliff at Akasaka Sannōdai stood a two-story concrete house called Ariake-sō. Built in the then-trendy Corbusier style with large open windows, it stood out starkly among the many old tenements dominating this area. When viewed from the base of the cliff, it looked exactly like a large glass display case. To reach this place required climbing the narrow steep path beside Hie Shrine’s torii gate—a route so rugged that anyone would grow short of breath and need to pause midway. As noted earlier, Ariake-sō perched on the edge of a sheer thirty-shaku cliff, below which spread a vast vacant lot containing only a single low-roofed two-story house. To its side lay the grounds of Sannō-sama Shrine, making this an exceedingly tranquil and secluded location.

This house had been built by the young master of a Nihonbashi purse wholesaler—a man recently returned from studying abroad—who modeled it after foreign apartments he had seen, indulging his own tastes. Though termed an “apartment,” it bore no resemblance to those modest units with a single six-tatami room outfitted merely with gas and plumbing. Instead, every chamber boasted a lavish arrangement—thick russet carpets deep enough to sink one’s ankles. Each unit consisted of five rooms: a living room, bedroom, dining room, bathroom, and kitchen, partitioned by an entrance door to remain independent from other units. Therefore, the residents of this apartment were all leisure-class individuals with both money and refined tastes—mistresses of wealthy men, young couples returned from abroad, and high-class courtesans who defied easy categorization.

At this very moment, a twenty-four- or twenty-five-year-old beauty—her lovely features still retaining a youthful, almost childish charm—pushed open the second-floor window facing the cliff. Furrowing brows arched like a new moon’s fragrant crescent, she clicked her tongue lightly while retrieving a splendid orchid pot from the built-in flower shelf along the windowsill. Turning toward the dining room adjoining the living room, “Old woman, old woman, you’ve left this *Annamite King* out again, haven’t you? After all the trouble he went through to finally bring this back from Indochina—if we let it wither and make it seem like we treated it carelessly, wouldn’t that be a problem for me? You’re truly impossible, old woman.”

When she called out with a voice tinged with mild irritation, the one who eventually entered the room—wiping her hands on the hem of her cooking apron—was a part-time maid named Tome, around fifty years old. Her thinly-haired head, topped with a small topknot, bobbed up and down in repeated bows,

“Yes, I’m deeply sorry. I’m unaccustomed to handling it and ended up forgetting. I’ll take care from now on—please forgive me.”

With that, she peered at the mantel clock on the fireplace shelf, “Speaking of the King of Annam, how terribly late the master is.” “It’s already almost 12:15.” “Surely he couldn’t have forgotten…?” The beauty also turned toward the clock with a resentful look,

“He’s really late. I wonder what’s happened.” “But since we made such a firm promise yesterday, I don’t think he would forget… though.” “But perhaps he’s out drinking around Ginza again.” “How utterly infuriating.” “He has no consideration for others’ feelings.” “If he shows up late, I wonder what I should really do to him.”

Tome waved her hands as if fanning flames of encouragement. “Yes, yes! Give him a proper scolding, I say!” “Making such a beauty fret like this... Why, even for the master, this sin runs too deep.” The beauty—as if snapping back to herself—suddenly began firing off rapid questions,

“Speaking of which, the supper preparations are completely ready, right?” “The tableware for two is also set, right?”

“Yes yes, I’ve set everything out completely.” “The goose liver pâté has been thinly sliced and chilled on ice, and the champagne has already been placed in the ice bucket.”

The beauty smiled bashfully and, “Then stop your idle chatter and go home right away, please. Because tonight I’m supposed to see in the New Year alone with him—just the two of us.”

Tome smiled warmly,

“Yes yes, I’ll take my leave immediately without needing to be told. Then I wish you a splendid New Year.”

With that, Tome took her leave. Now left alone, the beauty threw herself onto a plush sofa matching the carpet’s hue and kept glancing at the clock, her heart growing increasingly restless. At that moment, the New Year’s Eve bell began its resonant toll. It became a somewhat antiquated scene, yet the bell’s toll reached even the Corbusier-style new apartment. There was simply nothing to be done about this.

This beauty was Matsutani Tsuruko—formerly a fourth-cohort student at the Takarazuka Girls’ Opera School where she had been an immensely popular pupil renowned as a dancing prodigy alongside stars like Beni Chizuru and Takachiho Mineko. But after injuring her leg onstage her fame waned; she soon left the school and drifted between bars in Kobe’s Sannomiya district until roughly two years prior when she caught the eye of that eccentric King of Annam King Sōryū—who had wandered into Japan on a whim—and was tenderly transplanted to Ariake-sō in Sannōdai.

As some may know, this King of Annam went by the Japanese name Munakata Ryūtarō—among Eastern royalty who cherished Japan, he stood out as its most ardent devotee. Detesting the French-style indoctrination forced upon him by his homeland’s government as one might abhor caterpillars, he deliberately recruited instructors from Japan to steep himself exclusively in its culture. His custom had been to visit Japan alone twice yearly during respites from state affairs—summer and winter—lingering for a month each time before returning home. Yet after growing enamored with Matsutani Tsuruko, it followed naturally enough that these visits swelled to near-bimonthly frequency.

Now, just as Matsutani Tsuruko was anxiously awaiting her lover’s visit, footsteps echoed from the hallway followed by a knocking sound at the door. She hurried down the corridor and threw it open—only to find not Munakata Ryūtarō whom she’d been expecting, but Momozawa Hana, a seamstress living on the second floor of the tenement house beneath the cliff. Carrying a garment wrapped in folded paper, she entered and hurriedly unwrapped the bundle on the table. Pulling out an eye-catching scarlet formal dress, she spread it out proudly before turning back toward Tsuruko.

“Here, it’s done.” “Please have a look.” “I must say I sewed it splendidly.” “After all, it’s the season—there’s a mountain of urgent jobs.” “I’ve been working to finish this by tonight, so for these past four or five days, I haven’t slept a wink.” “You simply must praise me!” Tsuruko, holding the formal dress against her chest, went to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and, twisting her body as she scrutinized herself from every angle, eventually turned back toward Hana with genuine delight.

“My, how splendid! It’s so well made! Thank you ever so much, Hana. I must express my gratitude. How about it? Does it suit me well?” “Yes, it’s infuriatingly perfect.” “Oh, how delightful! Anyway, don’t just stand there—do sit down for a bit. You’ve finished your work now, haven’t you?” “Yes, I’m just about to go to sleep now. But I’ll pass today. The King will be here soon, won’t he? No way! I don’t want to have to watch you two flaunt yourselves.”

“Don’t be silly—Ryūtarō’s your customer too. Wait here and be a little sociable.”

“Yes, that can be another time.” With that, she narrowed her eyes mischievously and,

“Miss Tsuruko, shall I tell you something interesting?” “The King had another visiting outfit made besides this one.” “How’s that? No need to fret now.” “And he says it’s fine if this one’s sewn roughly—what a strange king he is.” “That’s because, Hana—it’s a kimono for his wife back home.” “You think I don’t know about such things?” “You fool!” Hanako stuck her tongue out slightly between her teeth,

“I’m going home now—that’s more than enough for me to hear. Well then, see you tomorrow. ...Oh! I almost forgot— Happy New Year. Do keep favoring me this year too—yes, goodbye.”

Hana dashed out without heeding Tsuruko’s attempts to stop her. Tsuruko was alone again. When she looked at the clock, it was already twelve-thirty.

As the reader is aware, if we assume the mysterious figure from earlier was indeed Munakata Ryūtarō, he would still be drinking whiskey sodas with Furuichi Kaju at some bar—on what must have been their nth round—meaning that no matter how desperately Tsuruko waited, he couldn’t possibly appear here so quickly. Since even Tsuruko couldn’t very well stay up waiting indefinitely, she would probably go to bed before long.

Around twenty past three, a fierce knocking echoed at Tsuruko’s door. Tsuruko half-rose in bed and strained her ears toward the noise; from the muffled commotion outside the door, it seemed Ryūtarō wasn’t alone after all. Tsuruko clicked her tongue lightly and,

“Ugh, you’re impossible! You’ve dragged someone else along again?”

Muttering to herself, she went to the entrance and pulled open the door—and there, stumbling in, were none other than the aforementioned mysterious figure and Furuichi Kaju. Ryutaro, embracing Tsuruko’s shoulder as she tried to say something with a reproachful look,

“Ah, it seems we’re a bit too late.” “Still, there’s time before the morning sun comes up, so the pretext for a late-night meal hasn’t expired.” Having said this with leisurely composure, he took Furuichi’s hand with his left and strode into the dining room—only to immediately click his tongue disapprovingly,

“Oh, this won’t do. It does seem rather lacking not to have place settings for our guest. Now then, Miss Tsuruko, please do bring out whatever’s missing here.” Tsuruko involuntarily let her lips part in a smile. “I can’t possibly keep up with you. You always come up with such clever turns of phrase. Oh, very well—I’ll serve the meal, but even so, you simply must introduce this gentleman first, Your Majesty.” “But Miss Tsuruko, since I don’t know this gentleman’s name, I’ll have him go by Tsurunosuke Fountain for now—let’s start our meal regardless.”

Kaju restrained Tsuruko as she tried to stand up, staring intently at her face with bleary eyes, “Ah—such beauty defies all reason! How on earth can a beauty like this exist in this world? If it were me, I’d desire nothing more. Never mind that—just stay seated here. That would be a far greater feast than any meal.” As soon as he uttered these uncharacteristically flattering—almost sleep-talking—words, Tsuruko wriggled her body girlishly,

“Oh, how delightful! I simply adore people who flatter me,” “As thanks, I’ll feed you—you and I are already such good friends!” With that, she dragged a chair over, sat snugly against Kaju, and with a small silver fork, speared a shucked oyster—its juices dripping—

“Here.”

and thrust it toward Kaju’s mouth. Kaju, having no choice but to open his coarse mouth and gulp it down, found Tsuruko pressing the fork into his hand— “This time you’ll let me have a bite, won’t you? Come on, give me that foie gras.”

With that, she opened her mouth wide with an “Aaahn” right before Kaju’s nose. From between her perfectly aligned teeth—like minuscule pearls—the tip of a small, quivering tongue peeked through. Even through Kaju’s drunkenly bleary eyes, this was truly a magnificent sight.

Tsuruko had Kaju pour champagne while egging him on with fervor, but soon grew disheveled; suddenly springing up from her chair, she straddled his lap and—casting a glance back at Ryūtarō with an indescribably alluring gaze— “Hey, Mr. Fountain—look at him. That man there may be a king, but hee hee—even with that beard, he’s not frightening in the slightest.”

As soon as she said this, she suddenly pulled Kaju's head close and kissed him on the lips, “See? He isn’t angry at all. How foolish—playing at being a king.”

This was likely Tsuruko’s ploy to provoke jealousy in the King, but even so—what a strange man this so-called King was. Leaning back comfortably against the chair’s spine, his gentle eyes crinkled in a smile as he gazed calmly at Tsuruko’s antics. Given this, it was only natural for Tsuruko to grow impatient.

Tsuruko had been mumbling incoherently on Kaju’s lap when she suddenly leapt down to the floor. "I feel a draft whistling around my legs. There must be something open somewhere."

With that, she headed down the hallway with surprisingly steady footsteps—but soon returned, “The front door was open after all. How odd—I was certain I’d closed it earlier.” Her expression suddenly turned serious as she pondered this, but she immediately laughed, “Ah! Of course—I didn’t close it! Your Majesty must have closed it instead! No wonder it’s open... Say, Mr. Fountain, they say there’s not a single door in any house throughout His Majesty’s kingdom. That’s why they don’t know how to close them properly... Well now, we’ve eaten quite enough! Let’s go lounge on the sofa in the living room while we chat—Your Majesty, you must join us too.”

The King, sitting beside Tsuruko on the sofa, turned back toward Kaju with the same composed expression as before, “Tonight, let us dine at Prunier—the three of us.” “I shall await you in the hotel lobby at five o’clock.” “...To speak candidly, I believe this person’s appetite may improve should you grace us with your company.” “This evening has largely followed that pattern... Ah, though consider that last remark a jest.”

Kaju descended the steep path and reached the clearing at the cliff base. At that moment, a dull thud echoed far overhead. When he looked up toward the sound, something came falling—closer and closer—a heavy-looking object that streaked rapidly through the pallid moonlight as it fell. It resembled a red cloth-wrapped bundle, but with limb-like appendages that kept stretching and contracting incessantly. No—it was unmistakably human, the spread hem of its kimono ballooning outward.

Before he could even process the thought, it grazed past Kaju’s nose and plunged into the clearing with a heavy thud. In the rubble-strewn clearing, lying with her mouth agape was none other than Matsutani Tsuruko—the very woman he had just parted with moments ago. When Kaju grabbed her shoulders and shook her, she remained utterly limp, offering no resistance. The shadow of the lingering moon fell upon eyes that had flown startlingly wide open. There was a house right beside him, but Kaju was so flustered he failed to notice it. He suddenly hoisted Tsuruko onto his shoulder and proceeded up the path in a state of utter frenzy.

Matsutani Tsuruko, who had been so boisterously frolicking until mere moments before, now lay limp over Kaju's shoulder, no longer breathing. Still—what in God's name could have transpired in that russet-hued room during the five or six minutes it took Kaju to descend to the cliff's base?

Part Two

Part Four: Concerning the Swift Feat of the King of Annam

And: The Matter of Clear Evidence

Furuichi Kaju—a tabloid reporter for the Yūhi Newspaper—encountered a bizarre-looking man in Ginza’s back alleys on New Year’s Eve: none other than the incognito King of Annam, Emperor Munakata. After carousing through various establishments until thoroughly intoxicated, they yielded to persuasion and proceeded to the Ariake-so apartment in Akasaka Sannōdai. There, they shared a late-night meal with the Emperor’s lover Matsutani Tsuruko. When they departed around four in the morning and reached the clearing beneath the apartment’s cliff, something suddenly grazed past Kaju’s unremarkable nose as it fell—not a cloth-wrapped bundle as he’d imagined, but Matsutani Tsuruko herself, the very woman he had just left moments earlier. The previous installment concluded with Furuichi Kaju—stunned by this discovery—mindlessly scooping up Tsuruko and retracing his path.

Now, when Kaju observed Tsuruko’s condition and discerned she teetered between life and death—needless to say—he panicked mightily. Heedless of how his rented tuxedo wrinkled, he abruptly hoisted Tsuruko onto his back and began rushing back to Ariake-so in utter frenzy.

Hoshigaoka—a desolate locale. Four in the morning, light frozen in the cold. One side: an earthen embankment; the other: a grove of pines and cedars, their roots tangled with rustling dwarf bamboo that snagged at his feet—a pitch-dark chest-piercing slope, cramped beyond measure. Looking back at Atsuru on his back, he saw her alluring white shins protruding from between crimson undergarments splayed like ukiyo-e prints, her moonward face creased about the eyes as if smiling. Given the hour’s depth—and that he bore this perfumed coquette down a path unseen by night’s eye—any stranger might have deemed him a man of enviable fortune; yet truth told, the Atsuru upon his back had already breathed her last.

But Kaju remained oblivious to this fact. Thinking only of reaching Ariake-so as quickly as possible to administer treatment and somehow save her life, he kept hastening his pace while thinking of nothing else—but the path was strewn everywhere with grey heron droppings, making proper progress impossible. Each time he slid, Tsuruko’s foot would lightly kick Kaju’s backside. Kaju, thinking this was Atsuru urgently signaling him to hurry, grew all the more flustered,

“Ah, uncomfortable, are you? Of course, of course—you fell at least thirty shaku, so some discomfort is only natural." “Be that as it may, please stop kicking.” “I’m trying to hurry as fast as I can, but really—”

While frantically soothing the corpse and gasping for breath as he climbed, he finally reached the entrance of Ariake-so.

He dashed up the stairs and pushed at the door to Tsuruko’s residence, but to his surprise, it appeared to be firmly locked from the inside—no matter how he pushed or shoved, it showed no sign of opening. Given all the commotion that had occurred, one would expect at least some signs of people stirring about—yet there was no such indication whatsoever; the place remained profoundly silent and still, as if submerged in utter tranquility. Kaju stood there dazed for a moment, deflated by the anticlimax—but as this brought no resolution, he grew somewhat impatient and pressed the wall button to summon assistance. After a brief interval, leisurely footsteps approached through the entryway corridor, and there on the other side of the door, responding with a slurred drunken voice, stood none other than Emperor Munakata. Kaju, burning with impatience,

“Hey, it’s a problem if you keep spouting such roundabout nonsense there.” “It’s me.” “It’s Tsuruno Fountain! Something terrible has happened—open the door quickly!”

To this, the King of Annam showed not the slightest hint of surprise, “Oh! Mr. Tsuruno—this is unexpected. What brings you here at this hour?” “Though this seems rather premature for a return visit.” “…I suppose you wanted to see Tsuruko’s face again.” “Ah, that’s only natural.” Muttering in his usual unhurried tone, he began clattering at the door as he worked to unlock it.

Regarding Emperor Munakata Ryū of Annam, I had already touched upon him in the previous installment; however, since there are likely none among you readers who enjoy intimacy with emperors, I imagine some of you may feel somewhat patronized and grow resentful. Therefore, to avoid provoking your antipathy, it would be expedient to strenuously affirm that this is no imaginary figure.

In the previous installment, we casually referred to him as Ryūtarō or "King," treating him like a friend, but this man was none other than the supreme emperor who reigned over fifty-two million subjects in French Indochina. Not only did he hold a doctorate in Japanese literature, but he was also thoroughly versed in both the willow-shaded lanes and flower-lit quarters of Europe—a man renowned among connoisseurs as the quintessential sophisticate, celebrated equally for scholarly erudition and a life of refined pleasures. Under normal circumstances, Furuichi Kaju would never have been able to converse familiarly with someone of such standing, regardless of circumstance. That this Emperor would associate with such harebrained tabloid journalists and indulge in drunken revelry through Ginza’s back alleys might partly stem from his incognito status—but above all, it revealed Emperor Munakata to possess an extraordinarily carefree and unconventional spirit. Regarding his demeanor, this was a man of deliberate obscurity—one might say he resembled what we call poets or philosophers. Why he chose to cloak such a vibrant existence remains unexplained here, as it lies beyond our central narrative—though should one consult Annam’s historical records and examine their entry for 1883, certain truths might become self-evident.

As previously mentioned, Emperor Munakata held an extraordinary partiality for Japan, abhorring French cultural influence as one would a caterpillar, and despite the French Governor-General’s displeasure, he deliberately invited numerous teachers from Japan to devote himself to Japanese education. Yet any Japanese person who studied abroad in Paris and witnessed the military review near the presidential residence on July 14th would surely recognize this Emperor Munakata. Upon the platform constructed at the residence’s entrance, standing alongside the kings of Monaco and Morocco—perennially wearing a melancholic countenance at every Bastille Day celebration regardless of the year—that black-bearded gentleman bearing the Japanese name Munakata Ryūtarō was none other than Emperor Munakata.

Now, while the King of Annam kept clattering the keys, he soon opened the door and thrust his customary noble visage composedly into the corridor. Upon seeing Tsuruko—pale as death over Kaju’s shoulder—he abruptly arched his phoenix-like eyebrows and began scrutinizing their bizarre union with an inscrutable gaze. Kaju barged into the familiar bedroom without ceremony, laid Tsuruko upon the bed, then turned toward Emperor Munakata standing vacantly—

“Water! And fetch someone—now!” he urged in a shrill voice. Contrary to expectations of him rushing to comply, the Emperor began pacing about the room with detachment, working his beard between thumb and forefinger. To any observer, it might have seemed he was laboring to comprehend the situation before him—yet regardless of interpretation, his bearing remained profoundly uncanny. Kaju loosened Tsuruko’s obi and straightened her collar, applying every commonsense remedy while endlessly repeating “Atsuru-san! Atsuru-san!”—though of course Atsuru couldn’t answer. She’d been released from such obligations entirely. Her death-pale features—undeniable after mere hours—lay like some inert phenomenon beneath the desk lamp’s pallid glow. Even slow-witted Kaju seemed at last to comprehend; he stood gaping at her face until finally expelling a sigh along with—

“Oh, she’s dead.” “This won’t do...” He had been pacing frantically about the area in a panic when suddenly he whirled around, dashed out of the bedroom, raced down the stairs, and began hammering on the janitor’s door at the back of the entrance as if to break it down— “Mr. Janitor! Mr. Janitor!” From within came an old woman’s hoarse voice, “My, what could be the matter?……Yes, yes, it’s Granny Uma here. What is it, what is it? Has someone taken ill suddenly?” Kaju, getting nowhere,

“It’s terrible, terrible—Miss Matsutani Tsuruko has committed suicide! …No, I shouldn’t say such a thing. Miss Tsuruko is gravely ill—no, no—it’s an emergency, an emergency! Go fetch a doctor right away!”

Uma sluggishly rose to her feet, her words still muffled. “Oh, so there’s a dead body.” “What a way to start the New Year.”

After clicking her tongue, her voice alone took on a kindly tone as she remained buried under the futon, “Oh dear, that’s terrible. “Yes, yes, understood. I’ll go fetch someone right away, sir.” Kaju returned to the second floor. When he looked, there sat the King of Annam at the dining table adjacent to the bedroom, now calmly raising a glass of whiskey soda—so Kaju grew furious,

“Whatever you do is your prerogative.” “If you want to drink, then drink.” “Leaving that aside—how on earth did such a thing happen?”

Then, in a tone so composed that no drunkard—however composed—could have mustered such calm, the King of Annam— “Ah, I don’t know.”

That was all. It was a brusque response. "'I don't know'? That's preposterously negligent." "After all, Miss Tsuruko lies cold in the next room." "And... and... that sort of response won't do." "Even for the King of Annam, this negligence goes too far!" Kaju believed himself completely sober by now, but in truth, intoxication still clung to his core. Witnessing the King's demeanor ignited sudden righteous fury within him—he brandished his country-bred obstinacy like a weapon, pressing forward with the unspoken threat that consequences would follow depending on the reply.

“Now look here—what exactly did you start doing after I left? When I left this room, you were sitting side by side with Miss Tsuruko on the sofa in the opposite bedroom. We had arranged to meet in the Imperial Hotel lobby at five this evening so the three of us could go dine at Prunier together, and not long after I left Ariake-so and reached the vacant lot below the cliff, Miss Tsuruko suddenly came plummeting down from the heavens. Why did Miss Tsuruko fall?…Given how high all the windows in this room are—see for yourself—even if she were drunk, there’s no way she could have tumbled out naturally. Nor do I believe Miss Tsuruko had any such proclivities in her daily life. First of all, she was in such high spirits just moments ago! I find this turn of events utterly incomprehensible, though.”

“Indeed, it is most perplexing.” “There’s no need to parrot my words. After I left this room, what on earth did you do?” “I did nothing at all, I assure you. Until you pressed the call bell earlier, I had been sitting on that sofa continuously since then.” “I see now.” “However, Tsuruko left the bedroom. I had thought I saw you off,”

Hearing this, Kaju suddenly glared at the King of Annam’s face with a haughty expression,

“No, Miss Tsuruko did not come to see me off.” “When I left, she didn’t even stand up, did she?” “Oh, you’re lying.” “Then it was you after all—” In roughly this manner, Furuichi Kaju—suddenly acting like a detective—pressed his largely pointless interrogation. But as tedious details would be omitted here, let us turn to the King of Annam: showing no particular concern for Kaju’s impertinent chatter, he sat elegantly arching his upper body in the chair while toying with an empty glass. Before long, he set it down on the dining table, rose quietly, moved toward the parlor, picked up the overcoat tossed upon the sofa, and leisurely began slipping his arms into it. Kaju was startled,

“Well, well—what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m preparing to leave.”

“Stop with these preposterous claims. What are you going to do about this mess?” “No, I must take my leave… But you know, Mr. Fountain—things will work themselves out eventually. I have indeed assumed responsibility for your custody. You needn’t concern yourself. Well then,”

After uttering something cryptic, as if he had forgotten something, he entered the bedroom opposite the entrance, still wearing his hat.

From the surrounding circumstances, it seemed that the King of Annam had thrown Tsuruko down, but even so—what motive could he have had for such a barbaric act? Perhaps because Tsuruko had just performed such an outrageous display with Kaju before the King’s very eyes, he—overcome by jealousy—might have committed this barbaric act.

But since stating such speculations here brought little benefit—this matter would be left to Inspector Manakome, who would later appear in this novel, to resolve—the narration proceeded with the scene: approximately five minutes later, someone began pounding forcefully on the front door. When Kaju hurriedly opened it, he found a police sergeant and a plainclothes officer entering.

The police sergeant stepped into the room and immediately turned to Kaju. “So this is where the murder happened, huh? Where’s the body?”

Even as he posed the question, the detective was already blocking the entrance, his body poised and alert. Kaju was terrified,

“Murder! Oh, how do you know that? This is really bad.” “The caretaker here notified us of that fact—or is this report perhaps unfounded?”

“No, I’m not saying it’s untrue, but there’s something…”

The police sergeant adopted a stern, formulaic manner,

“Enough of that—just show me the way.” Or perhaps he was on the verge of barging in—such was his threatening demeanor. In the adjacent bedroom was Emperor Munakata—and though Kaju thought this marked the true critical moment, he reluctantly took the lead into the bedroom, only to find no trace of where the King of Annam might have hidden himself. Presumably, he must have heard the commotion and hidden in the back bathroom—but given the apartment’s modest size, there was no way he could remain concealed.

The police sergeant had approached the bed and begun examining Tsuruko's corpse when hushed voices conversing about something reached him from the entrance direction. Appearing concerned, he strode toward them with large steps. Kaju followed a short distance behind as if dragged along, arriving at the entrance doorway where someone engaged in a standing conversation with the plainclothes officer proved to be Ouma—the caretaker from earlier. Old Woman Ouma whispered,

“Yes, yes—the one in the back there’s him.” “No doubt about it at all.” “But given his station like I said earlier… no lack of discretion there… but still…” He could hear her murmuring such things.

When Kaju entered the parlor, Old Woman Ouma suddenly fell silent and bowed with such exaggerated deference that one feared her spine might snap. A fifty-five- or fifty-six-year-old, malicious-looking old woman. The police sergeant slowly approached Kaju, his manner suggesting he might rub his hands together in obsequious anticipation, “To begin with, this was entirely beyond my knowledge… though I shall offer a full apology later… Given these circumstances, I believe it would be best to hear the details of this incident directly from you… though this must be terribly inconvenient. However, given the gravity of the matter… and considering the government’s position as well…”

After Kaju gave a full account of how he had left the room, carried Tsuruko on his back, and returned, the two officers exchanged glances and listened with sly smirks. Once he finished, the police sergeant— “So you testify that in this room were yourself, the victim, and one other individual.” “And where is that individual now?” “If he’s not here, he must be hiding somewhere. “Go look for him. He hasn’t gone outside anyway.”

The reader has likely already surmised as much, but the King of Annam was nowhere to be found—not in the bathroom, the kitchen, nor even the cupboards; indeed, in any place where a person might hide.

There was a kitchen entrance facing the back staircase in the dining room, but its door had been double-locked from the outside when the caretaker took it back the previous night, and the key was now fastened to Old Woman Ouma’s waist. At the entrance doorway, an unpleasant-faced detective had been standing guard since earlier, and aside from that ill-fated window in the entrance hall, all other windows remained firmly locked from the inside. Ah—then it must be that the King of Annam had vanished like mist between the bathroom and the bedroom. There was nothing to do but think so. At that moment, the police sergeant’s hand shot out and seized Kaju’s arm. Old Woman Ouma nodded with a self-satisfied look,

“Well, whatever the case, since it was just the two of you here alone, there’s no squirming out of this now.” Old Woman Ouma made an unnecessary remark. Kaju’s lips trembled, “No no, there were definitely three of us here. As proof—”

As he spoke, he pointed at the nearby dining table to present evidence of their having eaten as three, but regrettably, only two place settings could be found upon it. Kaju had completely forgotten how the previous night, when the King of Annam had tried to have Tsuruko bring out his tableware, he had firmly refused, leading them to eat using the same fork amidst an unusual turn of events.

V. Kaju’s Ecstasy

A Common yet Sumptuous Breakfast

When Kaju abruptly opened his eyes, he found himself sleeping on something like a long chair—by now, night had completely given way to dawn, with pale sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains. Yet Kaju’s consciousness still swayed within the dream, uncertain even whether he was awake or asleep. Only the creaking ache in his neck and lower back and his scorched, parched throat seemed to be real. As for where he was now, even attempting to consider it made his head throb as if splitting, rendering him unable to form a single coherent thought. He remembered being taken by taxi to Tameike Police Station at dawn and thrown into a pitch-black room, but everything after that had vanished from his memory.

Forcing open his bleary eyes and surveying the dimly lit room, he found it furnished with a large desk and leather-upholstered armchairs—not opulent but substantial. Oil paintings hung framed on the walls, though none looked familiar. Rubbing his eyes while doubting if he still dreamed, he reached for his neck and touched a stiff standing collar. No wonder his neck ached—Kaju had slept still wearing his tuxedo. Pushing himself halfway up, he looked toward the wall near his feet where what appeared to be his velour bowler hat—more precious than life itself—hung from a nail. Wait—now that he thought of it, his overcoat was there too, his leather gloves as well. At this realization Kaju jolted fully awake. If this wasn’t a dream, he was being held here as Matsutani Tsuruko’s murderer—meaning he found himself in dire straits indeed. This was no time to lie about idly.

In any case, I had to figure out where I was. He suddenly jumped up, approached the desk and looked—countless documents on it were plastered with red seals reading “Top Secret” and “Approved.” Kaju— “Hmm...” “This is the police chief’s office.” “Then why did they lock me up here?”

He crossed his arms and pondered, then suddenly slapped his knee, Last night that police sergeant gave some absurdly polite greeting—he must’ve jumped to the conclusion that I’m Emperor Munakata’s close friend or some highborn gentleman, hence this deferential treatment. I’d paid an exorbitant deposit to rent this tuxedo for our industry’s year-end party, wanting to show up those bastards who always look down on me—never imagined it’d lead to this. They say clothes make the man, but decked out like this, there’s no way I could be mistaken for some lowly tabloid hack. Moreover, my features are quite refined for what they are—I might’ve been mistaken for a marquis or something. No, you never know what might turn out to be a blessing.

He had been smirking to himself, but suddenly his expression grew unsettled again, "That I can smirk in such a critical moment speaks to my own grit, but this situation’s no half-baked pickle." "Of course I’ve got no memory of any wrongdoing, but there’s not a soul who’ll swear to my innocence." "That king bastard made grand claims about taking responsibility for me, but with him vanished like smoke, he’s worthless now." "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

he kept tilting his head in a gesture of bewilderment.

The circumstances of the case were entirely unfavorable to Kaju, leaving him seemingly trapped in an inescapable predicament. Yet when he considered it carefully, he realized there remained but one path to prove his innocence. Though Kaju had never mentioned the King of Annam's circumstances the previous night, were he to confess how he and Emperor Munakata had caroused together since their meeting at "Paris"—given such an extraordinary monarch's unforgettable appearance—there would likely be witnesses who could testify they had stayed together until late hours. Since no emperor in his right mind would send Kaju alone to Matsutani Tsuruko's residence, the authorities might question this point and eventually accept Kaju's claim that three people had been present that night. It made for a feeble rebuttal, yet this alone remained his solitary glimmer of hope.

After much deliberation, Kaju had temporarily resolved that when pressed to the limit, he would present this argument—but from another perspective, what a sensational scoop it would make to claim the Emperor of Annam had committed murder. Depending on how it was handled, he could make all of Japan reel. Not only that, but aside from Old Woman Ouma and a few officials, in all of vast Tokyo, only Furuichi Kaju knew this truth. Moreover, this Kaju was both an eyewitness to the incident and a key witness to the crime itself. Could Furuichi Kaju—even if still green, a mere tabloid reporter—overlook such a scoop as though it were passing mist?

Until just moments ago, Kaju had been in a drunken stupor, his profession completely forgotten—but upon reaching this realization, a ferocious professional consciousness arose within him.

If Kaju were to scoop this case, how remarkable that would be! He could make those bastards from Asahi and Nichinichi—who usually treated him with barely concealed contempt—stand utterly dumbfounded. And thus, the name of Furuichi Kaju of the Yūhi Newspaper would suddenly reverberate throughout the industry. The mere thought of it made his heart race.

Kaju wore a dignified expression. “Alright—no matter what it takes, I’ll make this scoop mine. If I revealed how I’d been cavorting with the King of Annam, they’d probably release me—but then every last bit of this once-in-a-lifetime story I’m meant to write would get snatched up by other hacks before I could put pen to paper. That’d be worthless. The situation’s dire now, but heaven’s net leaves no escape—even if I don’t struggle, they’ll surely find Emperor Munakata’s the real killer, prove my innocence, and free me without fail. Right—I’ll never let a word about the Emperor slip through these lips. Nor breathe a whisper about my status. Even if one month’s detention becomes two without trial—no fear there. I’ll plant myself firm and bold, watching this case unravel to its rotten core. Though they can’t keep me here forever—the interrogation must start soon. When it does, I’ll read their moves and feed them exactly what they want to hear. Now that I’ve decided—no more lolling about on this ridiculous bench like some bloated seal. I’ll call the authorities myself!”

Having muttered this, he hastily straightened his necktie, pulled down the hem of his wrinkled jacket, and meticulously combed his hair with a retrieved comb; once sufficiently groomed, he turned toward the doorway and declared in a voice of utmost solemnity:

“Hey! Isn’t anyone here?”

he called out.

Then, as if answering a summons, the door quietly opened to admit a man around fifty with a trim mustache, wearing a pristine uniform adorned with epaulets and white gloves. He pressed both palms firmly against his thighs, shuffled his feet toward the window to draw open the curtain, then advanced respectfully before Kaju, “Are you awake now?” he said. Even Kaju hadn’t anticipated such deference. Rather than responding, he stared in bewilderment at the man’s face—when the man inquired in an obsequious tone, “Did you sleep well? It must have been terribly cramped for you,” then—

“Regarding my officers’ blunder—though most honorable... no, generous... no, how should I phrase this—the fact remains that I was absent from the station at the time... Upon receiving the report, I rushed back in alarm to find you... well, you seemed to be resting so comfortably that I thought—though it must have been terribly cramped—it would be better not to disturb you... After all, dawn had yet to break, and moreover...”

Kaju finally regained his senses and, thinking this was no time to show weakness, interrupted the man’s speech in a haughty tone, “Ah, no no, that’s quite unnecessary… .” “And you are…?”

The man snapped into a bow and adopted a tone as though reciting, “Tameike Police Station Chief, Senior Seventh Rank, Sixth Class Order of Merit with Seventh Grade, Bachelor of Laws Tatemachi Sangoro.” Kaju nodded lightly, “Ah, I see. I must have caused you considerable trouble.” Tatemachi Sangoro once again snapped into a bow,

“Not at all, I...” “We shall severely reprimand the officers for their blunders in due course, but as you may now leave at your discretion—in fact, at this very moment—” True to his word, the King of Annam had just come to the police station and completed the release procedures—or so Kaju thought, letting out a sigh of relief—

“So he’s already come then?”

The police chief nodded,

“Yes, precisely. “Whenever you wish.” The police chief lowered his voice,

“This is a peripheral matter, but we immediately summoned the caretaker woman of Ariake-so this morning and conducted a thorough interrogation. According to her testimony, it appears not a single journalist has caught wind of last night’s murd—no, last night’s incident. I humbly take the liberty of mentioning this detail.”

As he finished speaking, a policeman knocked and entered. "The car is ready," he said and withdrew.

Kaju instinctively jolted upright and glared at the police chief through narrowed eyes—only to find the man’s tightly pursed lips now twisted at the corners in what seemed a faint smirk. However hastily they might have concluded Kaju to be a noble personage, it was unthinkable that the police would send him back by automobile. Realizing their previous discourteous treatment had all been a ploy to deceive and send him to the Metropolitan Police Department, Kaju felt yet another wave of disappointment—yet outwardly maintaining his composure, he rose with dignity and allowed himself to be led dejectedly into the waiting automobile by the police chief.

The car headed from Toranomon toward Kasumigaseki. It was heading precisely toward the Metropolitan Police Department.

When he peered through the peephole in the soft top's rear window, a single automobile trailed behind at an ambiguous distance—neither closing in nor falling back. Inside it were what appeared to be three plainclothes officers. Kaju's face twisted into a tearful expression, his earlier resolve beginning to waver, when the automobile appeared to have stopped. He apprehensively looked toward what he assumed would be the Metropolitan Police Department's grand entrance—only to find himself instead at the Imperial Hotel's carriage porch. As he watched, one of the plainclothes officers nimbly leapt down from the trailing car and disappeared into the hotel—and before he could process this, a manager-like man in a morning coat came scurrying out with a slight stoop, offering an obsequious bow as he pulled open the door of Kaju's automobile.

Kaju alighted from the automobile with a mind to let them do as they pleased. The manager went ahead up to the second floor, guided Kaju into what appeared to be an eastern-facing guest room, then retreated backward to the doorway where he made another exaggerated bow, and withdrew as though fleeing.

Only Kaju remained. Perched restlessly in an armchair so deep it nearly swallowed him to the chin, he waited with bated breath for the King of Annam’s arrival—only for footsteps to echo down the corridor some twenty minutes later, heralding not Emperor Munakata but a bald-headed figure resembling a bell captain clad in gleaming black livery. Crawling forward, he thrust a large cardstock-like object right before Kaju’s nose without uttering a word.

Kaju, startled out of his wits with his mind reeling, timidly took it in hand—only to find it turned out to be nothing so fearsome after all. It was a menu. The time was exactly noon. Impressed by this kingly thoroughness, Kaju—since this was precisely such an occasion—ordered four or five of the most expensive dishes he could summon, whereupon the bald-headed man meticulously noted each one before “Where shall I bring it?” “If you prefer, I shall bring it to your bedroom.”

he said. Kaju gulped down his saliva and summoned every ounce of courage,

“Ah, bring it to the bedroom,” he answered in a voice as thin as a mosquito’s whine. Kaju sat in a daze, his stomach churning as if he might vomit, when a young bellboy entered, presented him with a telegram, and withdrew. He let out a sigh of relief, certain this must be a telegram from the King of Annam apologizing for his tardiness. Hurriedly tearing open the envelope, he scanned the contents only to find—to his astonishment—an encrypted message that remained utterly incomprehensible no matter how many times he read it.

When he frantically checked the cover, it was a telegram addressed to Emperor Munakata from the Governor-General of Annam. Kaju stood rigidly gripping the telegram,

"This is bad," he thought. "If they saw fit to deliver this telegram to me... then... then... th-this me as Annam’s..."

He cried out and staggered toward the chair, nearly collapsing. Let’s hope Kaju doesn’t faint.

6. "Crane Child Soap"

and the Doctor’s Bizarre Rhetoric

On a tranquil New Year’s morning, as time itself seemed renewed, auspicious clouds hung low over Ouchiyama’s verdant pines—a day so serene that even cranes appeared ready to dance forth, celebrating His Majesty’s auspicious longevity.

New Year’s visiting cars adorned with wreaths—ferrying passengers in fur-trimmed hats and gold braid—swiftly passed one another toward Ōtemae just as a procession led by a brass band marched into view. Fluttering gaudy flags and streamers in the morning wind, they arrived before Nijubashi Bridge, lined up to pay homage toward the Imperial Palace, then crossed the intersection from Babanosakimon Gate and proceeded into Hibiya Park. The marchers wore matching coats with “Crane Child Soap” dyed in white across their backs, some sporting headbands tied boldly across their foreheads. Though early for a New Year’s sale event, what procession could this be? A glance at the lead banner revealed (Japan’s Premier Evening Paper) Yūhi Newspaper emblazoned in massive characters. Yet even this left observers none the wiser. Opportunely, a man in a suit with a red sash came distributing flyers. Taking one, they read its cover bearing wooden type as large as cow pats:

This morning at 9:12 The Crane Fountain Will Sing Come behold the Auspicious Sign Come to Hibiya Park! "(Limited to Yūhi Newspaper annual subscribers)"

was printed. As previously mentioned, for reasons unknown, the crane fountain in Hibiya Park had begun singing in beautiful scale-like tones at irregular intervals starting about a week prior. It was Sakazuki—head gardener of Hibiya Park—who first discovered this phenomenon, but Yūhi Newspaper outpaced rival outlets to swiftly report the fact, proclaiming it undoubtedly a national auspicious sign that all citizens had awaited to celebrate His Majesty’s flourishing reign. They displayed congratulatory messages from prominent figures while mobilizing every scholar and doctor to expound upon this wondrous occurrence. Among them were opinions stated from medical viewpoints and military standpoints—many being wide of the mark—but in short, Yūhi Newspaper had firmly seized upon this "Crane Fountain Incident," filling every page day after day with sensational ideas they devised.

That a bronze crane should sing songs in elegant melodic performances along with the fountain’s waters was undeniably a rare spectacle. Public fervor for the “Singing Crane Fountain” soared to a fever pitch, with citizens—each desperate to hear its song firsthand—pushing and shoving their way into Hibiya Park. The pond surrounding the fountain’s crane remained so packed from dawn till dusk that movement became impossible. Though no food stalls had materialized, vendors swarmed like flies while ringing bells as they hawked the Yūhi Newspaper before the park’s four gates.

Due to the circumstances previously described, the "Singing Crane Fountain" incident had become the exclusive domain of Yūhi Newspaper; thus, those wishing to know its details had no recourse but to seek them through this publication. The Yūhi Newspaper, delivered hourly in mountainous stacks via sidecar, sold out in the blink of an eye—a roaring success. Because of this, the Yūhi Newspaper—which had previously been unknown to even exist—suddenly leapt to prominence, and now its circulation numbers came to be counted in the tens of thousands.

Today's procession—the ultimate secret scheme of president and editor-in-chief Kōda Sessan to further stoke the already fever-pitched public curiosity, thereby cementing Yūhi Newspaper's rapidly expanding foothold into an unshakable foundation—had been conceived in collaboration with the auspiciously named "Crane Child Soap," staging under the pretense of an "Auspicious Sign Celebration" a spectacle unprecedented in all history. The ceremony's sequence would proceed as follows: first came Kōda Sessan's opening remarks; the Tokyo Municipal Waterworks Section Chief's impressions; the award presentation to Sakazuki Enchō—first discoverer of this Auspicious Sign; congratulatory addresses from dignitaries; Dr. Kaneshige's grand lecture on this inexplicable phenomenon; and finally, after three cheers for His Majesty's auspicious longevity, the proceedings concluded.

To all attendees—in emulation of this Auspicious Sign—“Crane Child Soap” was presented without exception, alongside distribution of Yūhi Newspaper half-price subscription coupons.

However, this was nothing more than a sham—as I have just described—meant to add gravitas to their grand spectacle. Gathering a crowd to hand out newspaper half-price coupons was the sort of thing even a half-page tabloid could manage. However, this stratagem—conceived by Kōda Sessan, less a renowned editor-in-chief than a master showman, with all the wisdom of his lifetime—was no such trifling matter. Kōda Sessan had staked an audacious gamble: having declared that the fountain’s crane would assuredly sing at 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day of the Boar, he would permit only Yūhi Newspaper’s annual subscribers to witness this once-in-a-millennium miracle with their own eyes.

As for how exactly 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day had been calculated as the time for the fountain’s crane to sing—well, the author naturally had no way of knowing. However, according to hearsay, Kōda Sessan had visited Dr. Kaneshige—that eccentric physicist known for his peculiarities—four or five days prior, bringing with him a one-shō bottle of sake. Sitting cross-legged in the scholar’s humble abode, he had listened to the doctor’s bizarre theories. It seemed this audacious idea of Kōda’s had been subtly suggested to him by the doctor during that very encounter. After all, given that the doctor in question had a habit of spinning out wildly implausible theories at the mere sight of a human face, Kōda Sessan naturally hadn’t swallowed the man’s nonsense whole. No matter how vehemently the doctor insisted, the notion that the fountain’s crane would sing at 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day was at best one part chance and nine parts conjecture.

Kōda Sessan, who ordinarily held the exceptional view that a newspaper’s growth was proportional to its daring, was not the sort of timid man to balk at a nine-tenths risk ratio. For he possessed both the ferocity and courage to boldly act on his ideas—so long as there remained even a one-percent chance of success. Ah, were some chance to make that crane sing precisely at its appointed hour! The Yūhi Newspaper’s standing would be set upon an unshakable foundation. But conversely, should it remain silent, it would prove futile to even speak of the consequences.

Kōda Sessan being beaten to a pulp by an enraged mob would be the least of it—the Yūhi Newspaper’s very life would be abruptly snuffed out by this turn of events. It would be nigh impossible to recover. This grand scheme had been deeply concealed in Kōda Sessan’s heart since three days prior, and he had divulged it to none save his trusted subordinate Furuichi Kaju—not even to his beloved mistress Sakazuki Etsuko. The reason they had not announced this was not only due to fearing interference from rival newspapers but also because this venture itself was already illegal.

Kōda Sessan had timed it for 12:01 AM on December 31—the dead of night—to have the large posters bearing the same text as the aforementioned flyers, which he had secretly ordered printed in advance, simultaneously pasted up across various locations. The area covered not only Greater Tokyo but extended to neighboring districts, and it would be no exaggeration to say that every utility pole in Tokyo Prefecture had been plastered with these posters. Now then, returning once more to Hibiya Park—when the procession arrived beside the pond, the brass band began playing the popular song *If I Call You (Anata to Yobeba)* in a buoyant manner before a cloud-like multitude of spectators.

Meanwhile, the Crane Child Soap workers in company uniforms brought two large carts from somewhere and hastily constructed a makeshift platform beside the pond. As the appointed time drew near, the crowd swelled until embankments and pine trees alike were draped with clusters of people—a scene so dense one couldn't even wipe away sweat, let alone move. Jostled and shoved in the front row, two girls stood unsteadily. They appeared roughly the same age, but their looks differed as vastly as heaven and earth.

One was a slender, lovely girl with bright eyes, while the other was a stout, heavyset girl with an unkempt appearance that dampened one's spirits just to look at her. The latter had been stretching up on tiptoe and ducking her head to peer restlessly about since earlier, but the pretty girl seemed worried about something, her right hand slipped into her obi as she wore a dejected, troubled look. Eventually, Shaguma turned back to her companion, stared intently at her face, then clicked her tongue irritably,

“Hey, what’s wrong with you, Hanako?” “What’s with that gloomy face?” “Even though it’s a rare day off, now you’ve got even me feeling gloomy!” “Stop making such a face!”

When Shaguma snapped at her, Hanako—appearing to be a docile girl—simply smiled sweetly without resistance, “Oh, I’m sorry.” “I just feel so heavy-hearted today—please don’t mind it.” With that, she let out a soft sigh. Shaguma dismissed this and stretched up again to peer toward the band—when suddenly a shrill voice erupted: “Hey, look look, Hanako. “Things are getting interesting!”

The girl called Hanako looked up and saw two police officers approaching the brass band. They appeared to order a man resembling the bandmaster to cease playing, but when he flatly disregarded them, the angered officers grabbed one clarinetist and one cornetist by their arms, dragging them out of the circle formation. The pop song instantly lost its melody, leaving only the hollow thump of drums. The crowd roared with laughter in unison. As the police officers—growing increasingly furious—moved to seize even the big drum, two figures emerged pushing through the crowd to stand near the platform. One was a burly, large-eyed man of forty-five or six who resembled a country sumo wrestler; the other, a diminutive figure around fifty with salt-and-pepper hair so tousled it resembled a sparrow’s nest—so unremarkable he seemed almost insubstantial. The former was recognized as Yūhi Newspaper president Kōda Sessan; the latter as Dr. Kanekiyo.

Seeing the tangle between the band and the police officers, Kōda hurried over and barked orders in an authoritative voice; before long, the officers withdrew, pushing through the crowd with evident reluctance. At that moment, a clamorous ringing of bells sounded from the park entrance, and about five newspaper vendors came running in while shouting, "Yūhi! Yūhi! Special edition! Major incident! With photos!" The girl called Hanako started at hearing this and, in a fluster, hurriedly pulled out a small drawstring purse from her obi. She purchased a copy of the newspaper and ran her eyes fiercely over it, when—

“There’s still nothing about it at all.” “Oh, what should I do? What should I do?” she muttered anxiously. Dear readers, you have surely not yet forgotten.

This girl was Momozawa Hana—a seamstress living on the second floor of a closed-down house below the cliff—who had brought the formal dress she sewed up around midnight last time to Matsutani Tsuruko’s place. What could possibly be the worry causing this adorable young girl such persistent anxiety? However, even if one were to ask, they likely wouldn’t answer—so for now, there remained no way to know. As eight o’clock drew near, Kōda Sessan ascended the podium amidst thunderous applause to share his thoughts on today’s Auspicious Omen Celebration—but these “thoughts” merely echoed what had already been published repeatedly in the Yūhi Newspaper, making any detailed account here unnecessary.

Next, the Waterworks Department Chief who took the podium delivered a speech about the underground construction of the Crane Fountain and the hardships of that time before awkwardly stepping down. What was supposed to be a commemorative award ceremony turned out to be nothing more than pinning a gold medal onto Head Gardener Sakazuki’s chest—a matter that ended just as unceremoniously. As for the congratulatory addresses, Kōda Sessan read them all by himself. These included messages purportedly from the Minister of Home Affairs and an Army General, though whether they were genuine remained unclear. In the midst of all this, it became ten minutes to nine. In twenty-two more minutes, the Crane Fountain was supposed to start singing—and yet...

It seemed everyone shared the same thought—the crowd’s eyes were all trained on the bronze statue, riveted there. As for the crane itself, for some reason today its spouting water was thin and faint, its wings drooping dejectedly. This timid crane, stared at by countless eyes, must have been so overcome with shame that it felt as though its very body were wasting away.

A nearby clock tower struck nine. This appeared to be the prearranged signal, for Dr. Kanekiyo was ushered up onto the podium by Kōda Sessan. When the crowd saw Dr. Kanekiyo’s peculiar appearance, they roared with laughter in unison, but the doctor paid no particular heed and began speaking in a shrill, piping voice that belied his age, “Everyone, in my considered opinion, there can be no such things as mysteries or wonders in this world. Though they say monsters don’t come from Hakone Mountain, in this age of scientific progress, there’s no longer any such thing as mysteries in the world. Even things deemed mysterious or strange—if you research them properly, they end up aligning with logical principles that should govern them, so everything adds up perfectly, you see? Therefore, even this crane fountain singing a song is ultimately governed by the laws of physics—it’s not some fantastical, inexplicable phenomenon as you all imagine. Moreover, there exists a similar precedent in Egypt from four thousand years ago. In ancient times, in the Egyptian city of Thebes, there was a stone statue of the god Memnon that would begin to hum a tune like a folk song every morning when the sunrise struck its forehead. The people back then were all fools, so they thought there was something like a harp installed inside its belly. But when examined in modern times, there turned out to be no particular wonder to it at all. Now, Egypt is a place that’s hot during the day but suddenly turns cold at night. Listen carefully now—this is a bit complex, so pay close attention. Now, as for why such a sound occurs—the stone statue is hollow. The cold air inside its belly, when warmed by the morning sun, rapidly expands and struggles to escape through narrow openings like nostrils or gaps between teeth, producing sound. Now regarding this bronze crane statue—as to the scientific principle behind its singing, I believe it generally works like this. Being a meticulous man myself, I’ve diligently recorded every instance when the crane reportedly sang. Now, upon reviewing these records and investigating which days it sang, I discovered that it sings precisely at the boundary between low and high tide on spring tide days. However, since the ebb and flow of the tides have obviously not just begun yesterday or today, if that were the sole factor, this bronze crane statue should have been singing since the moment it was created. However, since it only began singing very recently, it cannot be thought to vocalize solely due to the ebb and flow of the tides. We must conclude that some change capable of causing vocalization has recently occurred in the subterranean strata, you see. Once we’ve logically reasoned this far, the rest becomes exceedingly simple."

“As you all know, subway construction recently commenced.” “As visible here, though it’s a shoddy job—barely enough to thread a pipe’s stem through—even that meager work causes shifts in subterranean strata and groundwater.” “I maintain the Crane Fountain only recently began vocalizing due to precisely such structural changes beneath our feet.” “Let me clarify definitively: when people say ‘it sings,’ this crane itself isn’t producing sound.” “You might already realize this bronze statue is hollow—functioning like a violin’s resonance chamber, acutely responsive to vibrations.” “To put it plainly: tremors from some underground source resonate through this effigy, generating what we perceive as song.” “This theory isn’t baseless conjecture.” “Today coincides with spring tide conditions—low tide occurs precisely at 9:12 AM.” “Per all documented precedents, vocalization must commence at this exact moment without exception.”

With that, he pulled out a pocket watch and gazed at it, “Oh! It’s already 9:10 while we’ve been talking. In two more minutes, it will finally start singing. Since I’ve personally guaranteed this with my seal of approval, when I say it will sing—it will sing. There—that’s one minute gone. One minute left... Thirty seconds... Ten seconds...” The massive crowd encircling the Crane Fountain collectively held their breath, every eye fixed on the statue’s beak. Not a single cough broke the silence. On the podium, the doctor peered at his watch’s second hand while beginning to raise one arm to signal 9:12 AM—a moment taut with bated breath.

At last, Dr. Kanekiyo—with an expression brimming with confidence—swiftly raised his arm toward the sky. —But the crane did not sing. Five minutes passed amidst scorching expectations. The crane did not sing.

Ten minutes passed. The crane continued spouting water mysteriously into the air with an innocent expression. Had the crane forgotten how to sing? Unconcealable anxiety and impatience appeared on both Kōda Sessan's and Dr. Kanekiyo's faces, while murmurs of discontent began rising from the crowd. Thirty minutes had passed, yet still the crane did not sing.

At that moment, a man of activist bearing pushed through the crowd and rushed up onto the podium. He turned back toward the crowd and, in a theatrical and presumptuous tone,

“Everyone, it’s fraud—a con! We’ve been framed! That bastard Sakazuki who got the medal earlier—his daughter’s Kōda Sessan’s kept woman! They rigged this whole thing thinking nobody’d catch on! This Sakazuki’s the one who started yapping about the Crane Fountain singing! Don’t let ’em fool you, folks! That crane never sang a note from day one! And this ‘national auspicious sign’ bullshit?! Blasphemous, I tell ya! No backtalk now! I’ll dish out this traitor’s punishment myself—watch close and learn!”

With that, he turned toward the group of suited men with canes clustered in the front row to the right, "Hey, gentlemen, let's finish him off!"

He jerked his chin upward. In response to his voice, about ten men—each with faces marked by peculiar features—broke away from their formation and charged fiercely toward Kōda. Kōda scurried beneath the podium attempting to lose himself in the crowd, but was immediately seized by the collar by the same activist-bearing man, yanked back, and slammed down beneath the podium with brutal force. The enraged crowd raised a war cry and came surging toward Kōda from all directions. Just as Kōda Sessan was about to be battered by a hailstorm of fists, the Crane Fountain began singing with a purity of tone unmatched in this world. It resembled an ancient hymn—monotonous in melody yet haunting in its simple progression of notes.

Part Three

7. The Matter of a Sudden Night Storm

And: The Matter of Varied Accounts

In stark contrast to the nighttime bustle, Ginza's backstreets at dawn lay steeped in tranquil stillness. Particularly on this New Year's morning at half past eight—with neither New Year pines rustling nor kites crying—the hush felt so absolute, one might think every clamorous soul in the vicinity had perished overnight. Then came a taxi gliding in with muted horn blasts, halting directly before a bar called Paris. From its depths emerged four or five revelers—men in rumpled tuxedos, women in soiled evening gowns—apparitions of some spectral ball now bewildered by daylight's glare.

Looking at their faces, they were the same familiar crew from two chapters prior—those who had been carousing at Paris the previous night. Namely: Tōdō Chūsuke—the famous prodigy nephew of moneylender Inui Jinpei; Yamaki Motoyoshi—renowned dilettante and son of the Coral King; Kawamata Fumie—the up-and-coming dancer who recently arrived from America; and Murakumo Emiko—former film actress, current mistress to Count Iwai Michiyasu (president of the Korean Whaling Company), and proprietress of Paris—these four individuals. Appearing as though they’d suffered some bitter ordeal, they all vanished into the bar like bedraggled birds, their shoulders hunched dejectedly. After a brief interval, the next to arrive there was another member of last night’s cohort—a correspondent for the French “Hovas” News Agency named Jean Ousman or John Hutchison, a man who deftly transformed himself into a Frenchman or an American as needed. After abandoning the roadster he had driven there by the sidewalk, he too hurriedly slipped inside Paris.

If I were to mention the Japanese name Ōshima Jōji, some might recognize it—this man was a half-Westerner born to a French embassy official and an Ikuta-ryū koto instructor. At Asakusa’s Kinryūkan theater, he had dabbled in tenor singing alongside figures like Ujihara Yoshie—who would later rise to prominence—but after accompanying his father, who had been promoted to administrative resident-official in Annam, he soon gained notoriety for conducting shady business across Yunnan and Guizhou with one Louis Baronsel, a Japanese-French métis who would later appear in this narrative as leader of the "Carnus Show." Then around last summer, he abruptly resurfaced as Hovas’ Tokyo bureau chief.

Peering through the dim interior of the bar untouched by daylight, torn streamers hung from the ceiling like spiderwebs, chairs lay overturned and tables face-down as though bearing witness to a fierce battle’s aftermath. Hutchison skillfully leapt over vomit and empty bottles that made footing impossible, approached the four figures slumped in the dim corner, then sat down on a dragged-over chair and grinned while surveying the group. He appeared to be in his late thirties, with a thin mustache perfectly trimmed. His features were strikingly handsome, yet his eyes held a chilling coldness—he looked every bit the Western villain. His neckline from the nape to behind his ears was so clean and refined that even a man might find himself swooning. His flawlessly stylish demeanor took on an almost fearsome quality.

Hutchison crossed his right ankle over his thigh and declared in a swaggering tone, "Heh heh, what a sorry state you're in. Enough with the monkish austerity—no need to put on such a virtuous face now." With that, he turned toward Yamaki Motoyoshi—the long-haired, pale-faced man who resembled a decadent poet— "I didn't get to greet you properly this morning, but Mr. Yamaki—what's your situation here?" Yamaki blinked his bloodshot eyes repeatedly,

“Well... it’s not exactly a crushing defeat.” “You see, since Fumie’s and my room was right by the entrance to the waiting area, they stormed in and tore through everything in an instant—it turned into a scene as flamboyant as Casanova’s memoirs rendered in vivid color.” With that, he rested his head against the wooden wall and gloomily blew out cigarette smoke, casting a sidelong glance at the medium-built beauty of about twenty. “As for Fumie here—still half-asleep, she clung to the plainclothes officer trying to rouse her and caused quite a stir by wailing, ‘I don’t want to go back yet!’”

Fumie rolled up her hem and lazily threw her well-shaped legs onto the table, “Stop it! Everyone babbles such foolish things anyway.” “Who would ever—”

With that, she abruptly raised her long eyelashes and pretended to glare coquettishly.

Given that this chatter would leave you utterly bewildered, let us briefly backtrack to recount events: Shortly after Furuichi Kaju and Emperor Munakata departed Paris the previous night, the authentic American revue troupe "Carnus Show"—scheduled to debut at Nihonza Theater from New Year’s Day—finished their stage rehearsals and noisily piled into the bar. This sent the raucous revelry spiraling into even fiercer bedlam, gradually escalating to a spectacle of hellish uproar. By around 3:30 AM, the six—apparently having reached some prior understanding—now joined by Iwai, each pairing off with their preferred companions, descended upon a certain location in Tsukiji. Just as their amorous clouds and rain were thickening to an impenetrable haze, an unforeseen night storm swept through. They were marched off to Akasaka Police Station in a shackled line, thoroughly wrung out through interrogations dubbed *anaya*, and finally released at 7:30 this morning. It was precisely at the time when Furuichi Kaju awoke in the chief office of Tameike Police Station.

Incidentally, to briefly touch upon the "Carnus Show," this was a world-class revue troupe second only to New York’s great Ziegfeld. In Japan—where audiences had never seen what could properly be called a revue—the mere rumor of their upcoming arrival had already sent people into feverish excitement. The America-savvy connoisseurs dubbed “four-way experts” naturally carried promotional lanterns as thick as those at a Buddhist festival procession—even earnest music critics joined the fervor—and when the time finally came to lift the curtain at Nihonza Theater, the pre-opening frenzy reached staggering heights. The leisured and wealthy classes in particular threw their weight behind it with such force that all ten-yen premium tickets had sold out two full months prior. After all, it was only natural for such fervor to surge when people could witness firsthand the dazzling opulence of a world-class grand revue troupe and feel as though they were reveling in New York’s pleasure districts without leaving Tokyo—yet that even the expert class, who ordinarily championed practicality over aesthetics, had grown so frantic suggested there was in fact a substantial reason lurking beneath.

When it was decided this troupe would come to Japan, a peculiar rumor suddenly spread through certain specialized circles. The rumor claimed these dancers were remarkably kind-hearted and made earnest efforts toward Japanese-American amity. As if to prove its veracity, specialized brokers soon emerged to diligently facilitate such arrangements, until every gathering in trade clubs buzzed with nothing but this gossip—all waiting with an impatience akin to devotees yearning for a disgraced hero’s return. That premium preview tickets sold like wildfire came as no surprise. As for how this affair ultimately concluded—the author naturally has no means of knowing—but had it been a promotional strategy from the start, it could only be deemed a resounding success.

It stood to reason they were kind-hearted—this Carnus Show was no genuine Broadway revue troupe, but rather a ragtag group of countryside-roaming vaudevillians scraped together between Shanghai and Hong Kong, among whom were theatrical types who until yesterday had been "blooming" in the shadows of Nanjing Road's main thoroughfare. It might seem tactless to spell it out, but this Carnus Show was a theatrical scheme fabricated by John Hutchison and his sworn confidant Louis Baronsel. While more could be said about this, I shall limit myself here to briefly outlining their relationship before returning to the earlier scene at Paris. Hutchison had been grinning while listening to Yamaki’s account, but when Fumie finished speaking, he suddenly adopted a solemn expression and surveyed the group.

“We’ll return to those frivolous matters another time—but for now, gentlemen and madam, do lend me your ears.” “To put it plainly—upon careful consideration—there are a few points about this morning’s incident that don’t quite add up. Are you aware of this?” “This morning’s—you mean the raid?” “I don’t know. Do tell me.” The one who let out a disquieting voice was Tōdō Chūsuke—a man whose face suggested twenty-two or twenty-three years but whose stunted frame made him appear no older than seventeen or eighteen. An extraordinary visage—his face elongated like that of Narihira no Ason from the *Hyakunin Isshu*, lightly powdered with ochre No. 28 greasepaint and adorned with a beauty mark beneath the outer corner of his right eye.

Hutchison nodded, “I’ll explain in detail now. ...When you were all thrown out of Akasaka Station at seven-thirty this morning, you went to the fish market for breakfast. Mr. Iwai returned to his main residence, and I immediately went to the office and tried calling various people.” Yamaki thrust out his slender jaw, “That girl, this girl—” Without so much as a smile,

“Now, stop joking around and listen. As you may know, the Japanese police are rather refined in this regard—on New Year’s Day alone, they routinely turn a blind eye to everything. And yet, this morning’s incident.”

John Hutchison—through thick and thin, a journalist to his core. "I thought there must have been some major incident, so I immediately called the detective at headquarters to inquire—but they said there’d been no major incidents last night or this morning." "Still, to be thorough, when I personally rushed around conducting a full investigation—indeed, there had been no emergency raids in any jurisdiction." Yamaki and Emiko exchanged glances. “Well now, this is shocking.”

“But there’s another surprise. …As you’re aware, the six of us weren’t the only ones who caroused with the Carnus Show last night. Yamabishi’s Mokubee and Yamato Life’s Santaro are handling things just as adeptly. However, according to my investigation, those individuals are still lying side by side with the enemy forces, peacefully sleeping even now. What do you think?” “This is utterly astonishing. What on earth does that mean?”

“To put it simply, the only ones swept up in last night’s storm this morning were six residents of Ariake-so Apartments—namely, Ms. Emiko, the dance instructor, Mr. Tōdō, Boss Iwai, Commander Yamaki, and yours truly here. A most bizarre and outlandish conclusion, wouldn’t you say?”

Emiko frowned,

“How revolting. So pretentious.”

She murmured and quietly turned toward Fumie. Fumie had turned strangely pale and faced Hutchison—

"Don't keep me dangling—what actually happened?" "Whatever happened or didn't happen—in short—I can only think some major incident occurred at Ariake-so Apartments." Fumie was burning with impatience, "Oh, this is maddening!" "Hurry up and say it already—you fool!"

Hutchison motioned for silence with his hand, “Now, Madam, please wait. There’s no use getting angry at me. If I knew, I would tell you—but I don’t have the slightest idea. As you know, I’m quite attentive myself, so I decided to call Old Woman Baba to ask about the situation—I tried phoning Ariake-so, when—”

Emiko rocked her plump knees,

“Ah, so then—”

“So then, they’d taken the receiver off the hook—couldn’t get through at all. …This situation grows more dangerous by the minute.” The group exchanged uneasy glances until Yamaki, after a moment’s pause, ran slender fingers through his hair and leaned forward on his knees. “As you gentlemen know, of Ariake-so’s seven residents, only Miss Tsuruko abstained from last night’s year-end party.” “To put it plainly—she begged off, claiming she’d be otherwise engaged tonight in some cozy tête-à-tête with His Majesty.” “Last night Emperor Munakata slipped unnoticed from ‘Paris’—doubtless to visit her chambers. Which suggests some royal quarrel erupted between King and Queen, culminating in this morning’s incident. In crude terms—a lovers’ squabble.” “How does this theory strike you?”

Hutchison gave a wry smile, “Why, not so fast. …As I just said, in all of vast Tokyo, only we residents of Ariake-so were detained.” "...Well, if you don’t grasp it, I’ll explain. This morning’s incident was never truly about the raid—that was merely a pretext. In reality, it served as a calculated measure to keep us away from Ariake-so Apartments until a certain time.... Why prevent our return? Need I spell it out? Because some catastrophic incident—one that absolutely must not reach public ears—occurred at Ariake-so."

“Oh, I see. That makes sense—but what exactly is this ‘certain time’ you mean?” “There’s no use being clever like you are, Mr. Yamaki. This ‘certain time’ refers to when certain parties will conclude the incident—to put it plainly, the time they’ll hush it up. Do you understand now? Having said this much, you must grasp that this is an extraordinary incident, sir.”

Yamaki gulped down a dry swallow. “Hah, so you’re sayin’ there was a killin’?” Fumie cried out desperately, “Cut it out! You’re talkin’ crazy!” “There’s no way somethin’ that absurd happened!” “It’s gotta be somethin’ else!”

Yamaki stubbornly shook his head, "No, that's exactly it—exactly it!"

Emiko grabbed Yamaki's sleeve— "Wait, Mr. Yamaki—so which one was killed? You're saying?" "Of course—the King."

“By whom? For what purpose? Che! You must be joking. If it were me, it’d be a lovers’ suicide.” Hutchison had been leaning back listening to this debate; eventually, in an ironic tone: “Well, well, you all know some remarkable things... That aside—Mr. Tōdō, what’s your opinion?”

Tōdō curled his thin, lipsticked lips, "If someone was killed, it's unquestionably the Queen." "Anyone who knows of His Majesty's conduct during his Paris days would find this entirely plausible." "He may seem gentle, but in truth he's quite fierce." "That savagery of his is rather extraordinary - in that regard alone, he truly lives up to being His Majesty."

Hutchison burst out laughing, “Oh, is that so? After all, Master Tōdō and Master Iwai were the ones who directly clung to the Emperor and indulged in extravagance in Paris—so if those gentlemen say so, then it must be true. But if you ask me, it’s you gentlemen who are the fierce ones. Taking advantage of the Emperor’s magnanimity to swindle twenty or thirty thousand a day—now that’s what I call fierce.” Having said that, he cut off his words,

“Though it may be rude to say this—you gentlemen, no, you ladies as well—might just be underestimating His Majesty. To you all, I must seem like a fool, but I’ve met with members of the Annam Independence Party studying in Paris and learned everything about what the Emperor was doing there. …I know about the Eleventh Restoration King exiled to Réunion Island, that remote speck in the Indian Ocean, and I’m well aware of what Li Guangming, that pro-French imperial nephew, is scheming. This Hutchison holds securely within his chest matters so extraordinary that even you gentlemen—let alone the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ intelligence division—could scarcely fathom them. If you wish to hear such things, even the Ministry would have no choice but to come bowing to this Hutchison, begging ‘We implore you.’ In short, there are truths about the Emperor that you lot don’t know—so keep your mouths shut. …After all, the incident has already begun. Since this is monumentally grave, any of you with skeletons in your closets had better use this time to carve an escape route rather than waste breath here—or you’ll face dire consequences.”

Hutchison suddenly fell silent and slowly surveyed the faces of the now-quiet group one by one. "Oh my, what's this? You're all making such strange faces." "Heh heh—pay it no mind. That was all just a joke." "...Forgive my bluntness, but this case isn't something within your capabilities—a fact Mr. Hutchison here knows quite well." "Let alone whether Matsutani Tsuruko died or remains alive—such matters are utterly insignificant." "Of course, I myself don't know what exactly transpired." "But I've known since long ago the inevitable karma that would lead to this outcome."

Having said that, he suddenly stood up,

“Since a fair amount of time has passed, let us conclude this sermon here—Mr. Hutchison shall now finally attend to his main business.” Hutchison, with a tense expression incongruous to his earlier tone, swiftly buttoned his overcoat and was about to take a step toward the entrance when the door swung open from the opposite side to reveal Count Iwai—also clad in a tuxedo. Hutchison called out without missing a beat, “Oh, Mr. Iwai—you’ve returned to your residence, yet you haven’t changed out of your formal attire?”

Iwai sat down in the chair Hutchison had been using, then vigorously pushed up his hat brim to expose his handsome forehead. “Well, you see, there were police officers stationed at the entrance of Ariake-so Apartments, and they wouldn’t let me inside.” Hutchison’s eyes glinted sharply. “Hmm… So something’s changed?” Iwai, supporting his chin with the head of his cane, “Gentlemen and ladies, listen well. The fact is, Miss Tsuruko threw herself from a window and committed suicide this very morning.”

Upon hearing this, the entire group seemed struck through their chests as if breath had been stolen from them; then rising en masse,

“Th-that can’t be!”

they cried out in unison.

8. The Morning Scene at the Police Affairs Bureau

And the Troublesome Telegrams

In hindsight, one cannot help but acknowledge that New Year’s Day of Kinoto-I (1935) was an exceedingly eventful day.

At the Imperial Hotel, tabloid reporter Furuichi Kaju teetered on the brink of unconsciousness; by the Crane Fountain in Hibiya Park, Yūhi Newspaper President Kōda Sessan began delivering a congratulatory address on another's behalf; and before the bar "Paris," Hutchison's roadster now stood parked. Precisely then, in Kasumigaseki's secretarial office at the Home Ministry's Police Affairs Bureau, Secretary Taniguchi—seated behind an imposing desk—repeatedly glanced toward the door while irritably twisting his mustache. As this unfolded, an attendant entered to announce Inspector Manago's arrival. The secretary hovered half-risen in anticipation when a singular set of footsteps—resonant as nails hammered into a coffin—approached from the corridor's distant end before ceasing at the threshold.

The man who pushed open the door and entered was a tall, emaciated figure of about forty-two or three—little more than bone and skin—dressed head-to-toe in black like mourning attire, an exceedingly gloomy individual with eyelids drooping as if perpetually sleepy. This man was none other than Manago Akira, Chief of the First Investigative Division of the Metropolitan Police Department’s Criminal Affairs Bureau—a figure who possessed a meticulous mind and steadfast character, having solved numerous difficult cases to date, yet remained so taciturn as to seem misanthropic, with not a single soul within the department ever having witnessed his face break into a smile. He was a man of rigidly upright character, relentlessly harsh against injustice—sparing no one in his exposures, not even his superiors—as if he had been born into this world solely for the sake of prosecution. If you readers have read Victor Hugo’s *Les Misérables*, you may recall the coldly persistent and sinister police inspector Javert who appears in that novel; to describe Chief Inspector Manago in a word, it would suffice to say he was the very image of Javert.

Manago assumed a military-style upright posture at the doorway, then walked straight to the secretary’s desk and stopped there. The deputy director stared at that face with a look of disgust, then slightly arched his chest, “Oh, Mr. Manago—I’m terribly sorry to summon you so early on New Year’s Day, but a grave incident occurred this morning, hence this summons.” Manago stood rigidly upright on the other side of the desk, not so much as twitching an eyebrow. He appeared for all the world as though he were asleep. The secretary hurriedly,

“But I wonder, Mr. Manago—since you’ve never been summoned by the Police Affairs Bureau before, even you must have been a bit surprised, ha, ha, ha.” Manago glared at the Deputy Director’s face, then lowered his eyelids and resumed his previous demeanor. The secretary, terrified out of his wits, was choking violently on cigarette smoke while,

“Well, that’s fine. That aside—since we’ve summoned you to the Police Affairs Bureau—you’ll have to assume it’s some sort of extraordinary incident. …By the way, do you know that Emperor Munakata of the Annam Empire is currently residing incognito in Tokyo?”

Manago replied in a sepulchral tone, "I was not informed of this." Deputy Secretary Taniguchi rubbed his hands together with evident satisfaction, "Naturally—there was no way you could have known." "We ourselves only learned three days prior.... But regardless—to summarize succinctly, His Majesty had established a domestic arrangement in Tokyo with a former actress named Matsutani Tsuruko.... However—and this is crucial—last night that woman was mur... no, cast herself from a window." "A clear case of suicide." "Yet unfortunately, His Majesty happened to be present at her residence during the incident." "They had been sharing a late meal." "...You apprehend the implications." "Come now, Mr. Manago—you're no novice who joined the force yesterday. There's no need for tedious explanations—you must comprehend what requires doing."

“What do you mean?” “What do you mean…? You know that’s how it is.” “So when the Emperor of a nation was at his mistress’s house, that mistress threw herself out the window and died.” “If this were to suddenly leak to the public, that would be a tremendous scandal, wouldn’t it?” “Wouldn’t you agree?” With that, he took out a handkerchief and rubbed his greasy bull neck until it turned crimson, “That alone would be manageable, but the real trouble is—a police sergeant from Tameike Station went and tied up His Majesty before hauling him off to their station.” “That police sergeant!” “The Emperor!” “…He’s done something unconscionable.” “Because of this, starting from five o’clock this morning, the Minister and the rest of us—”

Manago abruptly cut in, "So there was suspicion of murder too."

Taniguchi flusteredly wrenched his handkerchief,

“Now, now—it’s rather problematic when you put it so bluntly.” “…Therefore… we must take some sort of action.” “Are you ordering me to handle that?” Taniguchi waved his handkerchief as if fanning himself, “That’s right—please, I’m begging you.” and proceeded to recount this morning’s incident in detail. Manago listened to the end, then in his usual toneless voice, “At that time, there was another man present—the three of them were dining together. Therefore, if Matsutani Tsuruko was murdered, it must undoubtedly be that man’s doing—so states the Emperor.” “However, no one has seen this supposed other man, and there exists no evidence that a third person dined at that table.” “In other words, there was only tableware for two people.”

“Exactly.” “Is this His Majesty the Emperor’s first visit to Japan?” “No—he honored us with his presence last year and the year before that as well. However, this marks his first time coming to Tokyo. In the past, he built a tea room deep in Yamashina, Kyoto where he would stay with that woman for about a month at a time before returning—or so we’re told—but neither the Kyoto Prefectural Police Department nor the Foreign Ministry had known this fact until very recently. His Majesty arrived in Tokyo this time on the 24th of last month and has been staying at the Imperial Hotel ever since.”

“So he was accompanied by that woman after all?” “No, the woman came to Tokyo last September and had already been living at her current residence.” “If this marks His Majesty’s first visit to Tokyo...” The deputy secretary nodded vigorously,

“Exactly—that’s how it is. Not a single one of us on our side recognizes Emperor Munakata by sight—even the French Ambassador doesn’t know, I tell you.”

“Then who recognized the Emperor?” “Hayashi Kin’nao of the Hayashi Konzern—the one running bauxite mines in Annam—happened upon Emperor Munakata in the hotel lobby and nearly had a stroke before alerting the bureau chief.” “As you’re aware, ever since Japan quit the League, our dealings with France have gone sour as month-old milk. Having His Majesty turn up now leaves us scratching where it burns—we’ve got to handle this like lancing a boil.” “The real headache? We can’t for the life of us figure why His Majesty keeps traipsing over here.” “You don’t suppose he’s making these royal jaunts just to bed some tart?” “Foreign Ministry intelligence is digging into that angle—should have answers soon enough. But mark my words, two imperial visits are two too many for the French in Indochina.” “Just got word from Intelligence—down in Hue they’re already squawking that Japan’s propping up Annamite sovereignty again.” “Likely that Havas rabble stirring the pot. Bad enough this mess had to blow up now—the Minister’s chewing his nails to the quick.” “So here’s the rub, Manago-kun—play this by the book like some common stabbing in Asakusa, and you’ll have the whole government up a tree.” “I’ll say it plain: Matsutani Tsuruko topped herself. Poking at that corpse won’t dig up anything but maggots.” “Do us all a favor—find your suicide note, stamp it approved, and leave the rest to rot.”

In Akasaka Sannōdai stood an apartment building called Ariake-so. "There's a caretaker woman named Oma there—go interrogate her. This is our sole witness."

“Are there no other lodgers?” Taniguchi gave a strange cough and,

“They do exist. However, since everyone was out that night and not a single person remained in the apartment, this shouldn’t pose any issues. …And once the investigation confirms it was suicide, issue the report immediately under your name. I’ll process the approvals without delay. Understood, Manago-kun? …Let this drag on carelessly, and leaks could come from anywhere.”

“Then I shall take my leave.”

Manago bowed and began heading toward the door, but suddenly stopped and turned back toward the secretary. “Though it should go without saying, as part of my official responsibilities, I will conduct a full investigation into this matter and deliver a comprehensive report.” “I intend to thoroughly excavate the truth and submit an impartial and precise account.” With that declaration, he departed. Taniguchi stood watching vacantly with an awkward stance, his expression gradually darkening. Clicking his tongue repeatedly while muttering “Damnation, damnation,” he fell into visible anguish until finally, as if unable to endure further, he sprang from his chair. Stumbling out of the room in a near-tumble, he raced down the corridor to burst into the bureau chief’s office.

When he entered and looked inside, the bureau chief was in the midst of a conversation with the Superintendent-General, gripping the telephone receiver like an eagle’s talon and seething with rage. He was saying something along these lines.

“Of course! “It goes without saying—of all places, Hibiya Park... “Damn it! Kōda Sessan’s a goddamn joker. Go ahead and do it—I don’t give a damn! “A viper like that should be crushed without mercy in times like these. “...Right—I’ll go too. “Now—do it now! No holding back—arrest him on the spot! “Got it? Understood?”

With that, he slammed down the receiver as if hurling it away, then whirled around to face Taniguchi and— “What is it? What’s the matter?” he snapped. If this visit was to report a failure, it would mean exceedingly poor timing for the secretary—yet regardless, the secretary proceeded fearfully to relay his account: that Manago had arrived declaring his intent to bring an accurate report piercing the truth, had uttered something troubling before departing, and that single remark now weighed on him.

Upon hearing this, the bureau chief turned pale, then red; for a while, he could not speak and simply glared at the secretary—then, with the force of swift wind and sudden thunder,

“What—what the hell is this?!” “Look here—I explicitly told you this morning to find someone who’d write a report strictly adhering to directives!” “Th-that...” The deputy secretary’s face had already drained of all color,

“Yes, but—” The bureau chief pounded the desk, “Shut up! What’s the use of your excuses now? Of all people, you had to assign that stubborn bastard to investigate?! This’ll wreck everything we’ve worked on since morning! What idiocy possessed you? Have you gone mad?” “No!” “Then speak!” The deputy secretary answered in a sweet voice as if conjured from nowhere,

“Um, as you’re well aware… After all, in Criminal Investigations, he’s our most capable man… And if the report doesn’t at least carry Manago’s name—” The bureau chief’s fury mounted. “Why the hell would we need some hotshot to put out that kind of report? Even an idiot could do this! What’s a name matter? Don’t get clever with me. Hey—Taniguchi! You think Manago’s the type to follow directives? Don’t make me laugh! Try forcing him to comply and he’ll dig up every damn thing out of spite! That’s exactly why we kept this morning’s business from him! Can’t you grasp something this basic, you fool? Let Manago file a truth report—see what happens! The Police Affairs Bureau’s reputation will be ruined! Then neither you nor I will keep our necks! Worse—if this leaks and they grill us in the Diet? Ah, that’d be—”

Just as he was raging like an Asura, a messenger entered carrying a telegram. The bureau chief picked it up and began reading, but his anger flared up once more; he trembled so violently it seemed he might suffer a stroke at any moment. Then, suddenly deflated, he collapsed into his chair, took out a handkerchief, and began mopping his brow. “But if handled carelessly, it becomes a matter of the Home Ministry’s honor.” “What a predicament... what a predicament. How should I respond?”

After muttering in this manner, he addressed the secretary in a gentle tone, as if he were a different person,

“Hey, Taniguchi—an urgent telegram from Annam’s chief consul addressed to the Minister.” “…Well, listen to this.” “…To His Majesty the Emperor currently staying at the Imperial Hotel in Uchisaiwaichō, Kōjimachi Ward, Tokyo: despite having sent repeated telegrams since the afternoon of the 31st regarding urgent matters, there has yet to be any reply. We request that the Minister of Home Affairs of the Empire of Japan promptly investigate all circumstances deemed to be ensuring His Majesty’s secure stay at the Imperial Hotel as well as any factors obstructing his reply, and provide an urgent response.” “…Well? What do you think?” “This phrasing makes it sound like we’re intercepting telegrams—how outrageously impertinent!” “Whether the Emperor replies or not—what concern is that of ours?” “…But if there are circumstances on Japan’s side hindering his communications… we can’t simply ignore this.” “What a predicament—what a predicament!”

He pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned, then suddenly stood up, went to the secretary’s side, and grabbed his shoulder—

“I’ve got this feeling.” “...Hey Taniguchi—just you wait. We’ll get ours before long.”

IX. The Day Hibiya's Forest Shook

And Also Regarding the Foreign-Style Gentleman

Yūhi Newspaper President Kōda Sessan had staked his company's fate on a grand gamble—to make that fine-looking crane fountain in Hibiya Park sing magnificently at precisely 9:12 AM on New Year's Day and present it to the public. This was no pet nightingale he commanded—when dealing with a bronze crane, coaxing song proved no simple task. Kōda Sessan had made this dubious vocalist his main attraction, boldly sold three-yen annual subscription tickets, and drawn a crowd of nearly three thousand spectators around the pond—yet even thirty minutes past the appointed hour, the crane remained stubbornly silent. This fiasco alone spelled disaster, but matters worsened when a man in an activist-style suit leapt forward, exposing the scheme as a hoax orchestrated by Hibiya Park's head gardener Sakazuki Moru and Kōda himself, laying bare their backroom dealings. The enraged mob surged toward Kōda from all sides, fists raised ready to rain down like iron hammers—when suddenly, with a voice as pure and crisp as morning winds whistling through mountain pines, the fountain crane burst into song.

In this instant, the grand drama at Hibiya Park’s pondside came to an abrupt halt—like a film that had been cut. Those who had raised their fists remained with their fists raised; those who had seized Kōda by the collar kept their hands gripping his lapels; even Kōda Sessan—whose face had been ruthlessly ground into the dirt—remained frozen with his mouth agape, all as motionless as tableau vivant dolls. But it wasn’t just the human drama on the ground. All phenomena surrounding this pond—even the large clock of the Municipal Hall—seemed to abruptly halt the march of time.

The bronze crane glistened its water-soaked wings in the pale sunlight—ah!—as though yearning to take flight at any moment, stretching its beak toward the zenith of heaven while continuing to sing resonantly with a wondrous voice that might rival even the kalavinka dwelling in the snow-capped mountains of India. It was akin to ancient Saibara court music or a Western pastoral song—a serene melody that could not help but soothe the hearts of even the most troubled souls.

The crane continued singing merrily for about two minutes more before stopping abruptly, as though suddenly growing self-conscious. The massive crowd by the pond, as if bewitched, had lost themselves in ecstasy, utterly captivated by the wondrous melody—when suddenly, an earsplitting cheer erupted alongside thunderous applause, their voices so mighty they seemed to make even Hibiya’s forest tremble. The band, which had fallen silent, now emboldened by this, struck up a lively tune titled “If I Call You ‘Darling’,” while the newspaper vendors once again began noisily ringing their bells and dashing about. At the sudden roar of "Long live the Yūhi Newspaper," turning toward the podium revealed the moved crowd now hoisting Kōda Sessan aloft and beginning to parade him around the pond with chants of "Heave-ho! Heave-ho!" The ones who found themselves in an irreversible predicament were those men in suits—but by this time, not a single one of them could be found anywhere.

By the pond, two figures had been standing motionless since earlier. One was a middle-aged gentleman of dignified bearing in a frock coat—his swarthy face, bulging eyes, and curly hair immediately marking him as foreign—who appeared utterly overwhelmed by this strange phenomenon, clutching a Tokyo map in one hand while staring transfixed at the crane’s beak. The other was a gaunt and tall, gloomy figure entirely clad in black, wearing an old-fashioned Inverness cape over his suit. This was none other than Inspector Manago of the Investigation Division, who had just left the Police Affairs Bureau’s secretary’s office earlier. With sharp eyes glinting between thread-like slits, he observed the entire affair with the cold, gloomy intensity of a prosecutor’s obsession—then abruptly turned on his heel, pushed past the foreign-style gentleman beside him, and departed.

Now then, Kōda Sessan—still being hoisted aloft by the crowd—made a full circuit around the pond before being carried up to the podium, where he launched into a triumphant speech of gratitude (though we’ll skip its contents as pure drivel). While Dr. Kanekiyo had originally been the one to perfectly explain this miraculous phenomenon—and thus over two-thirds of the credit rightfully belonged to him—the brazen Kōda now monopolized all glory without a hint of compunction. Even the unflappable doctor finally reached his limit; shoving Kōda aside mid-speech, he strode to the podium’s edge. Shaking his white-haired head vigorously, he began in that shrill voice of his—like some child actor’s—

“Well now, everyone! See? It did sing after all.” “If I say it’ll sing, it’ll sing without fail.” “True, it missed the appointed hour—but that’s not my doing.” “It’s like scheduling a noon council meeting to start at midnight—you’ll simply have to accept this as Tokyo’s way.” “...But enough of that. To even ask what tune the crane sang would be vulgar—you uneducated lot couldn’t possibly comprehend it.” “To your ears it likely sounded like gibberish dharani—but that was ‘Kangenraku,’ an exceedingly rare gagaku piece seldom heard in this age.” “Tradition holds it was composed by Yōretsuten—an auspicious melody performed by court musicians with a single drumbeat to celebrate peace across the realm during the Han King’s enthronement.” “The date being New Year’s Day itself—regardless of logic, a bronze crane chanting Kangenraku must surely herald some divine portent.” “That much is certain, yet—”

The rest of his words trailed off into a mutter, “However, there’s something slightly concerning about that sound. Originally composed in Ichikotsu-chō ryo-sen mode, this piece being sung in Hyō-jō alone is perplexing enough—yet how could the miyashō tone carry such a mournful timbre? …Hmm.” He crossed his arms and sank into deep thought, but soon shook them free with a flourish,

“Hmm, this won’t do. “I’m out of here.”

After blurting out these incomprehensible words, he hurriedly descended from the podium, pushed his way through the crowd, and left.

The aforementioned daughter of Akakuma, who had been restlessly watching the doctor’s antics since earlier, now turned to Hana beside her with an annoyed look, “Hey, Hana.” “What’s with that old geezer?” “He kept spouting nonsense—does this mean the crane show’s already over? Ugh, disgusting.” “Three whole yen they squeezed from us, just to hear some watery fart noise before packing up? Treating us like idiots.” “Boring! Should’ve gone to Kabuki instead.” “Even treating you to Benmatsu would’ve left me with spare change!” “Makes you wanna scream, doesn’t it?”

Hana—as you already know—was the lovely seamstress living on the second floor of an amateur tenement at the base of Ariake-so Apartments’ cliff. Placing her hand on the arm of Akakuma, who was speaking bluntly, with an apologetic look, “Oh, please forgive me.” “But it was just too highly praised.” Akakuma rolled her eyes, “I never said you should apologize.” “So, what now?” “So you’ll stick with me all day today like we promised, right?”

Hana dejectedly hung her head,

“That was the agreement, but I’m just not feeling well today. ...Forgive me.” “Well aren’t you selfish. Making others dance attendance on you all this time.” Even as she spoke, perhaps genuinely concerned after all, Akakuma peered into Hana’s face. “What’s really wrong? You’re white as a sheet. Something’s troubling you, isn’t it?” Hana pressed a hand to her chest as if startled, swaying toward Akakuma before steadying herself with a desperate smile.

“There’s nothing to worry about… but I feel like I might faint.”

Akakuma held Hana up as if cradling her, “Then you should’ve said so right away! Didn’t know you were feeling this bad—my mistake. …Can you walk?” “Here, grab my shoulder!” As they spoke, a tremendous commotion—a collective “Waaah!”—erupted near the park entrance before they could blink. A human tide came surging back toward the pond. Akakuma stood on tiptoe to see, then seized Hana’s arm in panic,

“Hana! Hana! Chin-strapped officers are coming in trucks!” “Let’s get out of here! If they catch us, we’re done for!” At the cry of “Officers!”, Hana’s eyes blazed with panic as she tried to bolt blindly toward the western gate—but Akakuma pulled her back. “Idiot! Idiot! You’ll get caught going that way!” “This way—come on!”

Taking Hana’s hand, she dashed along the path toward the flowerbeds.

10. Concerning the Sendai-hira Ohakama

Concerning the Indifferent Greeting

On the elevated plateau of Yatsuyama, commanding a panoramic view of Minami-Shina's seas, stood a mansion of unparalleled grandeur. Now appearing at its grand shoin-style entrance adorned with traditional kagami mochi was a portly, Ebisu-faced man of fifty-two or fifty-three - dressed in a black figured silk kimono and Sendai-hira silk hakama crisply pleated to perfection. That vermilion-gloss sheen didn't come from New Year's sake - it sprang from his perpetually excellent diet.

This person was none other than Hayashi Kin'nao—the head of Hayashi Industries, wielding immense hidden influence in modern Japan’s industrial circles as a leading figure among emerging conglomerates. Gliding through rows of women bowing low with their traditional Shimada hairstyles, he was about to step down onto the gleaming hinoki entrance platform when a student servant came running up to announce, "An urgent telephone call from the oyabun of the Maeda group in Dōkanzan, sir."

Hayashi hurried back to the phone room and pressed the receiver to his ear, nodding along with "Hmm, hmm," but his voice soon shifted to an anxious tone. "What?! Nikkō’s Tsurumi-gumi is making trouble in Uchiyamashita-chō?!" "If that’s the case... Yes, yes—if they’re planning that, we can’t just let it be." "Alright, I’ll go right away." After hanging up, he hurriedly ran down from the entrance platform and got into the Overland waiting at the carriage porch, "Hey, to Uchiyamashita-chō! Quick, quick!"

He stamped his foot in frustration. The twin pillars of Japan’s emerging conglomerates. One began as a modest eight-hundred-kilowatt electric company deep in the mountains of Kumamoto and now boasted twenty-seven constituent companies with a paid-in capital of three hundred million yen—the Nikkō Conglomerate of Koguchi Tsubasa, hailed as the Enterprise King of Northern Manchuria. The other had risen from a humble iodine company in a Bōsō Peninsula fishing village that utilized waste materials, challenged Sweden’s Match King Kreuger’s trust, and grown into Hayashi Kin'nao’s Hayashi Conglomerate—a colossal entity comprising twenty-four direct and affiliated companies centered on Hayashi Industries, with a declared capital of two hundred twenty million yen.

These two rival conglomerates, both aiming to dominate defense industries, had clashed spectacularly in Annam since the winter two years prior to develop resources in French Indochina. However, Koguchi—overestimating his position—allied with the pro-French royal nephew Li Guangming, causing his Nikkō Conglomerate to lag a step behind Hayashi’s Nichian Mining, which had swiftly secured Emperor Munakata as an advisor. Thus, Hayashi preemptively seized mining rights to premium bauxite (aluminum ore) across 600,000 *tsubo* of land with an annual output of 50,000 kW. Hayashi had been certain Koguchi’s Nikkō wouldn’t let this pass without a fight, and sure enough, recent rumors reaching his ears suggested Nikkō was now secretly prodding the pro-Li Guangming faction from behind the scenes, scheming something incessantly. Amidst such instability, the Emperor’s sudden solo arrival in Japan had thrown Hayashi into utter panic; ever since discovering His Majesty in the Imperial Hotel lobby on the 24th of last month, he’d scarcely known a moment’s peace, perpetually fearing some mishap might befall the sovereign.

However, at 5:30 that morning, the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs had called to inform him of a troublesome incident involving the Emperor; Hayashi, utterly aghast, persistently phoned the Police Affairs Bureau Director until learning that the inebriated sovereign had thrown his mistress Matsutani Tsuruko from a window to her death—though briefly detained at Tameike Police Station, His Majesty had safely returned to the Imperial Hotel around 8:30 AM. This being an exceedingly grave matter, Hayashi fretted over what measures the government might take in response when a subsequent call informed him they had resolved to keep the incident strictly confidential and already implemented certain measures. Finally breathing a sigh of relief, he was just stepping out through his mansion gate—intending to hasten to the Imperial Hotel and first express his profound relief at His Majesty’s well-being—when the earlier telephone call came.

As some of you may know, the Maeda-gumi and Tsurumi-gumi were the twin grand champions of the Kanto Civil Engineering Club. The former, with its main residence in Nippori, was colloquially known as Dōkanzan; the latter, headquartered in Yokohama, went by Nogeyama. Each commanded thousands of fervent members sworn through written oaths to lay down their lives for their oyabun at any moment, forming two unyielding rival factions. Since the Maeda-gumi belonged to Hayashi Industries while the Tsurumi-gumi fell under Nikkō’s umbrella—and given that this call from Dōkanzan reported Tsurumi-gumi stirring trouble in Uchiyamashita-chō, practically adjacent to the Imperial Hotel—it stood to reason that Hayashi’s heart would again tighten with unease, compelling him to hasten to the scene.

Now, as Hayashi Kin'nao’s Overland approached Hibiya Park’s vicinity, a tremendous uproar—a great “Waaah!”—erupted from the park’s direction. Officers with ceremoniously fastened chin straps came clattering down from a truck halted before the West Gate, shoving back the crowd as they charged into the park. Hayashi had parked his car at the first block’s corner and was craning his neck out the window to observe the commotion when Komagata Denji—Dōkanzan’s adopted son—spotted him and hurried over. The dashing figure wore a stylish morning coat and top hat, his brows drawn in severe straight lines, his freshly-shaven chin still bluish—a gallant tough through and through. He bowed respectfully,

"I have been awaiting your arrival. It’s just as you see—quite the commotion here." "What on earth is all this ruckus about?" "Well... it’s rather peculiar. Seems to be over whether that Crane Fountain’s singing or not." Hayashi grew impatient. "That’s not what I’m asking! What’s Nogeyama stirring up trouble about?" "Right—about that." He then explained how some ten young Tsurumi-gumi members had disguised themselves as Dairin-kai activists and come to assault Kōda earlier,

“Why would birds of a feather go outta their way to pull such a strange stunt today? It just don’t sit right with me.” “You might laugh at this, but with the Imperial Hotel right there and all, I figured there must be some big scheme brewin’. So I gave the old man a quick whisper over the wire.” “That’s the whole story, sir—but here’s another queer bit: Inspector Manago himself’s here on direct orders.” “Seen him glued to that pondside, starin’ fixed-like—makes me think there’s some mighty big reason behind it all.”

With that, he glanced around restlessly but suddenly lowered his voice, "Oh, do take a look, sir. Now he’s standing over there." When Hayashi looked where indicated, Manago stood rigid with arms crossed in the shadow of a utility pole across the street, his usual chilling gaze fixed on the wave of crowds spilling through the gate as police drove them back. At that moment, two girls with disheveled hair were pushed forward by the surging mass. As they reached the sidewalk’s edge, the petite beauty caught her foot on a street tree root and dropped to her knees on the pavement. Her companion with reddish-brown hair had no time to help her up before the crowd’s ferocious momentum sent people toppling like dominos over them, burying the girl beneath until she vanished from sight. Manago swooped in like a great crow taking flight, shoving aside the pile of bodies. He grabbed the girl’s sash and hauled her forcefully into the roadway.

The girl sat limply on the pavement with a corpse-like pallor, but as she appeared to have suffered no serious injuries, she soon gradually rose to her feet and joined her companion in bowing in gratitude. Manago frowned in annoyance and nodded coldly, then abruptly left her side and walked toward the Imperial Hotel.

When Hayashi saw this, he hurriedly raised his voice, “Oh, it seems the section chief is heading to the Imperial Hotel, but there’s something I must discuss with him before he meets the Emperor." “Hey, Denji—I’m going to collar the section chief. You run around and find out why the Tsurumi-gumi bastards picked such a strange fight with Kōda. Get every detail you can.” As he was saying this, Denji once again let out a shrill cry, "Oh, do take a look, sir. “Sakazuki and Kōda are being chased by detectives and fleeing!”

Even the usually bustling lobby of the Imperial Hotel stood silent and devoid of life on this New Year's morning. Hayashi guided Manago to a dimly lit chair in the shadow of an Oya stone pillar while— “I must apologize for detaining you when you’re occupied, but there’s just—” Manago quietly settled into the seat and fixed his gaze on Hayashi’s face. Hayashi faltered, “Incidentally—what’s this commotion in Hibiya about?” “All that idiocy over whether the Crane Fountain’s singing or not.”

Manago said in his usual gloomy voice, “That is a crime.” Hayashi laughed, “To your eyes, every phenomenon in existence must appear criminal.” “Precisely. The insidious crimes invisible to you all stand vividly clear to me.” “Was that what you wished to discuss?” Hayashi smoothly stroked his ruddy cheek with his palm, “Mr. Manago, you’re on your way to meet the Emperor now. The reason I detained you is that there’s something I must urgently consult about beforehand.”

With that, he suddenly lowered his voice,

“By the way—is it truly safe to have already released the Ariake-so residents?” “What are you referring to?” Hayashi scowled, “Since five this morning, the four of them—the Foreign Minister, Bureau Director, Superintendent, and Home Minister—gathered at the Home Minister’s official residence and, after much agonizing, decided that until the situation is properly arranged, the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments would not return home. They were removed from the meeting place and detained at Akashi Station. I already know this from the Bureau Director himself, so there’s no need for you to take such an attitude with me.”

With this, Manago learned for the first time of circumstances he had been unaware of until now. And in that instant, he realized everything. That if he were to act according to his conscience as a prosecutor, he would need the resolve to make an enemy of the government and fight.

Manago maintained a calm expression, "I don’t know... As for what you mean by ‘consultation’—" "I’m in a hurry, so please stick to the essentials." "If Matsutani Tsuruko’s case is determined to be suicide, I see no need to trouble the Emperor with formal interrogations." "From the Emperor’s perspective, it’s as if he has encountered a disaster." "Mr. Hayashi, let’s stop this now." "Forgive my bluntness, but I understand exactly what you’re trying to say." "In other words, you’re telling me not to pry unnecessarily when meeting the Emperor—because you’re worried some new flaw might be exposed."

“To put it bluntly, yes.”

“For the record, I had no involvement in this morning’s detention of the Ariake-so Apartments residents. The fact that such an incident even occurred—I’m only now hearing of it for the first time from you. ……There’s no need to look so shocked. ……Be that as it may, this case is a suicide no matter what anyone says. Given that the Bureau Director and Superintendent have already managed the situation in accordance with government policy, no matter how much effort I exert, it would be difficult to obtain any further evidence. If I go to Ariake-so now, the sole witness—a cleaning woman named Ouma—will likely give her testimony exactly as instructed, and I doubt any clues remain at the scene.”

“If it’s already been decided, there’s no need for you to go out of your way to Ariake-so Apartments.” Manago coldly interrupted, “Don’t presume to meddle.” “As an official employed by the Metropolitan Police Department, I must follow directives in accordance with official service regulations to the letter.” “The orders I received are to go to Ariake-so Apartments, meet a cleaning woman named Ouma, and gather evidence that this incident is a suicide.” “I will, of course, comply with that.” “—However, any investigations beyond that are my own prerogative.” “Once I complete the investigation according to directives, I will commence a rigorous investigation as head of the investigative division—one unconstrained by those very directives.” “Of course, I will interrogate the Emperor.” “This is not only my official duty but also the natural course of action. Furthermore, since I’m acting in accordance with my conscience, no amount of eloquent persuasion from a bald-headed fool like you will achieve anything.” “Don’t you dare underestimate me.” “If you think officials involved in prosecution are all low-minded individuals you can trifle with, that would be a grave mistake!” “I hereby decline any further conversation with you.”

With that, he stood up. Hayashi also rose from his chair as if being dragged along and pressed on in an insistent voice, “Hey Manago, don’t go spouting such childish nonsense.” “This isn’t about some prosecutor’s petty integrity or pride—it concerns the Japanese government’s authority and dignity.” “You’ve built your reputation on rigid principles, but we can’t upend national policy just to humor your obsessions. ……Come now, drop this stubborn act and be reasonable.”

Manago maintained an icy expression as if hearing nothing, quietly slipped his arms into his coat, and began walking toward the entrance. Hayashi suddenly broke into a smile and hurriedly caught up to him. “Now, now, Manago.” He grabbed his sleeve. Manago wordlessly brushed off the sleeve with indifference, walked to the front desk, borrowed hanshi paper and an inkstone set, ground the ink with deliberate calmness, picked up a brush, dipped its tip generously in ink, and began writing in precise strokes:

Resignation Letter Thus he began writing.

Part Four

Part Eleven: Kaju, Flying into a Rage

And Regarding the Demeanor of the Lowly

For Hayashi Kin’nao, head of the Hayashi conglomerate that owned bauxite mines in Annam, Emperor Munakata’s sudden incognito visit to Japan was nothing short of an immense nuisance.

Rumors had begun circulating that the Nikko Conglomerate—which sought to push aside the Hayashi Conglomerate and supplant its current influence—had colluded with the Emperor’s opposition party, namely the pro-French faction supporting Li Guangming, and was covertly maneuvering in various ways. This left him with no peace of mind, fearing some violent scheme might be brewing against the Emperor. At this critical juncture, Emperor Munakata went and caused considerable trouble. In a drunken state, he threw his beloved concubine Matsutani Tsuruko out the window and killed her. If this were made public, it would provide the French Indochina Government-General—which had long sought to depose the pro-Japanese Emperor Munakata and enthrone a pro-French imperial nephew—with a convenient pretext. The inevitable result of the new emperor’s ascension would be the revocation of his mining rights, leaving them to be seized by his competitor Nikko. As he fretted incessantly while gauging the government’s stance, he finally realized their intent to suppress the incident. Breathing a sigh of relief, he was en route to the Imperial Hotel to pay respects when he encountered Inspector Manago—a man renowned for his unbending integrity. Therefore, intending to have even the process of interrogating the Emperor omitted if possible, he invited Manago into the hotel lobby for an earnest discussion—but during this, Hayashi carelessly let slip something better left unsaid.

Inspector Manago’s uncompromising integrity ran profoundly deep—he hated injustice more fiercely than one might loathe ancestral enemies, and his demeanor refused to yield an inch to absurdity. For this reason, no one could possibly consider him a suitable candidate to handle such a cover-up. Given that he held the position of head of the investigative division, it would ordinarily have been proper procedure for the authorities to assign this matter to Manago above all others. However, for the reasons just stated, they bypassed him instead, swiftly executing a suitable cover-up, wiped their mouths, and feigned ignorance. Unaware of this, Hayashi carelessly let slip the circumstances in front of Manago himself—prompting even the normally composed Manago to vent his seething anger. In effect, Hayashi’s remark had poured oil on the fire. Manago ignored Hayashi—who was frantically trying to appease him—wrote up his resignation letter at the front desk and tucked it into his pocket, then left a dumbfounded Hayashi behind in the lobby as he strode out through the hotel’s entrance.

Needless to say, he was undoubtedly heading to the crime scene at Ariake-so Apartments—but what great secrets might Manago’s scathing investigation unearth? That would be addressed in due course, but around this very time when the aforementioned psychological drama was unfolding in the lobby downstairs, an equally intense torment was taking shape in a luxurious guest room reserved for dignitaries upstairs.

As you are aware from previous installments, Yūhi Newspaper’s tabloid reporter Furuichi Kaju—having been invited by Emperor Munakata—visited the Ariake-so Apartments in Akasaka Sannoudai on the previous night (around 3 AM on New Year’s Day), where he shared a late-night meal with the Emperor’s beloved concubine Matsutani Tsuruko, making their trio. Around four o’clock, as he and the Emperor left the apartment and descended to the vacant lot below the cliff, Tsuruko—whom they had just parted from—plummeted down from above. When he hurriedly carried her back to the previous room, Tsuruko had already passed away. Given the circumstances before and after, one could only conclude that the Emperor had thrown her out the window to kill her—yet the Emperor himself left behind a rude and extraordinary farewell before vanishing into thin air. Kaju, left alone with the corpse in bewilderment, was then confronted by two officers who barged in upon being notified by Ouma, the janitor at the entrance. Kaju argued that since there had been another person present until just moments ago—the three of them having shared the late-night meal—if Tsuruko had been killed, it must have been that man’s doing. However, as he and Tsuruko had eaten from the same plate and used the same fork during said meal, the dining table bore only two sets of soiled dishes. Consequently, there was no reason for his claims to be taken seriously. He was hauled away on the spot as a murder suspect without a word of protest and detained at Tameike Police Station, but come morning, nearing nine o’clock, he was released in an unusually ceremonious manner and delivered to the Imperial Hotel in an official government automobile.

Kaju assumed the Emperor had pulled strings to secure his release and summoned him to the hotel intending to host some banquet in recognition of his efforts thus far. Settling smugly into an armchair to wait, sure enough, what appeared to be the head bellboy entered and thrust a menu under his nose. Things had gone smoothly until then, but when a waiter who entered next reverently presented a telegram, he assumed it must be from the Emperor apologizing for his tardiness. Tearing open the envelope in haste to read it, he discovered to his shock that it was an urgent coded telegram addressed to Emperor Munakata from the Chief Commissioner of the Annam Empire. Though he thought this impossible, seeing the bellboy hand it to Kaju without hesitation—ah—it seemed Kaju was indeed being mistaken for the Emperor. Even Furuichi Kaju—who’d dedicated himself to honing street smarts—couldn’t help being staggered by this. For a brief moment, he stood frozen in a daze, all reason having deserted him.

That a mere city tabloid reporter could be mistaken for the emperor of a nation—the very notion itself was so fantastical that convincing astute readers of its veracity would prove rather difficult. No—depending on how you take it, you might even take offense at being treated as fools. The reason being, dear readers, that you were already well aware there existed absolutely no possibility of Furuichi Kaju being mistaken for the Emperor. Admittedly, their facial features bore some resemblance; however, one possessed the countenance of an unassailable nobleman—a rarity among tens of thousands—with a magnificent jet-black beard akin to that of Qin Shi Huang gracing his jaw, while the other exhibited an utterly base demeanor that instantly betrayed his lowly origins, his facial hair, should any exist, being mere fledgling fuzz. It might have been plausible that Ouma, the janitor at Ariake-so Apartments, and the chief of Tameike Police Station did not know the Emperor’s face, but there had been no reason for the hotel staff to be unaware of the Emperor. So why had Kaju been mistaken for the emperor?

Given that Kaju himself knew better than anyone there was absolutely no reason he could be mistaken for the Emperor, when he realized he was being treated as royalty, the first thought that flashed through his panicked mind was a chilling realization: perhaps the government intended to execute him as a murderous scapegoat in the Emperor’s stead. In other words, no matter how he protested, he would be put on trial under inescapable circumstances and executed without recourse. He definitely remembered reading something like that somewhere before. If it were a crime he had committed, that would be one thing—but to be convicted as a murderer and sentenced to life imprisonment in some sunless pit when he had no memory of wrongdoing struck him as too ghastly. In that case, he couldn’t very well sit there idly any longer. "At any rate I must escape while I can," he thought, suddenly leaping from his chair. He yanked his white silk scarf up over his nose, pulled his hat brim low over his eyes, and gingerly opened the door to step into the corridor—only to find three or four plainclothes officers from the Metropolitan Police Department, men he knew by sight, already pacing back and forth with feigned nonchalance.

Kaju hurriedly closed the door and leaned against it, panting. But as his panic gradually subsided, he began to think this idea was somewhat strange. The notion of executing me as a substitute for the Emperor wasn't just utterly absurd—if they'd truly intended such a thing, they wouldn't have released me in the first place, let alone have any reason to treat me as royalty. After all, hadn't the Chief of Tameike Police Station just hinted in his roundabout way that the case was already settled, and since no reporters had sniffed it out, there was nothing left to worry about? That this wasn't some lie or conspiracy could be plainly seen from how thoroughly discomforted he'd looked. Which meant there was no choice but to conclude they'd genuinely mistaken me for the Emperor—but...

Kaju was knitting his brows while mustering his crude thinking power to frantically turn over various thoughts when—suddenly raising his face and looking toward the mirror on the mantelpiece—he unintentionally let out a gasp of astonishment. The image reflected on the mirror's surface was neither the Emperor nor Kaju. In short, it was nothing more than a single masked figure with deeply furrowed brows.

The reason Kaju had been mistaken for the Emperor stemmed from the following rather simple coincidence. When Kaju exited Tameike Police Station's gate earlier, he appeared to have unwittingly—without even realizing it himself—slipped entirely into the mentality of an accused. Not wanting his colleagues to witness him being escorted to Metropolitan Police Headquarters on New Year's Day itself, he had done what any defendant ashamed of public scrutiny would do—wrapped his scarf over his face, pulled his hat brim down to his nose, practically dove into the waiting car, and arrived at the Imperial Hotel's porte-cochère still in that disheveled state. Upon entering the room, he did lower his mask at least, but in exchange now sank deep into a large armchair, receiving both the reverently presented menu and telegrams over his shoulder. All these were coincidences; everything had unfolded with utmost naturalness, irrespective of whether Kaju had anticipated it or not. Even had he planned it deliberately, things would never have gone this smoothly. Fundamentally, hoteliers existed as conceptual entities by nature; thus when confronted with an Emperor—escorted by plainclothes officers and arriving grandly at the porte-cochère while masked—they never entertained such outlandish doubts as questioning his authenticity. Since noble personages' actions often possessed an extraordinariness beyond commoners' sensibilities, they saw nothing particularly suspicious in that ostentatious mask—merely another manifestation of his customary eccentricity. Through such delicate convergences of circumstance, Kaju had been seamlessly mistaken for the Emperor.

Kaju, as if having forgotten his earlier panic, adopted a certain insolent demeanor and flopped back into the armchair,

This was getting more intense by the minute. Originally, apart from Ouma at Ariake-so Apartments and a handful of officials, I was the only person in all of vast Tokyo who knew the facts of this Emperor Murder Case. Not only that—I myself had been at the crime scene until just five minutes before the act. When I realized I'd been mistaken for the criminal earlier—what a perfect opportunity!—I resolved to play the ace reporter to the hilt. Even if held in indefinite detention for a month or two, I'd keep my identity hidden until we reached this case's rotten core, secure this bombshell scoop, and make every last one of those smug first-rate newspaper hacks eat their words. But then the situation spiraled into sheer absurdity, leaving me no retreat... A nobody fifth-rate tabloid hack being mistaken for the emperor! And considering it was the police authorities themselves who caused this mix-up, this too must count as no small feat! If I were to satirically expose this whole affair, all of Japan would turn upside down laughing... No—it'd be far more than that. From what I could gather, the government seemed to have strictly concealed this incident—so depending on how I handled it, I might even topple the cabinet!

He had been muttering such things to himself, but gradually his eyes took on a frenzied look.

"If it were to come to such a conclusion!" "Ah, Japan reeks of small-mindedness." "If I publish this report, the name Furuichi Kaju of the Yūhi Newspaper will become globally renowned overnight." "My exposé would ride radio waves to every corner of the world." "...Goddamn it, is this a dream?" "...'The Murder of Emperor Munakata Ryū of the Annam Empire!'... What a colossal scoop I've landed." "'No reporter has sniffed out this case yet'—don't mock me with such jokes!" "Pardon my bluntness, but you see—the Yūhi Newspaper, usually reviled like vermin, has this story locked down tight." "They'd tremble in their boots if they knew." "That Yūhi rag's no sweet-tea tabloid like Amacha—all scaffolding and no foundation. With their survival on the line, they're fighting like rabid dogs." "No matter what obstacles they throw my way, I'll secure this scoop and catapult it into a first-rate paper." "Watch closely—either the Yūhi Newspaper collapses or the cabinet falls!" "You've sneered at me as some country bumpkin till now, but I'll make you kneel before this hick's unbreakable resolve." "Mark my words," he declared with feverish intensity. Kaju spoke no lie. In foreign lands, secret governance always becomes the opposition's weapon against administrations. Expose these government schemes—their shady collusions with industrial firms—and even cabinets might crumble. No wonder Kaju burned with excitement.

In the first installment of this novel, the author introduced the character Furuichi Kaju by dragging him out from the entrance of Tokyo Kaikan without ever explaining his background; however, he was a graduate of the Department of Civil Engineering at Hokkaido Agricultural College. One might consider civil engineering an eccentric choice of discipline, but remarking on this now served no purpose. The man in question had likely nursed considerable ambitions in pursuing it, but upon graduating found no employment opportunities to speak of. After working as an elementary school teacher in Hokkaido's hinterlands for some time, he drifted to Tokyo without particular aim and was scraping by in a boarding house when his senior from the same hometown, Kōda Sessan, rescued him—thus beginning his work as a tabloid reporter for the Yūhi Newspaper about a year prior. Being the sort of unassuming man who would choose civil engineering, he lacked sparkling wit but possessed a monumental spirit akin to a labor foreman—the very image of obstinate sincerity. While slow to change course, once moved by someone's conviction, he brimmed with a futile ardor that would brave fire and flood for their sake. His profound gratitude toward Kōda Sessan for rescuing him during those desperate times seemed etched into his bones; feeling as though he alone shouldered responsibility for the Yūhi Newspaper's steady decline, he worked with dogged earnestness—so much so that Kōda, impressed by this zeal, came to trust him as his own right hand.

Judging from his current soliloquy, Kaju appeared to consider even a month or two of indefinite detention utterly insignificant in his quest to secure this major scoop called the "Emperor Murder Case." Even this determination stood so far beyond ordinary courage that it defied comparison to the petty bravado found around him, seeming instead to possess a certain monumental solidity.

This lovable country bumpkin—due to his sincerity ill-suited for the city—would be exploited for some vile purpose, see his grand ambitions come to naught, and soon lie slaughtered on the street in a sight too gruesome to behold. But until then, what audacious lines this ponderous rustic might draw as he outmaneuvered razor-sharp first-rate reporters—that very prospect made for a most fascinating spectacle. But that was a story for later; Kaju, having said that, suddenly frowned and—

"Wait—more importantly, where the hell has that king bastard hidden himself? I need to find a way to catch him quick... but... no need to panic. Once he learns this incident's been kept secret, he’s bound to return here sooner or later. Better to stay put and wait it out here than go scurrying around in a panic—I’ll nab him for sure eventually. "...For now, both the hotel and police seem completely convinced I’m the king. If I keep acting regal, I might stall them awhile—but if anyone gets a look at this mug of mine, that’ll strip the disguise clean off."

He had been muttering to himself when he suddenly stood up and went to the writing desk at the back of the room. Picking up the silver-framed photograph of the Emperor that lay atop it, he carried it to stand before the large mirror above the mantelpiece. Covering the photo from the nose down with his palm, he scrutinized his own face against it—comparing features back and forth—until at last he let out a sigh along with... "No, no—we’re as different as snow and charcoal. …But when I cover everything below the nose like this, the eyes and brows look uncannily like mine." "The hairline and facial structure were perfect matches, but no matter what I did, these eyes remained impossible to disguise." "My eyes dart about shiftily like a pickpocket’s, but the eyes in the photograph exude tremendous dignity, appearing crystal-clear all the way to their depths." "Indeed, that’s remarkable." "The terror of being born different... A beard you could hide with a scarf, but with this commoner’s mug, no amount of trickery could make me pass for a king." "Once that was settled, it was better to remain in my true face rather than resort to shoddy modifications." "What’s gonna happen now?" "If I'm found out, then that's that." "There’s no need to cower." "That said, it would be troublesome if my cover were blown right away." "Well, then... At least like this."

He repositioned the armchair to a spot diagonally facing the large mirror, returned, and sank completely into the chair,

"If I sit like this," he muttered, "anyone coming in will only see the chair's back—but through that mirror, I can scrutinize their every twitch." "If some dangerous bastard barged in," he reasoned, palms sweating against the armrests, "I'd act before they could lift a finger." "Once everything was arranged—"

Before he could even finish speaking, someone knocked on the door. Who do you think came in? In all of Tokyo, those who had seen the Emperor’s face directly numbered only six residents of Ariake-so and Hayashi Kin’nao alone. Thus, were Hayashi to enter here now, Kaju’s disguise would instantly be stripped away—a development that would render this scene most intriguing indeed. Though the author himself greatly desired this outcome, Hayashi at this moment was still blankly staring at Manago’s retreating figure in the hotel lobby, making his arrival here an impossibility. Contrary to our expectations, the one who entered—or rather, the figure that appeared reflected in the mirror—was the hotel manager’s bald head.

The bald-headed man crouched by the doorway as was his habit—nearly prostrate enough to lick his own shoe tips—and proclaimed in tones of lamentation that the Vice-Minister of Home Affairs now humbly requested an audience. The next to enter was a bureaucrat-type man of about fifty, dapperly dressed in a frock coat. Saluting with an intensely strained expression, he began gliding smoothly closer—prompting Kaju to startle—

“Don’t come closer—you’ll catch my cold.” “I can hear you well enough from there.” The Vice-Minister solemnly knitted his brows, “Your Majesty has taken ill. Oh dear, in that case—” “Then we shall summon a physician at once.” Kaju snapped irritably, “Leave it be. What’s this about?” The Vice-Minister performed an unusual hand-wringing gesture, “This morning’s lapse arose solely from our negligence. Though the Minister himself ought to request an audience to offer apologies, as today coincides with the official New Year court ceremony, he has temporarily appointed me as his proxy.”

“What’s your point? Make it quick. You know I’m in no mood for this.” “Deepest apologies, Your Majesty. To summarize—our investigations conclusively show Miss Matsutani Tsuruko took her own life out of worldly despair. The chief investigator shall submit his formal report imminently.” “Regarding this regrettable incident—as stated—certain oversights occurred on our part. However, given the Japanese Government’s prompt remedial actions and sincere contrition, both ministers humbly entreat Your Majesty to magnanimously overlook these lapses.”

“Hmm, I understand that, but what about the journalists?” “Ah, not a single soul has been involved.” “How can you state such a thing with certainty?”

“Fortunately, as it occurred in the early hours of New Year’s Day and we took exhaustive measures to maintain strict secrecy, there remains absolutely no concern of this matter reaching external parties.” “Furthermore, given Your Majesty’s fortunate absence from Ariake-so Apartments that evening, and our firm belief that Miss Tsuruko’s suicide likely stemmed from a hysterical episode, even should word of her death somehow spread, it would naturally hold no conceivable connection to Your Majesty’s august person.”

“Understood. Then that’s fine, but make absolutely sure this doesn’t reach any newspaper reporters’ ears… If it does, I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do. Don’t forget this. When you get back, give both ministers a thorough report.”

The Vice-Minister declared he would fully convey the message and retreated in a flustered manner. Kaju let out a strange noise—"Ugh—", "That was close, close! I managed to bluff through the first round somehow, but there’s no telling what kind of bastards might come crawling out next. I guess I'll take a short nap until breakfast arrives. I’d better keep my head quite clear, or things will go badly."

As he said this, he stretched, but soon flopped back into the chair and began emitting defiant snores.

About ten minutes later, Hayashi finally entered. Hayashi stood at the doorway, "I am Hayashi Kin'nao." Having announced himself thus, he crouched low like a flat spider and waited for a response, but even after two minutes had passed, there came no reply. Even Hayashi could not maintain such an unnatural posture indefinitely. Timidly raising his head, he stood on tiptoe to peer into the mirror—whereupon it became clear that His Majesty appeared to be sleeping soundly. Fearing His Majesty might have taken ill, Hayashi took up the overcoat lying discarded across the sofa and moved to drape it over him. Slowly circling around to the other side of the chair, he discovered slumbering there—with a scarf sloppily dangling from his chin and features of utterly vulgar cast—an unknown young upstart of basest countenance.

Twelve: The Matter of the Tea Room's Reputation

And: The Matter of the Strange Secret Meeting

Midway down the alley that turns from in front of the Ichijō residence in Akasaka Fukukichō toward Shinmachi, peering between two geisha houses reveals a lattice-patterned entrance at the far end. The nameplate reading 'So-and-so Residence' marked what was needless to say—a certain man’s mistress’s house.

In the tea room, two women sat conversing across a long brazier, their gossip in full bloom. One was a slender-faced twenty-four- or twenty-five-year-old of medium height and imperious bearing. She wore a double-layered indigo-gray kimono fastened with a round obi in an old man’s plaid pattern, her hair done up in a low shimada chignon secured by a tortoiseshell comb—a peculiar getup resembling an amateur’s clumsy attempt at geisha attire. The other was a prune-faced woman around fifty, her thinning hair topped with a small topknot, dressed in an antiquated Ichiraku-style kimono worn carelessly open at the collar as she hunched so close to the brazier her chin nearly grazed the coals. "Well now, listen here. She carries on about how eating breakfast in bed is the Western way—scattering soft-boiled eggs everywhere, nibbling at summer tangerines, then demanding vermouth and ordering them to brew coffee—what an impossible mistress she makes!" "Dragging that crested habutai underkimono with its grimy collar around all day—I ask you, isn’t it maddening how she claims she must keep up this charade to please her master?" "As for that master of hers—to put it plainly, he’s nothing but a Chinaman with a queue." "It’s not as if Japanese men have gone out of stock—no need for her to go picking some odd duck of different plumage." "...And then there’s her ridiculous diligence—come evening, she starts brewing coffee as early as three! She’s no Nanjing mouse peddled at night stalls, yet keeps flitting in and out the doorway till it’s enough to turn your stomach."

The one chattering away here—as readers will already know from the first chapter—was Tome, the daily maid who had appeared from the kitchen of Matsutani Tsuruko’s residence at Ariake-so Apartments, wiping her hands on the hem of her apron. The slender-faced woman responding to her was Etsuko, daughter of Sakazuki Moru, head gardener of Hibiya Park. While working as an elevator girl at Marukoshi Department Store, she had caught the eye of Kōda Sessan from the Yūhi Newspaper and had been kept here as his mistress since the winter before last—though this so-called gilded cage amounted to little more than a monthly allowance equivalent to a junior official’s salary. At times, she would dash out into the alleyways carrying a miso strainer. Despite her aversion to being called a mistress, she had the kraft paper envelopes from the Yūhi Newspaper delivered monthly addressed to "Secretary Sakazuki"—though such petty contrivances hardly seemed necessary under the circumstances. This Tome had been acquainted with the Sakazuki family since their days living in the backstreets beside the Monopoly Bureau in Yodobashi, yet Etsuko regarded her as nothing more than her personal maid.

Etsuko had been listening to Tome’s story with an impudent curl of her lip when suddenly her expression turned serious. “By the way—is it true that your master’s the King of China? If that’s true, wouldn’t that be just wonderful?” Her eyes grew wide with rapt admiration, putting on an exaggerated show of envy. Tome nodded exaggeratedly, “Yes, that does seem to be the truth. After all, given the substantial allowance she receives, she’s been guzzling down bottles of vermouth costing thirty yen apiece, demanding ayu fish in the dead of winter and ponkan oranges as if they’re in season—it’s simply outrageous.”

Etsuko clicked her tongue resentfully, "Well, how impudent—putting on airs when she’s not even that pretty." "What does she even see in someone like that?" Tome fanned her hand emphatically, "Ohhhh, looks-wise she’s not fit to lick your boots!" "That actress business went straight to her head—just the other day she offers to dance for us, and what do you think she does? Strips naked on the spot, tosses everything aside, and starts jiggling about like some loincloth-clad savage!" "Then she’d pull these twisted faces like there’d been a murder, screeching ‘Kill me now if you’re gonna!’—downright lunatic behavior, I tell you." "And you know that dancer Kawamata Fumie across the hall? Disgusting business—parading over every night to share a bed like man and wife." "Does such filth even exist? Never heard the like in all my days."

Just as she was saying this, Kōda’s gruff voice sounded at the alley entrance, followed by the clatter of the front door opening. To Tome, who had started to rise, Etsuko said, “Oh, it’s fine—no need to scurry off like that. It’s a holiday today anyway. So why don’t you stay a while longer and tell me the rest of what happened?” With that, she stood up smoothly and walked toward the entrance while adjusting her obi with her hands behind her back. The ones who entered were Kōda and Sakazuki. They wore completely unperturbed expressions, as though they hadn’t a care about how they’d shaken off the detectives. Kōda, swaying his slightly plump body like a country sumo wrestler, pushed past the long brazier and settled down cross-legged on a large floor cushion with a thud, then looked up at Sakazuki’s face from below,

“Hey, Sakazuki,” he called out in a growling voice. Sakazuki used his foot to pull the floor cushion closer, then flopped onto his back using it as a pillow. “Hmm, I was surprised too,”

As he said this, he stared fixedly up at the ceiling. Kōda propped himself up on one elbow over his morning coat trousers, “Astonishing! Truly astonishing! I know I’m repeating myself, Kōda Sessan, but never since the day I was born have I been so shocked as I am today. …Come now, you never imagined that crane would start singing either, did you?” "Sheer dumb luck!"

“Be it dream or the waking world, it truly did sing.” Sakazuki said in a nonchalant tone, “Ah, it sang alright.” Kōda Sessan studied Sakazuki’s profile intently while asking, “You didn’t rig some contraption yourself now, did you?” “Hell’s bells—that’s what I wanna ask you!”

Kōda crossed his arms, "Hmm, I see."

Sakazuki blew tobacco smoke at the ceiling while, “Hey, Kōda, you’re really ridin’ the tide…” “Ah, you’re one helluva force.” “Can’t keep pace with a firecracker like you.” “Guts enough to make that bronze crane sing—gotta hand it to ya. Sakazuki tips his hat.”

Etsuko had been sloppily sitting sideways beside the long brazier, listening to their conversation with cunning eyes, but at this moment she burst out laughing,

“Oh please! How absurd! You both can’t be serious with those straight faces! You really think anyone’s gonna fall for that trick?”

Kōda clicked his tongue irritably, "You lot go over there for a bit. “Don’t just sit there sprawled out—go prepare some sake or whatever.” Etsuko stood up, swaying her body sulkily, “Oh dear, how terrifying.” “Tome-san, come to the back.” “It’s a secret talk, you see.” With a rough scrape against the tatami, she slid open the fusuma door. Tome cut short her New Year’s greetings and, saying “Excuse me,” also headed to the back.

Kōda moved his knees forward, “Hey Sakazuki—why’d that damn crane sing?” “How the hell should I know?” “Beat that tin bird all you want—it wouldn’t so much as cough up a feather. We were counting on the cops storming in any second to shut us down! But no—the godsdamned thing had to start warbling right on cue. Never heard such madness in my life.” As this exchange reveals, the “Singing Crane Fountain” had been pure fabrication from the start.

One morning, Sakazuki—gurgling from a hangover-induced belch in his throat as he passed by the fountain—had suddenly conceived this malicious scheme. If one were to meticulously investigate those who claimed to have heard the fountain crane sing, it went without saying that they would all prove to be associates connected to these two. The only unfortunate party was Dr. Kanekiyo, who had been roped into this fraud—though of course that was no fault of the doctor himself. That people had been so readily taken in by such a transparent ruse instead served to evoke the doctor's pure integrity, transcending worldly concerns.

Nevertheless, advertising that the fountain crane would sing at 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day and attempting to collect nearly ten thousand yen in ill-gotten money seemed an utterly reckless approach—but when the trick was revealed, it proved to be an exceedingly simple scheme. In other words, if they held an unauthorized illegal assembly in Hibiya Park right under the nose of the Metropolitan Police Department, the police force would inevitably come rushing in to order its disbandment. That was their opening. They had swiftly collected three yen per person as advance admission fees, but since they were ordered to disband as you can see, regrettably the "Singing Crane Society" would end here—this was their plan to close the show with the bill coming due.

Kōda and Sakazuki had been utterly confident their gathering would be disbanded almost immediately after starting, but this calculation proved spectacularly miscalculated—for some reason, even as 9:12 arrived, the police force remained nowhere to be seen. Even Kōda and Sakazuki, for all their usual composure, had grown increasingly agitated until they found themselves cornered with no escape—and just as the furious mob prepared to pummel them, the crane fountain miraculously began to sing its melodious, serene song. Given these circumstances, the astonished faces of Kōda and Sakazuki in that moment were truly a sight to behold. What foolish expressions they wore, dear readers can likely imagine. It was, one might say, divine irony visited upon those very scoundrels.

Kōda still wore an unrelenting expression, “Hey, quit lying around and get up. Seriously, why’d that crane have to sing?”

Sakazuki threw the cigarette butt into the brazier and, “Fools countin’ their coins – yappin’ the same shit ain’t changin’ a damn thing.” “We’ve hit our grand finale anyhow – why sweat the crane now?” “Would’ve been fine silent, but that sweet singin’ gave us better odds.” “Fraud? I’ll gut any bastard claims that.” “Just square the assembly permit mess – rest’ll sort itself smooth.”

Kōda gave a wry smile, “Far from bein’ easy—don’t it feel like the wind’s blowin’ fierce against us?” “Get hauled in by the law—that weren’t in the damn script.” “It’s a goddamn miracle we slipped through clean this long.” “Even so, the end’s plain as day.” “Fine or lockup?” “They ain’t claimin’ our lives or such.”

With that, he sat up abruptly and rested his cheek on his hand against the cat-shaped board, “Hey, Kōda, what surprised me wasn’t the crane singing. “It’s about those goons who came storming in. … Don’t you think so?” “Hey, about that…”

Kōda nodded, “Exactly, exactly. I can’t make heads or tails of it either. “If it’s ‘Kokumin,’ then the Dairin Society; if it’s ‘Asahi,’ then the Kiyokawa Gang. There’s absolutely no reason for Nogeyama bastards to come nitpicking at this.”

Sakazuki pulled the teacup closer, gulped down the cold tea with a groan, then shot a sharp glance up at Kōda’s face. “Hey, this is big!” “If Nogeyama’s makin’ a move, this ain’t just some small potatoes. … Tell me, Kōda—why’d that damn crane sing when it had no business singin’?” “Why the hell would Nogeyama come wreckin’ it?” “If we follow the trail behind this logic, this could turn into one hell of a scandal. … What d’you say? We’re already on the boat—might as well ride the first tide out and see how far she goes.”

Kōda stared fixedly at Sakazuki’s face, then finally uttered a single word:

“Very well,” he said.

At that moment, someone roughly thrust open the lattice door,

“Granny Tome! You here?”

The one who came flying into the entrance accompanied by that voice was the bird shop apprentice who frequented the Ariake-so Apartments just above. Clutching the lattice door, his voice rang out frantically.

“Tome-san! It’s terrible, terrible! The king’s mistress has thrown herself off!” Kōda stood up with a "Hmm," his eyes gleaming. Tome came running out from the back, "What did you say? “Madam threw herself off.” “So is she alive or dead?” “She’s dead, obviously. “She fell from the window all the way down to the cliff.” “There was no way she could’ve survived.” Tome dramatically furrowed her brows, “Oh, how dreadful.” “Ugh, do I really have to prepare a ritual bath for the corpse?” “What a damn awful way to start the New Year.”

“No—apparently they’d already hauled off the corpse.” “My word… That’s peculiar enough on its own! Didn’t you notice anything else strange? Though come to think of it…” Kōda emerged at the threshold,

“Hey, you’re the apprentice from the Shinmachi bird shop.” “Yessir?” “So that wasn’t a suicide but a murder, was it?” The apprentice’s eyes suddenly gleamed, “Yes, actually I think so too.” “Oh? Why do you say that?” “But that’s just it! Someone about to jump to their death wouldn’t go ordering birds, now would they? She called to have two mallards delivered tomorrow morning.” “When was that?” “On New Year’s Eve… no, around 2 AM on New Year’s morning.”

Kōda turned toward the sitting room and exchanged a sharp glance with Sakazuki.

A café called Banseiken near the intersection at Toranomon.

The woman seated at the window-side table—commanding a full view of the road at a glance—was one of the Ariake-so Apartments residents who had just been at "Paris." Kawamata Fumie, the American-trained dancer. She gazed at the sidewalk with a plain, unremarkable face, her entire body fidgeting restlessly. Before long, a figure flickered at the glass window. Stepping inside with his coat collar turned up to hide the tuxedo's front was none other than Yamaki Motokichi—that same son of the Coral King who had also been at "Paris" moments earlier. Even his disheveled appearance made clear he'd come straight from "Paris." By the clock, it hadn't yet been an hour since Count Iwai had last appeared at "Paris" to report Matsutani Tsuruko's unnatural death.

Yamaki, his usually sallow, bluish-black cheeks looking even more haggard and the tip of his nose reddening with a poverty-stricken appearance, hurried inside, pulled a chair over, and sat down beside Fumie while— “I got held up by that bastard Hatchi tailing me—that’s why I’m late.” He said defensively, but Fumie, visibly seething, kept her face turned away without responding. Yamaki thrust his pointed chin in her direction, “Hey, you. Hasn’t he sniffed something out?”

Fumie’s body jerked with a tremble as she suddenly turned back toward Yamaki. “Noticed? Noticed what?” “Your affair—that’s what I mean.”

Fumie shrugged her shoulders, “Don’t play dumb. What’s there to be scared of?” “Oh? Not scared? Even if this reaches Mr. Iwai’s ears?” A glance showed Fumie tearing her handkerchief to shreds under the table with frantic motions. Yamaki looked genuinely startled, “Well now! What’s got you all worked up alone? Won’t know a thing if you don’t talk. Hey! What’s eating you?”

Fumie suddenly raised her face and spoke in an urgent tone, “Hey, you need to back out of that deal.” Yamaki was caught off guard, “Huh? The deal—you mean the 295-carat one?” “Stop asking stupid questions. Haven’t I told you a hundred times already?” Yamaki rocked back and forth like a pauper while,

“That’s a problem. Even if it’s your request, that’s a problem.” he said with uncharacteristic seriousness, “I’ve been meaning to ask you this all along. Why do you keep insisting over and over that we back off?” “It’s just that the job’s too big. How could a bumbling fool like you handle something like this? You’d be better off quitting. I truly believe that.” “What’s wrong with it being big? …It’s precisely because it’s big that I’m running around like this, sparing no effort. I haven’t told you yet, but with Inui Nihei’s side sorted out and things finally coming together, how could we back out now? That’s impossible.”

Having said that, he took Fumie’s hand and—

“Hey, Fumi-chan.” “I’m already flat broke, you know?” “It’s not just flat broke—I’m over a million in debt and can’t even make ends meet.” “You could say I’m reaping what I’ve sown, but if I don’t pull this off, I’ll never dig myself out.” “You must know.” “You must have some inkling yourself.” “So why d’you keep tellin’ me to back off?” “...If there’s some reason, just spit it out.” “But I’m fightin’ for my life here—ain’t no excuse gonna make me quit now.”

Fumie gripped Yamaki’s hand in return, “Even when I’m beggin’ you like this…” “Oh, give me a break!” “Don’t you think it’s scary?”

Yamaki, for some reason, suddenly took on a timid look, “Hey, Fumi-chan, you’ve got the wrong idea about this. “…You might be suspecting something, but what I’m doing is a legitimate business deal. I’m just trying to deliver the goods properly and collect my commission. Why would that be scary? “…Though there’s an aspect I can’t disclose publicly—I’ve only told you and Indō about this—strict confidentiality is the main condition of this deal, so we’ve gotta let that slide. If this leaks out, it’ll cause major trouble for everyone involved, you know?”

Fumie let out an “Ahhh” of a sigh as though she hadn’t heard a word, then— “We’ve both ended up in a terrible mess, haven’t we? “Even if we try to run, there’s no escaping now.” “Ah, why on earth did I ever come back to Japan?” “How hateful!”

Yamaki lowered his eyes, “This is what they call an ill-fated bond.” “There’s no way out but to beg forgiveness.” “I feel rotten about Mr. Iwai too—but once shit’s been shat...”

Fumie suddenly glared, “Enough with the act.” “What’re you on about?” “What happened with Tsuruko’s case this morning?” “Why was Tsuruko killed?” “There’s no way you don’t know why.” “That’s why I—” Yamaki hastily pulled Fumie’s sleeve while darting nervous looks toward where the waiter stood,

“Hey, what’re you bringing up?” Fumie blew out cigarette smoke with a sulky look,

“No need to panic. I’m not saying you killed her—it’s just that you’re being too damn coy.”

Yamaki's face twisted in fury,

“Cut the crap. If there’s some reason, you’re the one who’d know better. …Let me ask you this, Fumi-chan—why’d you keep sneaking into Tsuruko’s place when all you ever did was badmouth her behind her back? Plus, from what I hear, you were in some kind of shady relationship with her, weren’t you? …Why were you putting on such an elaborate charade?” Fumie’s face drained of color in an instant,

“Shut up! What of it? Instead of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, why don’t you worry about your own damn self, you fool!” After hurling that vulgar remark, she abruptly turned her face toward the window. Depending on one’s interpretation, this gesture could also be seen as an attempt to prevent others from reading her expression. Yamaki, for his part, looked down awkwardly as he smoked his cigarette—but what could explain the minute trembling of his fingertips?

At that very moment outside the window passed Hanako—the beautiful seamstress known as "Flower"—who lived in the respectable boarding houses beneath Ariake-so Apartments' cliff. Having apparently parted ways with her companion, Akaguma's daughter, she walked away with her head mostly bowed. When Fumie saw this, she snatched up the gloves from the table and stood abruptly, then bolted from the café without acknowledging Yamaki,

“Hanako! Hanako!”

Fumie called out while catching up to Hanako at the corner of the sidewalk and, with an oddly friendly manner, took her hand. “Hanako, I heard you had quite a time this morning.” Hanako fidgetingly pulled back her hand while looking perplexed. “Yes.” Fumie peered into her face. “Don’t you know something specific?” “No.” “Not a thing?” “Yes.” “You must’ve been shocked, since you two were so close.” “Yes.” Fumie murmured as if to herself, “Those who die are the ones who lose out, aren’t they?”

Muttering as if to herself while wearing a meaningful smile and gazing at Hanako’s face, she suddenly brought her mouth close to Hanako’s ear. “Congratulations, Hanako.” she said.

Thirteen: On the Prosecutor’s Obsession

And On the Parting of Crimson Lips

Ascending the steep path from Sannō-shita to Ariake-so Apartments with a stiff, unyielding gait was a gloomy figure clad entirely in black—needless to say, none other than Inspector Manago Akira, Chief of the First Investigative Division of the Metropolitan Police Department. As you, dear readers, were already aware, he was heading there under confidential orders from the Police Affairs Bureau to secure evidence of Matsutani Tsuruko’s suicide. Whether Matsutani Tsuruko’s cause of death was suicide or murder remained undetermined as a matter of fact, regardless of rumors. Ultimately, the truth depended on Inspector Manago’s merciless interrogation, but synthesizing Hayashi Kin’nao’s inadvertent remarks earlier in the Imperial Hotel lobby suggested that since receiving reports of Tsuruko’s mysterious death and the Emperor’s arrest from the Tameike Police Station Chief at 5 AM that morning, the four officials—the Home and Foreign Ministers, Police Affairs Bureau Director, and Superintendent-General of the Metropolitan Police—had gathered at the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal’s residence for secret deliberations, having hastily fabricated the suicide scenario.

Manago was now being sent to that scene. In other words, he was going to search for evidence of suicide at a scene where the circumstances of suicide had already been completely fabricated. As for why Inspector Manago was being dispatched there—it was because a report bearing his signature was required. In short, Manago was being forced to fulfill this utterly wretched role, having been betrayed by the Metropolitan Police Department. It had already been stated that when handling prosecutorial duties, Inspector Manago’s cold tenacity and insidiousness were in no way inferior to Inspector Javert from Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables. One could gauge how obsessively this man pursued eradicating evil from the fact that even within the Metropolitan Police Department, his ferocity was profoundly dreaded. When Manago’s heavy footsteps—distinctive and thudding like nails being driven into a coffin—began echoing from the far end of the corridor, his subordinates and colleagues alike fell silent in unison. With eyes cast downward, they waited motionlessly for those footsteps to fade into the chief inspector’s office, much like boatmen bracing for an ill wind to pass.

Were you to observe the retreating figure of Inspector Manago ascending this path now, you would surely nod in understanding.

Cloaked in a gloomy atmosphere, his shoulders raised like those of a great crow from a graveyard beneath his black inverness coat, he ascended as though he himself were some sinister phenomenon—behold! Even the grasses by the roadside cowered and lay prostrate in terror before his murderous aura. Indeed, in the grand actions of the state, there were cases where one could not afford to be bogged down by trivial matters of right and wrong. This case was precisely such an instance—were they to process this imperial murder case by the book, all manner of troublesome international complications would arise. Even the Emperor of Annam’s visit to Japan had already been a troublesome matter in itself, but now the complications of exposing that very emperor as a murderer could well be imagined by anyone. Moreover, to dare to do so would bring a hundred harms without a single benefit; thus, if at all possible, they would prefer to settle matters without causing any disturbances. In such circumstances, having someone like Manago—the very embodiment of prosecutorial rigor—take part was nothing short of a miscast; thus, the police authorities’ decision to bypass him and swiftly arrange the situation had not been entirely unreasonable.

On the other hand, Manago held a rigid opinion that legal principles stood far above the state and should not be lightly swayed by government intentions or policies; thus, when he learned through Hayashi’s words in the hotel lobby of the government’s handling of this case, he felt boundless indignation. In other words, preserving the Japanese Government’s dignity meant recognizing the guilt of those who were guilty—even if they were the emperor of a nation—and not pointlessly distorting legal principles to demonstrate loyalty to foreigners, such was his reasoning.

From the author’s perspective, both sides seemed to have their reasons, making it difficult to definitively declare which was correct. However, were one to insist on exposing this case’s truth, Manago would have no choice but to fight against the entire machinery of the Metropolitan Police Department—but did Manago possess resolve of such magnitude? We knew that Manago currently carried a letter of resignation in his pocket. If so, he might have already made that momentous decision. Even the ghastly light leaking from between his droopy, sleep-heavy eyelids made him appear to harbor some unyielding resolve deep within. Yet it would be a disservice to assume Manago sought revenge through such means—a petty retaliation for having been sidelined. Manago was underhanded, but no coward. Moreover, given his supremely seasoned and composed nature, he would never devise such juvenile schemes. Manago genuinely believed this was his duty as a prosecutor.

When Inspector Manago finally arrived at Ariake-so Apartments, merchants were already bustling in and out as if nothing had happened. Not a single police officer or detective was in sight.

Upon turning right at the entrance and opening the door to the gatekeeper’s room at the end of the hall, a mean-looking old woman of about fifty crawled out from the stairway landing. This was that meddlesome Oma who, in the first instance, had informed the detectives that the person in the inner room was Emperor Munakata. Her bulging golden eyes were contorted into a vulgar visage. Her hair was pulled back so tightly into a bun that it stretched her eyes upward in an odd manner, making her appear all the more spiteful. By nature quick to underestimate others, when she saw Manago’s rather unremarkable appearance—like some threadbare school principal—she immediately looked down on him and

“Well, well, investigating again? You lot never quit, do ya?” She spat out the words. Manago settled himself on the stair’s edge and said in a sodden tone, “You’re the one called Oma?” Thus began his interrogation. Oma kept her face averted, “Yes’m, that’s me.” “What exactly do you do here?”

“Well, I’m here at the entrance, and I take care of everyone’s little errands too. Yes’m, that’s all there is.” “When His Majesty came last night, was there any sign that someone might have been accompanying him?” “Oh my, who could this ‘king’ be? If you mean his real name, I might know...” “The person who goes by the Japanese name Munakata Ryūtarō.” “If you mean Mr. Munakata, he did not come last night. That’s absolutely certain, sir.”

“You’re certain there’s no mistake?” “Yes, ma’am, absolutely.” Manago kept his eyelids lowered as before, “You’re quite tight-lipped.” “Impressive.” “Whoever asks you, you should say it that way…… Now then, how does that front door open?” “What does that matter?”

“Answer what you were asked.”

Oma puffed out her cheeks, “Each resident is supposed to open it with their own spare key.”

“When closing it—”

“When you push it, it closes automatically.” “Is that the only entrance?” “There’s a service staircase that errand runners use to go up and down, but all entries and exits are made through there.” “After all, there’s only that one entrance.” “Was there any sign that the woman Tsuruko was waiting for someone besides His Majesty?” “A guest? Or perhaps a friend?” “I don’t think she was waiting for anyone else.” “How did you come to know that?”

“Last night, just before midnight, Hanako—a seamstress living on the second floor of that respectable house right below this cliff—delivered something to Ms. Matsutani’s place. On her way back, she stopped by here and chatted with me. She mentioned that since Mr. Munakata hadn’t arrived at the promised time, Ms. Tsuruko was terribly anxious.” “So that’s why you came to that conclusion?” “What does it matter?” “I just thought so offhand, so that’s how I answered.” “How could anyone possibly know what’s in someone’s heart?” “It’s not like I’m some clairvoyant.”

“So what other things did that girl talk about?”

“Ms. Tsuruko said she was happy.” “She’d say that not just last night—she always did.” “Is that all?” “The rest’s slipped my mind.” “What exact time did that Hanako girl come here?” “Must’ve been ’round ten to midnight. We jawed for ten minutes or so till the New Year’s bells rang out. Soon as she heard ’em, she hollered ‘Happy New Year!’ and skedaddled.” “……Anything else?” “Nearly done…… So that girl’d be the last to see Tsuruko breathing.”

“Exactly.”

“Did anyone go up to Tsuruko’s residence after that?” “There wasn’t anyone at all.” “After the incident, did anyone leave through the front entrance?” “No one came out.” “How do you know that? It’s not like you were standing guard at the entrance.” “Who’d stand guard? Don’t be ridiculous... You see, every time someone opens or closes that front door, an electrical contraption makes a bell ring in my room.”

"In other words, it never rang even once after the incident." "Before or after, from when Hanako left until the officers arrived, it didn’t ring even once." “As for when the housekeeper named Tome left—”

“Around 11:30, as usual, she handed over the back door key to me and left.” “What about the key?” “I’ve been keeping it here.” “Is there only one?” “Right you are.”

“So at about what time did you learn of the incident?” “I believe it was precisely four o’clock when I heard that startled cry.”

“You heard the startled cry from below the cliff here, didn’t you?”

“Exactly. It’s not a boast, but my ears are sharp.” “I see. So?” “Then I hurried down to the base of the cliff and found her already dead. I carried her up to the room.” “You did that?” “I’ll have you know I once made it to the front rank in women’s sumo.” “So Tsuruko—” “Huh? Of course it’s suicide!” “How do you know that?” “But you’re the one who said so! Last night there wasn’t a single person in the apartment besides Ms. Matsutani. And she kept saying over and over she wanted to die.”

“Alright, that’s perfect. “So, is that seamstress Hanako at home now?” “I can’t guarantee that, you know—today’s the first of the month.” “You’ve been helpful. “Though I’ll be turning right back around to come here again immediately.” With that, Manago stood up and slowly made his way down to the base of the cliff. As he slid open the lattice door of a two-story house that looked on the verge of collapse in a corner of the vacant lot to request entry, soft footsteps sounded on the stairs. Soon, an extraordinarily beautiful girl of about eighteen or nineteen—fair-skinned with large, clear eyes—peered out from behind the shoji screen. When the girl saw Manago’s face, she cried out, “Oh!” and stood up in a manner reminiscent of a bird taking flight from its perch. It was Hanako—the seamstress who had been caught under a human avalanche near Hibiya Park just about an hour earlier and was nearly crushed to death before being saved by Manago. Even Manago seemed surprised by this strange coincidence, but true to form, he merely opened his eyes slightly and gazed at her face.

A countenance of such beauty could indeed constitute an event in itself. Though one might pass countless beauties in Ginza, those truly worth making one's eyes widen were rare indeed. Hanako's face belonged to that exceptional category. To draw an analogy, it resembled those modern girls painted by Miyamoto Saburō - countenances where vivacity and purity bloomed like flowers. Confronted with such a face, any man would momentarily feel life worth living. Hanako had been expressing her gratitude with a smile too radiant for her lovely face when Manago identified himself as Metropolitan Police - at which both her girlish innocence and smile vanished like frost before morning sun, leaving her stealing nervous upward glances at his face. Naturally no girl however gracious would warmly welcome a police inspector general - this reaction was only to be expected. Still perhaps deeming it improper at the stairwell, she guided Manago to her six-tatami room on the second floor.

The sewing table and needle box had both been neatly stored against the wall, while atop the sewing machine covered with a cloth lay a single branch of red plum blossoms with tightly closed buds. At least to celebrate New Year’s Day, the innermost feelings of this poor girl were also tenderly concealed.

Manago sullenly sat by the window and, in an unfriendly tone, "When did you start frequenting Tsuruko's place?" he began. Hanako kept her head hung low as she replied in a voice trembling on the verge of tears, “Around October of last year.”

“I hear Tsuruko confided various things to you.” “She was always just joking around.” “Recently, did Tsuruko ever say anything about being sad or wanting to die?” Hanako’s eyes widened,

“No, never once.” “Do you know what the King looks like?” “I do know him. Miss Tsuruko showed me photographs many times.” “He’s quite a handsome man, don’t you think?” When Manago said this, Hanako cried “Oh!” and turned crimson up to her forehead. Manago kept his eyes fixed on her face as he remarked, “You still haven’t met him in person yet? What a shame.” “But since I’m scheduled to deliver the formal visiting attire I’ve made to the hotel, I’ll soon have the honor of meeting him.”

After answering, she buried her chin in her collar and suddenly sank into thought. Manago silently watched this, but when he reached out to open the window’s shoji, the Ariake-so Apartments building loomed directly before his eyes. Manago pointed in that direction while, “Oh, there’s Ariake-so Apartments. That second window from the right on the second floor is the one Tsuruko threw herself from, isn’t it?” “Yes, that’s right.” Manago slowly turned back toward Hanako and, “Miss, about what time did you go to bed last night?”

At this question, a violent change came over Hanako Nui’s entire body. In a word, she fixed Manago with the desperate gaze of a fawn cornered by hunting hounds, but soon collapsed onto the tatami mats, let out a single wailing sob, and abruptly lifted her face,

“I know all sorts of things, you know.”

Manago was not surprised. Keeping his gloomy eyes downcast,

“Hm. What kind of things?”

Hanako's lips trembled as she spoke. "I... I saw everything. From this window."

What on earth could Hanako have seen?

Part Five

Chapter 14: The Matter of the Chestnut-Burr Head

And Also: The Matter of 295 Carats

At 4:20 AM on the first morning of the Kinoe-I year, Matsutani Tsuruko—beloved concubine of Emperor Munakata Ryūtarō of the Annam Empire residing at Ariake-so Apartments in Akasaka Sannōdai—plunged from a second-floor entrance window to meet a bizarre death in the thirty-shaku (approximately nine-meter) drop below. Only the Emperor had been present at the scene, and since the unfortunate window’s operable section was positioned approximately five shaku (about 1.5 meters) above the floor, it would have been difficult for anyone to voluntarily leap from there without using a stepping stool. While these circumstances made it simple enough to identify the Emperor as the perpetrator, formally charging him as a murderer proved far from simple. One could not carry this out unless prepared for the troublesome international problems that would be provoked by it.

At five o'clock in the early dawn when this incident was reported, the ashen-faced Ministers of Home Affairs and Foreign Affairs summoned both the Director of the Police Bureau and the Superintendent-General of the Metropolitan Police to the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal's official residence. After huddling together in anguished deliberation, they unanimously resolved to treat this as a suicide case. Under strict secrecy, they urgently arranged all necessary circumstances, completing leak-proof arrangements by eight o'clock that very morning. Having made these preparations, the Director planned to dispatch no more than a police sergeant for the investigation, have a suicide report submitted, and neatly wrap up the case—when whether by ill fortune or fate itself, his bumbling secretary deliberately chose and assigned this task to Inspector Manago Akira, precisely the man least suited for such work.

Manago was a gaunt man around forty-two or forty-three years old who looked like a skeleton clad in skin, his lead-colored skin taut over prominent cheekbones, eyelids that hung heavily as if perpetually half-closed and rarely opened fully. He dressed in gloomy black from head to toe, and his manner of walking—slinking about with his head bowed like a shadow—was that of a wraith. He possessed an extremely meticulous intellect and had solved various difficult cases up to now, but when faced with absurdity, he was as harsh as a monomaniac. Once he discerned the slightest injustice, he would not hesitate to indict even God himself—his merciless rigor was akin to stripping flesh from bone, casting a pall of peculiar gloom even over the police headquarters.

This man was a Taisho 11 (1922) graduate of Tokyo Imperial University's Department of Philosophy, a prodigy still remembered by his classmates for his brilliant thesis titled *The Philosophy of Contradiction*. Yet upon graduating, he spurned numerous prestigious job offers and quietly accepted an appointment as sergeant in the Metropolitan Police Department. He was a man without family - neither relatives nor a wife. Every night until midnight he would lean over his battered desk in the government quarters, his solitary figure immovably devoted to criminology studies - a man seemingly born for prosecution. Indeed, Manago appeared to seethe with indignation at the government's handling of the matter. With his letter of resignation tucked in his breast pocket and an aura of murderous intent clinging to him like miasma, he rose as if possessed by monomania. Even should the entire Metropolitan Police Department marshal every resource to obstruct him, he was determined to present irrefutable evidence and arrest the Emperor as the murderer.

A bitter and merciless conflict between the government and a single prosecutor was about to commence.

From the crime scene that the Metropolitan Police Department’s finest had thoroughly prepared through their combined efforts, one might find it most intriguing to consider how Manago would manage to produce evidence of murder—but where reality differs from detective fiction is in the detective’s refusal to perform superhuman feats like some hero of a Naniwa ballad. In this honest society of ours, things must be carried out in such a way that even a dog out for a stroll gets beaten with a stick. A detective’s achievements must always cede half their credit to chance. Once again, as was to be expected, an unexpected witness emerged from an unexpected place. It was Hanako, a beautiful seamstress living on the second floor of an amateur’s house beneath the Ariake-so Apartments cliff, who had witnessed the entire incident from her window that night—a shocking revelation that, regrettably, brought the previous installment to an end.

Now, while Manago had no doubt resolved to fight with every ounce of his strength against all anticipated obstructions and hardships, he could never have anticipated that such a crucial witness would emerge from such an unexpected place right under his nose. Even someone as cold-blooded and unfeeling as Manago must have felt some inner excitement—or so one might surmise—but when observing the man himself, whether pleased or otherwise, he sat with hands properly placed upon bony knees, gloomily keeping his eyes downcast without the slightest change in expression. He maintained an air of cold, deep composure, as though he had heard nothing at all.

Clad in an ill-fitting, baggy serge suit that hung loosely on his frame, his gaunt neck—bristling with fine hairs at the hollow of his nape—drooped dejectedly as he sat there with his shadow faint and head slightly bowed; he looked every bit like some ward office clerk who’d lost his job and now worked waving flags at railroad crossings. No one would ever think this was Inspector Manago Akira—the brilliant and sharp-witted, most formidable investigator of the Metropolitan Police Department, a man to be feared. It was a sight that inspired nothing but doubt.

Hanako glared resentfully at Manago with upturned eyes like a sulking child, “I hate detectives—they’ve no shred of humanity.” “I could thrash you senseless myself... Look, I’m only telling this to repay a favor, so you’d better believe that.” “Otherwise I’d never bother with such meddlesome tattling.” “...But if I speak up, someone’ll end up a criminal, won’t they? How pitiful... Ah, why’d it have to be your sort that saved me?”

and let out a deep sigh, her eyes taking on a thoughtful look as she— “Last night, after hearing the New Year’s Eve bells, I finished cleaning, then went to take a bath.” “It was past two o’clock when I returned from buying plum blossoms and offering rice cakes at the year-end market.” “After doing my hair and adjusting my collar, I checked the clock and saw it was already nearly four o’clock.” “I thought I’d lie down for a bit and got into the kotatsu, but then I became reluctant to sleep and ended up getting back up.” “I opened the shoji there and, keeping the light off, leaned on the threshold like this while thinking. When I suddenly looked up at Miss Tsuruko’s room, I saw lights on in the entrance, dining room, and bedroom—so I thought, ‘Ah, Your Majesty must have arrived.’”

When she raised her eyes and looked at Manago, he appeared to be dozing with his eyes closed. Hanako looked uneasy, “Oh, are you listening?” He had not been sleeping. “Mmm,” came the response. Hanako leaned forward, “So then, suddenly the entrance window curtain was raised, and I saw someone trying to lift Miss Tsuruko up.” “Miss Tsuruko seemed to be writhing desperately, but her voice couldn’t be heard.” “I was wondering what he was going to do when that man hoisted Miss Tsuruko up high like this and threw her out the window.” “At that moment, the entrance light went out, so after that I couldn’t see anything at all.” “...I immediately went downstairs and put my hand on the lattice door, but when I thought about going out, I felt like I might be killed too, so I turned back to the second floor and trembled until morning.”

Manago said in a somber voice,

“What kind of man was he?” “It all happened in an instant, so my memory’s hazy, but I think he was a tall, burly man with a chestnut-burr head. But perhaps he was wearing something that made him look that way... And then, I think he had something shiny wrapped around his wrist. When he raised his hand like this, it glittered. I wonder if it was a wristwatch. I can’t say anything definite.”

Manago glanced up briefly at Hanako’s face. “Young lady, you said you saw a photograph of Your Majesty. Didn’t you think that man resembled Your Majesty? Did he not have this sort of jawline beard?”

Hanako’s face took on an angry expression, “I’m sorry to say, there’s no jawline beard in the photograph.” "...Moreover, there’s no way Your Majesty would kill Miss Tsuruko." “Well, well, how would you know such a thing?” “‘No matter what I do, he just laughs,’ Miss Tsuruko would say in frustration.” “Your Majesty was able to love Tsuruko, then.” Then Hanako perked up,

“No. Miss Tsuruko was in such a terrible state, but Your Majesty wasn’t like that at all. Yes, I do think so.”

“I see. Now then—were there any signs of Tsuruko having male friends?” “Male friends? She barely had female friends beyond me and Fumie-san. She was holed up at home all the time—never went outside.” “So you’ve told me everything?”

Hanako buried her chin in her collar and fell silent, but soon raised her face.

“I still know some things, but I won’t say this one.” “Because I’d feel bad for the dead person.” Whether he was listening or not, Manago sat with his arms crossed, seemingly deep in thought, but eventually began fumbling around in his coat pocket. He pulled out a crushed chocolate bar along with some tissues and held it out toward Hanako,

“Have one.” Hanako pursed her lips tightly, “You think I’m a child, don’t you? Even if you do that, it’s no use—I won’t tell you.” Manago retrieved the chocolate he had started to put away, blew puffs of air to clear the debris accumulated on the wrapper, and began clumsily peeling away the silver foil. But the chocolate had begun to melt and wouldn’t yield to his efforts. After painstakingly scraping it off with the dirt-encrusted nail of his pinky finger over what felt like an eternity, he said in a gloomy voice,

“Here, take it. It’s not dirty.”

As he said this, he plopped it down onto the tatami mat. An approach so visibly awkward it was painful to watch. Manago was not supposed to be this clumsy of a man... No great actor could have performed this scene as skillfully as Manago did. If this were a play, it could only be described as downright cruel. Hanako looked at the chocolate with a disgusted downward glance, but eventually said "Thank you" resolutely and put it in her mouth; she stared fixedly at Manago's demeanor, then suddenly teared up,

“You’re so hopelessly clumsy! If you keep acting like that, even a child like me will end up looking down on you. You must be a rookie detective, I suppose… I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re so pitiful that I’ll tell you. …Miss Tsuruko was troubled, you know. She kept saying she’d been entrusted with something terribly important by Your Majesty. Since I don’t know what it was, you’ll just have to work hard as a detective and figure it out yourself.”

Manago uttered a sound that was neither greeting nor courtesy—"No"—and stood up. "Last night when that incident occurred, only His Majesty was at Tsuruko's place. Therefore, this 'someone' you mentioned must refer to His Majesty after all." Appearing to be a high-strung girl, Hanako's face twisted into a convulsive expression upon hearing this. She looked up at Manago with eyes that seemed ready to faint at any moment. "Wait! That His Majesty alone was there at that time—that's the truth!"

Manago stood heavily motionless and said coldly,

“When I went to investigate, only His Majesty was there. In the dining room as well, there were only traces indicating that two people had a meal together... Well, several inconsistencies remain.”

With that, he went downstairs and slowly slid open the lattice door to leave.

Hanako threw herself down onto the tatami mats,

"If I'd known it would come to this, I never would've said those things. Ahh, what do I do? What do I do?"

she writhed and lamented as if she'd lost all care for herself and the world, but then suddenly snapped up her face, "I can't keep doing this. In any case, I must get His Majesty away quickly." With her preparations half-finished, she retrieved a cloth-wrapped bundle from the closet and cradled it protectively against her chest. As she slid open the lattice door and glanced up the garden path, there was Manago—his black Inverness sleeves flapping like a great crow’s wings—drifting ethereally toward Ariake-so Apartments, buffeted by the wintry wind. Hanako watched with a pained gaze, then shuddered, quickly locked the front door, and dashed toward Sannō-shita.

Manago stood at the entrance of Ariake-so Apartments, examining the doorbell system and external telephone line connections. When he finished, he clomped up the nearby staircase to the second floor. A plainclothes officer stood guard alone before the entrance to Tsuruko's residence.

“Has anyone entered these premises since the inquest concluded?” “Only His Excellency the Superintendent General entered around nine o’clock.” “Have you maintained continuous presence here since the incident?” “I have remained here without interruption.”

“What about the back entrance?”

"The same—a colleague had been there continuously." When he opened the door and entered, what lay beyond was less an entrance than a spacious hallway—one side walled, the other bearing a door to the parlor. At its far end stood a large Corbusier-style glass wall with steel sashes, its operable section positioned about five feet above the floor left mournfully ajar since the incident, through which damp wind seeped inward. On the floor lay a footstool roughly two feet high. Beside it sprawled a pair of women's peony-colored satin slippers—one upturned, one overturned—scattered like fallen petals in their beauty.

Manago stood rooted to the spot, staring fixedly at them. “Magnificent. With this, you could leap out.”

He muttered and smirked. Ah, had someone been there to witness this smile, they surely would have felt a chill run down their spine. Though it was called a smile, it amounted to nothing more than a slight twitch at the corner of his lips—yet no villain's smile could possibly be this terrifying. It was as if fire burned within ice—all the cruelty and wrath in this world had frozen solid upon this single face.

After bringing his eyes close to the window frame and making a peculiar expression, when he tried to enter the parlor, he found the door not only tightly locked but also bearing an official seal. To state it plainly, this arrangement barred Manago from proceeding further inside. Someone—likely having rushed here upon learning of Manago's investigation—had left the seal's surface still faintly damp. With an icy countenance, Manago extracted from his coat pocket a wire bent like a hook and began working on the door. After about a minute of metallic scraping, the door opened.

True to its reputation as Tokyo's premier apartment building, every detail exuded opulence. Ankle-deep carpets in decaying-leaf hues supported low-legged French modern furniture, while ash-white velvet curtains draped elegantly across windows. In Belgian-made glass bowls of extravagant make, ranchu goldfish idly swished their tail fins despite the midwinter chill—such was the scene. Upon entering the dining room, two chairs faced each other across a table draped with linen—one champagne glass each, two napkins, two forks and fish forks apiece, a platter heaped with fresh oyster shells and a small plate bearing separated goose liver portions, two ashtrays. In short, this arrangement had become a silent witness testifying that only two people had dined here. Manago surveyed the table before peering into one ashtray. Inside lay three Gerbezolte cigarette butts stained crimson with lipstick. He crossed to the opposite side and inspected the other ashtray. There rested a single high-quality cigar butt.

Manago sat in that chair and, “Tsuruko sat in the chair opposite, and the Emperor sat in this chair like this,” As he said this, he extended his leg, and the toe of his shoe touched the crossbeam of the table’s leg. Manago crawled under the table and examined the crossbeam. There was still faint damp mud smeared on it. He moved to the other side and examined that crossbeam. It appeared to have been rubbed by slipper soles, as only that exact area showed a thinning of dust. Up to this point, everything seemed reasonable enough, but no matter how he considered it, the position of the chair thought to have been used by Tsuruko was strange. Manago sat in that chair and reached toward the dining table to check. He couldn’t possibly reach the dishes. He brought his eyes close to the carpet to check for any traces of the chair having been moved, but there were none. The chair legs were firmly embedded in their positions. When he looked to the right side of the chair, cigarette ash had fallen on the carpet. It was a dull black ash from a clearly inferior cigarette, bearing no resemblance to Gerbezolte. Why was there ash here? It became clear immediately when you sat in the chair and tried it. It was simply because he couldn’t reach the ashtray. If one didn’t want ash to fall on their own lap, naturally, the hand hanging down on the right side would end up discreetly dropping it around here. This person’s hand couldn’t reach the ashtray—so why could Tsuruko’s? There was no other conclusion to draw but that Tsuruko had been sitting on this person’s lap.

Manago immediately examined the crossbeam of the chair's legs. A small amount of damp mud clung to the corner of the crossbeam. One would only hook their heel over such a high crossbeam when bearing weight on their lap or preventing something from slipping off. Not only that—this proved the person was male. No woman in high heels could perform such an acrobatic feat. So what had happened to the cigarette butts? Had they been stubbed out and pocketed? Impossible.

Manago removed the fresh oyster shells one by one from the plate stacked high with them. On the side of the cigarette butt soaked in seawater among the piled shells below, the words GOLDEN BAT were clearly legible. Through this process, Manago had confirmed that the Emperor's testimony was truthful. He had verified that until just before the incident, there had been another man present besides the Emperor and Tsuruko. Manago opened the door at the corner of the dining room and entered the kitchen. Next to the spacious preparation table stood a large kitchen stove. The only unusual items were oil-based modeling clay and plaster contained in a shallow wooden box. He quickly deduced their purpose. The wall beside the kitchen door had peeled off about two gou's worth of material, leaving this as leftover plaster from repairs. When Manago leaned close to examine it, faint traces remained on the newly repainted plaster where someone had leaned their back. The vertical seam of a suit jacket's back, the horizontal line along a coat's hem, and the sloppily dangling end of a leather belt were faintly imprinted like cast carvings. Given how he'd let his belt end droop and leaned in such an awkward position, this man might have been drunk. The plaster lump in the wooden box remained damp while the wall plaster had completely dried. Pressing it left no fingerprints. This rapid drying occurred because a steam pipe ran directly alongside it. By cross-referencing when they finished plastering with when steam began flowing that morning, they could easily determine when this man had leaned against the wall. Shoe prints remained on the linoleum floor. He carefully took impressions by cutting paper to size, stored them in evidence bags, measured the distance to jacket hem with a tape measure, then recorded "0.86m" in his notebook. Pressing his ear against the kitchen door, he sensed someone standing guard outside. Leaving the kitchen entrance stairs for later inspection, he opened the corner door and entered the next room.

It was the bathroom. Finding nothing particularly unusual there, he opened the door again and entered the next room. This served as both bedroom and living room. Against the far wall stood a large divan-style double bed, its velvet bedspread coldly sunken into the shape of a human form from the corpse's weight. By the window sat a Western-style dressing table with a round mirror. To its right was built into the wall a massive wardrobe. Manago pulled out each drawer of the dressing table one by one and meticulously examined their contents. There was nothing unusual here.

Manago opened the wardrobe door. A cascade of colors hung down like a five-colored waterfall. All were either Western-style nightwear or nagajuban underrobes. There were neither coats nor outdoor garments. Instead, each nagajuban had been intricately crafted. Crimson chirimen crepe, tea-colored de chine embroidered with yellow blossoms, taffeta satin—they varied endlessly in hue and form. What Hana had said wasn't false. Tsuruko had never gone outside, spending her days clad in these varied underrobes while waiting solely for Your Majesty. This wardrobe testified eloquently to Tsuruko's pitiable daily existence. When he opened the lower drawer, there lay a single man's vest. It was pale green, fashioned from premium soft fabric—clearly the work of a master tailor. After inspecting the four outer pockets and turning back the lining, he found that despite minimal wear overall, only the inner right pocket's fabric had stretched taut into an egg-like bulge. Something heavy and oval-shaped must have been forcibly crammed into this narrow space for ages. Manago carried the vest to the window and scrutinized the pocket interiors. After laying it on the dressing table, he stole into the kitchen and returned clutching oil-based clay. Seated at the dressing table chair, he began molding clay while measuring the bulge with his tape measure. Through repeated adjustments emerged a flat-bottomed hemisphere—two-thirds a hen's egg in size—resembling a halved boiled egg. He then etched a cut-glass pattern onto its surface to match faint tortoiseshell markings inside the pocket. When inserted into the pocket's cavity, it fit flush against every contour without gap. He wrapped this carefully in a handkerchief for transport and swaddled the vest itself in newspaper before placing both on the dressing table.

He returned to the wardrobe and opened the second drawer. A great number of bedding items were stored inside. The outer drawers were so disorganized that he hadn’t noticed anything amiss, but here, with the bedding items neatly arranged, it was immediately apparent that someone had hastily rummaged through them. Manago rummaged through them meticulously. From between the bedding items appeared something you wouldn’t expect to find in a place like this. It was a rose-root cigarette holder. It was quite distinctive, with a lion’s head carved into it, its mouth shaped to hold a cigarette. Manago picked it up and examined it closely. A ghastly light leaked out from between his heavily drooping eyelids. After placing it on the dressing table and sitting on the chair, he lowered his head deeply and remained motionless. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes. He didn’t move a muscle. In this deserted, silent murder scene, the sight of the gaunt man sitting like a shadow felt eerily haunting. Was Manago considering committing seppuku? Cheeks bowed deeply with profound melancholy had lost their blood color, turning sooty black, while his bony shoulders rose and fell like waves—this made it clear he had encountered some tremendous anguish. After some time, he raised his head. By this time, his expression had already returned to its usual cool and composed demeanor. Carrying the newspaper-wrapped package under his arm and dangling the bundle of craft supplies from his fingertips, he exited Tsuruko’s residence, descended to the lower floor once, then ascended the back staircase reserved for official merchants and came around to the outside of the kitchen door. Without so much as a glance at the plainclothes officer standing guard, he pressed the paper-wrapped package against the edge of the corridor and began meticulously examining the hallway. At the base of the stairs, cigar ash was scattered.

It became clear that a man who smoked the same cigars as the Emperor had either descended or ascended these stairs. At the bottom of the stairs lay a cigar stub, about one-fifth smoked and still freshly lit. From this, it became evident that the man who had smoked the cigar had not gone up but come down them. Since the cigar stub lay here, there could be no reason for its ash to remain in the second-floor hallway. When he examined the cigar closely, he realized it had fallen vertically to the floor with its ash end downward. The man must have staggered or knelt here, involuntarily dropping the cigar from his mouth. Had he held and thrown it away, some momentum would have carried it forward—it never would have fallen straight down. Bringing his eyes close to the linoleum floor, he saw two faint streaks—as if something had been dragged—beginning just beyond the cigar stub and continuing toward the entrance. Soon the linoleum gave way to mosaic flooring, obscuring the lines. Manago returned to the second-floor hallway, retrieved his earlier package, stopped by gatekeeper Oma's room to inquire about the plasterer's residence and that morning's steam heating activation time, then nonchalantly departed Ariake-so.

Now, after confirming the time the plastering was completed at the plasterer’s shop in Tameike, Inspector Manago hailed a taxi to the Ibuki Tailor Shop in Nihonbashi, made some detailed inquiries there, then proceeded directly to the Matsuzawa Jewelry Store in Muromachi. After taking out that handicraft from his handkerchief, he grabbed the annoyed-looking young clerk and said: "I know it's an odd request right after New Year's, but could you make an imitation diamond of the same size and shape as this?" "If it can be kept around a hundred yen, that would be ideal."

The clerk gazed at Manago’s face with a dumbfounded look, but “This is what’s called a rosette cut—an old style.” “Well... If it’s pure glass, we might manage... but as for pricing... that’s rather hard to say.” “About this size—how many carats would that be?”

“First, it would be approximately three hundred carats.” “How much would something like this cost?”

The clerk drew a sharp breath and— "You must be joking." "No, I'm asking how much it would cost." The clerk wore an expression of utter absurdity,

“The market rate is three hundred yen per carat, but for a precious stone this large, it’s customary to square the number of carats—so three hundred squared makes ninety thousand carats.” "...Three times nine is twenty-seven—twenty-seven million yen." “Additionally, there’s the matter of grading—even without considering that, it would be fifty million yen.... It’s beyond discussion.” “Would a diamond of this size even exist in Japan?” The clerk, exasperated, “I’m really at a loss here. "...We have an illustrated English book called *Jewel of World* (‘Sekai no Hōseki’), if you wish to investigate something, I can show it to you.”

With that, he fetched a large quarto-sized book from the inner bookshelf. Manago took it and began methodically examining the world's famous jewels one by one, but soon snapped the book shut and placed it on the desk. What struck Manago’s eye was a full-scale diagram of a pale violet, magnificent diamond—identical in every detail to his handicraft—published next to a gem called the "Great Mogul." The illustration was annotated as follows.

“Emperor” 295 carats. (1886: Produced at the Bremer Mine, South Africa. Annam Empire Imperial Family Collection)

XV. A Lamp Before the Wind

And the Knee-to-Knee Confrontation

Someone knocked on the door. At this sound, Yūhi Newspaper tabloid reporter Furuichi Kaju awoke in an opulent VIP suite at the Imperial Hotel. Even as an imitation king, his sleeping accommodations must have been rather splendid indeed. By some twist of fate, simply because he had been beside Matsutani Tsuruko's corpse the previous night, he had abruptly become the Emperor of Annam. According to Kaju, if they wanted to make a mistake, that was their own doing—it wasn't his fault. Excluding a few officials and Oma the gatekeeper, Kaju was determined to stay put here until the bitter end to witness this major incident—known to none in all of Tokyo beyond his fellow journalists—as "the murder of Emperor Munakata Ryūtarō of the Annam Empire," and to secure this sensational scoop by any means necessary. But was it really acceptable for him to be lounging about like this? While Kaju had been dozing here, not only had the incident begun spiraling beyond his control, but Hayashi Kin'nao—who knew the Emperor's face—had also glimpsed this utterly wretched sleeping countenance of his. Kaju's fate now hung by a thread before the wind.

But Kaju, unaware of such matters, stretched with a groan and, in his usual solemn voice,

“Come in,” he said. The tall head waiter opened the door and entered. The large tray laden with dishes like roast duckling, spiny lobster with mayonnaise, and grilled beef was brought in and reflected in the surveillance mirror.

The time was indeed nearing eleven o'clock, but even so, nobody ate such things for breakfast. This alone would have revealed his lowly origins, but Kaju remained oblivious to such telltale signs. Anxious that ordering cheap fare might strip away his royal disguise, he'd forced himself to select only the most expensive dishes—a strategy that ironically inverted actual upper-class dining customs. When the unfamiliar meal settled uneventfully in his stomach and he grew pleasantly drowsy, drifting back toward sleep, the hotel manager entered to announce that a messenger bearing some requested item insisted on delivering it personally.

The door opened with utmost quietness, and what entered into the mirror was a girl of about eighteen or nineteen, as beautiful as a painting. What an exquisitely beautiful face. Could it be that only through generations of pure-blooded lineage—beautiful men and women of the downtown districts, untainted by incompatible blood—that such refined features were formed? Each eye, nose, and lip stood perfectly formed on its own, fitting flawlessly into a contour of utmost efficiency, creating a face of indescribable pure elegance—yet one imbued with warmth—a bright, modern visage. Not a mixed-race face favored by cinema, but Tokyo's very essence of pure Japan.

Reflected in the mantelpiece mirror facing Kaju was a sight rare enough to be called extraordinary. Needless to say, it was Hanako the seamstress who had earlier sat across from Manago. To have such beauty materialize immediately after an extravagant feast—this excess of indulgence—left anyone helpless but to fall into bewilderment. Kaju found himself in something like a dream trance. Hanako stood by the doorway clutching a furoshiki-wrapped bundle to her chest, pallid with tension,

“I am Hanako the seamstress, residing below Ariake-so Apartments.” “I have brought the honorable visiting attire you ordered.” “And then, a little…” She trailed off hesitantly. Kaju forced a cheap, fabricated laugh—ha, ha, ha— “That was good work. “Well, why don’t you stay and relax for a bit. “I’m feeling rather idle myself.” “Now, come here and sit in this chair.”

Hanako shuffled forward with old-fashioned sliding steps until she reached Kaju’s side, sat down in the chair across from him, and gazed up timidly at his face through lowered eyelids—but then suddenly stood up from the chair, “Your Majesty, it’s not you!”

she cried out in a shrill voice. Oh no, he was in serious trouble. Because he had let his guard down, thinking she was just a young lass, his disguise had finally been stripped away. All his painstaking efforts and his dream of a sensational scoop—everything would likely come to naught because of this. Even so, she was a formidable adversary. Even the thick-skinned Kaju turned red with panic and began fidgeting restlessly as he started to rise from his chair, then Hanako burst into tears and sank down onto the carpet,

“Please forgive me. “I…” Having said this, she incoherently recounted a certain article from the previous chapter, and then— “If I had known only Your Majesty would be coming, I would never have said such a thing even if it killed me.” “Please, I beg of you to believe just that.” and cast a feverish gaze toward the doorway, “Even so, it’s turned into a terrible situation.” “Even as we speak…” “Now, please make your escape quickly.” “Forgive me.” “Forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

With that, she broke down in tears again.

The notion that Hanako’s perpetrator wasn’t actually His Majesty proved hard enough to swallow—but then again，how could anyone know how such a figure might appear through a romantic girl’s eyes? Moreover，since His Majesty—who had called for flight—now stood effectively exiled somewhere，it all unfolded precisely as ordered.

Kaju placed his hand on Hanako’s shoulder, “Hanako... no, this phrasing rings wrong. Hey, Miss Hanako. There’s no need to apologize so much. Everyone makes mistakes now and then. Besides, to be honest, it’s been established that the king has already fled. There is a there there, so there’s absolutely no need for concern. Come now, stand up. Your jade-cocoon kimono will be ruined.” Hanako placed a hand on her chest, suddenly looking so crestfallen she seemed at a loss for words. Kaju tightened his grip further,

“Even so, why are you being so kind to me? Is it mere curiosity, or something like sympathy?” Hanako cast a shy upward glance, then in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s whine, “I heard Your Majesty once told Miss Tsuruko I was a cute girl... That’s why.”

When she said this, her face flushed crimson up to her forehead as she covered it with both hands. Kaju couldn't quite parse this turn of phrase. Hanako sat rigidly poised, desperately awaiting some word from the King, but the obtuse Kaju remained clueless. The sight of him vacantly staring at the elegant curve of Hanako's neck while standing there with hands clasped behind his back was excruciating to witness. At length Hanako lifted her face and fixed Kaju with a reproachful stare through eyes swimming with tears,

“Since Miss Tsuruko has passed away, Your Majesty must be utterly grief-stricken.”

Kaju sorrowfully furrowed his brows, “Ah, I was utterly devastated.” Hanako’s face twisted into the same convulsive expression as before, “Oh, you must be so terribly disappointed.”

“I’m utterly devastated. …Oh? What’s wrong, Miss Hanako?”

Before his eyes, Hanako lost all color in her face, turned as white as a fine Western candle, and slid limply down onto the carpet. Kaju let out a strange "Oh!" and, flustered, hoisted Hanako onto the sofa. He then sank to the floor and shook her limp hand while calling "Miss Hanako! Miss Hanako!" without cease.

When Hanako soon regained consciousness, she sprang upright on the sofa as though startled. Even through Kaju's sluggish bloodstream—where warm surges of affection must have been rising—as he reached both hands toward Hanako and sought some emotionally fitting words, the manager entered again. With deference, he extended a single business card over the chair's backrest before withdrawing. Looking at it: Sō Shūchin (Iha Tōsō, Okinawa Prefecture)

was written on it.

Hanako let out a sigh as she straightened her clothing, then departed with lingering reluctance. Reflected in the mirror as they crossed paths was that peculiar gentleman—dignified in frock coat, swarthy-skinned and curly-haired with darting eyes—who had stood interminably at Hibiya Park's "Singing Crane Fountain" days prior, Tokyo map clutched in hand while staring fixedly at the bronze bird's gaping maw. Taking a rigid stance at the threshold,

“Second-Class Attaché at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Annam Empire, Intelligence Bureau Chief Attached to His Majesty the Emperor, Sō Shūchin.” he announced.

Yet another formidable fellow entered. By now, Kaju must have resigned himself to his fate. But as previously noted, Kaju had great ambitions. Even so, to somehow navigate this crisis, he summoned all his mental faculties and turned over every possible thought, but no brilliant ideas came to him. If I couldn’t escape now, I’d have to talk my way through somehow. Resigned to his fate, he adopted a haughty tone, “Hmm, come here and sit down.”

and pointed to the chair where Hanako had been sitting. The Intelligence Chief recoiled,

“Unthinkable! How could such a thing—” “I said you may sit.”

The Chief increasingly stiffened his posture, "How could this humble servant possibly commit such a presumptuous act?" Kaju, driven to desperation,

“Enough—sit down already!”

Bent forward, the Chief advanced and properly took his seat on the chair, then gazed reverently at Kaju’s face while— “This humble servant presumes to occupy this chair solely to obey Your Highness’s august command.” This too must be some deep-laid conspiracy. There was no way the Intelligence Bureau Chief attached to the Emperor could fail to recognize His Majesty’s visage. Despite Kaju’s bewilderment, the Chief brimmed with emotion, his gaze—utterly sincere in appearance—fixed upon Kaju’s countenance as he—

"Oh! Oh! What bliss this must be! To behold Your Highness's august countenance at but an arm's length—it feels truly as though in a dream. If I may venture to say, Your Highness's magnanimity in permitting such proximity verges on excessive." With this he cried out emotionally once more: "Oh! What a gallant august visage! Through the imperial portraits displayed in every household's alcoves and postage stamps, I had long been intimately acquainted with Your Highness's noble features. Yet those images—seeking to impress upon us Your Highness's ever-growing fortitude—have seen fit to add an overlong beard to your jawline. I must declare this constitutes naught but disrespectful artifice." "This humble servant has reported daily to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs these ten years past. Yet this marks the first occasion I have been granted the honor of beholding Your Highness's true countenance."

Ah, so that was how it was. Kaju, immediately emboldened, “Take a good look and remember. It should be better than the photographs. ……So what business brings you here?”

The Chief quietly stood up, went to the doorway, thoroughly checked the hallway, and returned. Then, in a hushed voice: "I must beg your pardon. That was because this humble servant has come bearing a matter of grave secret import." "Speak." "Since the 25th of last month, in response to the repeated encrypted telegrams sent by Her Highness the Princess and the Chief Administrator—and due to Your Highness's lack of reply—I was commanded by royal decree to personally come and receive your response. Thus, having transferred between passenger planes from Hanoi on the 29th, I have just now arrived."

He had indeed received one of those encrypted telegrams earlier. But how could Kaju possibly decipher that? Driven into a corner,

“Telegram? I don’t receive such things.” “Oh! Not even a single one? Ah, I see—this bears all the hallmarks of a Ri Kōmei faction scheme. Had we lacked such prescience, this humble servant could never have discharged the grave duties of an intelligence bureau chief. We anticipated precisely this contingency and have brought duplicate copies here.”

With that, he took out two telegrams from his deep pocket and attempted to respectfully hand them over. Kaju frantically pushed him away, “Shut up! You read it.” “You there—read it!” The Chief bowed deeply, “...‘To His Majesty Emperor Munakata Ryūtarō of the Annam Empire, residing at the Imperial Hotel within Yamashita-chō, Kōjimachi Ward, Tokyo, Great Japanese Empire—From the Chief Administrator of the Annam Empire: ...As repeatedly telegraphed, the faction supporting Imperial Nephew Ri Kōmei has secretly petitioned our government office, alleging Your Majesty’s removal of the ‘Emperor’ diamond indicates intent to sell it in Japan for Annam’s independence funds. The French Governor-General of Annam has already cabled the French Ambassador in Tokyo to investigate these claims.’” “‘Should this sale be confirmed, they will demand Your Majesty’s immediate abdication on grounds of conspiring for independence.’” “‘We earnestly implore that no such act as selling the treasure be permitted.’” [...] “‘The other is from Her Highness the Princess Consort: ...‘We are in grave turmoil here. Return home at once.’” “‘When will Your Highness return? We await your reply.’” [...] “‘That concludes the messages.’”

With that, he gazed sternly at Kaju's face, “First, I humbly request to receive Your response regarding the august treasure.” and straightened his posture. Even the seasoned Kaju turned pale. This was no ordinary matter that could be resolved with mere nonsense. If things were to go awry, this would be a crisis of imminent peril where the emperor of a nation governing five million six hundred thousand subjects could be forced to abdicate. Being a simple-minded country bumpkin at heart, when he grasped the magnitude of the problem, he flushed crimson with rage. He had to respond somehow, but he absolutely couldn’t bring himself to casually utter a simple “Yes” or “No.” Not to mention that having now heard such state secrets of a nation, a mere apology of "My bad, forgive me" would absolutely not suffice. There was no telling what dangerous thing might come flying out of this unswervingly loyal Chief’s pocket. Kaju was overcome by an indescribable chill and shudder rising to his chest, feeling as though he might vomit.

The Chief remained expressionless, “This humble servant awaits Your Highness’s response.” Kaju felt blood draining from his head as if siphoned through a straw. Ah—why did the Chief’s face before him keep blurring at the edges?

Just at that moment, there was another knock at the door. The manager entered and announced that Inspector Manago Akira of the Metropolitan Police Department's Investigation Division requested an audience. Kaju was in a semi-delirious state, “Hmm, the reply can wait. I have urgent business with Inspector Manago of the Investigation Division. Withdraw at once.”

The Chief performed a deep ceremonial bow and withdrew. As was his custom, Manago entered with a somber demeanor. At the threshold, he executed an attentive bow and began in measured tones,

“Mr. Furuichi, you’re in quite an unusual position.” He called out.

Sixteen: A Sticky Situation

And: The Matter of Inspector Manago's Declaration

While such turmoil was unfolding on one front, another crisis was brewing at the Police Affairs Bureau. Just as Manago stood ramrod-straight at Hanako’s doorway demanding entry—around 10:10 by the clock—the bureau chief’s office door burst open violently. Director Ōtsuki stormed in with the Superintendent General in tow, his thunderous footsteps matching his apoplectic rage. Veins like whipcords bulged across his forehead as he collapsed into the leather chair with a resonant thud. “Superintendent! The Metropolitan Police exist for more than traffic control—fix this mess!”

shouted. It was not unreasonable for the Director to explode in rage. What cursed turn of fate had befallen this year? No sooner had New Year’s Day arrived than a murder involving the Emperor occurred, and then—of all people—a sergeant from Tameike Station clapped the Emperor in irons and arrested him. After finally establishing proper procedures through arduous deliberation with two ministers, [Director Ōtsuki's] own secretary went and ordered Manago to conduct an investigation. If, by any chance, Manago were to submit a truthful report and that were to be questioned in the Diet, that would indeed cause an enormous uproar. To compound matters, Kōda of the corrupt Yūhi Newspaper had now perpetrated a brazen open-air fraud in Hibiya Park of all places—right under the nose of the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters—while authorities gazed on complacently.

The Director slammed the table,

“What the hell’s wrong with you? Have you gone senile? Is there any law that lets you sit on your hands until past nine while they pull off such a brazen scam? What was your Security Department Chief even doing? Nursing a hangover in bed? Your men are a real piece of work. Sending out that many men and still failing to nab even one Kōda—what a goddamn farce! Fix this! At this rate, the Police Affairs Bureau’s reputation will be in tatters!”

The Superintendent General hunched his massive frame, waiting for the storm to pass over the buzz-cut crown of his round head. When he judged the timing about right, he raised his pale face,

"However, regarding today's matter, I believe I have handled it sufficiently." The Bureau Chief flared up in rage again,

“What do you mean by 'dealt with it properly'?” “Delightful.” “Let’s hear it then.” “In what way did you deal with it properly?” “We deliberately permitted such an audacious act because we anticipated that dispersing them before Kōda’s announced time for the fountain crane’s song would play right into his scheme.” “I intentionally delayed dispersing them to let the fraudulent act proceed so we could secure irrefutable evidence.” “As expected, Kōda—cornered—made the crane sing. Now he can’t wriggle free. Once we investigate and expose the trick behind it, we’ll clamp down without letting out so much as a squeak this time.”

Director Ōtsuki had been leaning back with a stern face, but upon hearing this, he immediately broke into an Ebisu-like grin, “Damn it! That’s what you were planning all along?” “Oh! I see.” “You handled that well.” “Not falling for that scheme was truly shrewd of you.” “No, I’m impressed—truly impressed.” “And Kōda—?”

The Superintendent General too seemed to find the situation absurd, a smile breaking across his refined lips. "The Metropolitan Police Department isn't merely competent at traffic control, Bureau Chief." "...We received a report moments ago that Kōda's bastard had been tracked down hiding at his mistress's place in Akasaka—by now he's likely been thrown into Tameike Station's clink." As he spoke these words, the telephone rang. The Superintendent General picked up the receiver and responded briefly before turning back to face the Bureau Chief,

“Kōda has been arrested, but he’s demanding to see you and making such a ruckus they can’t control him.” The Bureau Chief snarled and flew into a rage once more,

“What’s this? He’s demanding to see me?!” “Fine, I’ll see him.” “If we’ve been lenient, he’s gotten cocky! This time I’ll finish off that red rag for good! Right now—immediately—have him brought here at once!” About ten minutes later, Kōda was brought in, his arms gripped by two plainclothes officers. It appeared he had put up quite a struggle—his tie was gone, the buttons of his white shirt had popped off, exposing his alcohol-reddened chest. As Kōda brushed the hem of his morning coat and took a seat, the Bureau Chief watched with a look of grim satisfaction,

“Hey, Mr. Kōda—even monkeys fall from trees.” “The show was grand, but your finale proved rather botched.” “You surely never imagined profiting through fraud either.” “This time it’s a tad tougher than extortion.” “Well now, Mr. Kōda.” “Do you know why we let it play out without dispersing them?” “Simply put—so we wouldn’t dance to your swindler’s tune, see?” “To seize concrete proof of your fraud, see?” “Inspect that fountain and you’ll grasp its trickery instantly.” “This time there’s no escape.”

Kōda laughed, “Ha ha ha,”

“Exactly.” “Fraud or not, they’ll figure it out quick if they check.” “Trying to take down this Kōda with that? No damn way.” “……Hey, Bureau Chief.” “By the way, I’ve got something right here.”

As he spoke, he threw down onto the table a bundle of seven or eight sheets of rough paper covered in pencil scribbles. The Bureau Chief abruptly changed complexion and picked it up to begin reading, while Kōda watched him out of the corner of his eye, “It’s all written in detail—from Matsutani Tsuruko’s involvement with the King of Annam, to the matter of the Emperor’s murder, right down to how the Metropolitan Police Department conveniently detained residents of Ariake-so.”

The Bureau Chief’s face turned purplish-black as he roared, “Kōda, you bastard! Are you trying to extort me?!”

Kōda reached out and swept up the manuscript from the table, “Bureau Chief, that’s going a bit too far.” "I, Kōda Sessan, am still a Japanese man. I know damn well whether exposing this case will benefit Japan or not." “That’s exactly why I’m solemnly laying out the story here like this.” "...And you call that extortion?"

He stuffed the manuscript into his pocket and stood up, “Well then, I’ve got no ground to stand on—I’ll just neatly retract this.”

With that, he started walking toward the door.

The Bureau Chief hurriedly called out to stop him, “Now, now, wait a moment, Mr. Kōda.” Kōda reluctantly turned around, “Is there still some business you require?”

The Bureau Chief wiped his forehead with a handkerchief as he said, "I don't fully grasp the matter yet, but let's discuss it another time. For today, could you... *skillfully* withdraw this?" "Yes, I'll be taking this back to Tameike Police Station now." The Bureau Chief made a disgusted face,

“Now, now, there’s no need to be so petulant.” “I’ll come by to pay my respects today.”

Kōda briskly returned and, “Bureau Chief, why can’t you grasp things properly from the very start? The problem is you insist on seeing everything through tinted lenses. You needn’t worry about the current matter. I am still a man, you know.” Whether it was a lie or the truth is unknown, but saying such things, he left composedly.

The Bureau Chief glared at his retreating back while gnashing his teeth, then exchanged a look with the Superintendent General, his face etched with bone-deep frustration, “Damn him—he just won’t stop... But this is trouble...” “Of all people for it to fall into that bastard’s grasp.” “That venomous worm—who knows what he’ll try next? What’s your move?” “You mean it’s blackmail.” “I doubt he’d actually go through with it—but if he does, he’ll only burn himself.” “He wouldn’t dare.” “How can we leave this critical matter hanging on such flimsy uncertainties?!” “No choice—we’ll have Hayashi contain it somehow.”

Just then, a telephone call came through from Hayashi Kin'nao. The Bureau Chief had picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, but immediately leaped up from his chair,

“What?! The Emperor is an imposter?!” “…Is that certain? Did you confirm it with your own eyes?” “…Oh no, this is a disaster.” “Then… who on earth is he? …No, saying such things here won’t solve anything.” “Come here immediately.” “Right away, right away!”

As soon as he hung up the receiver, he groaned "Ugh..." and clutched his head. Within less than five minutes, Hayashi came rushing in in a fluster and explained the situation in detail.

Having finished listening, the Bureau Chief,

"So this entire blunder originated at Ariake-so." Yet why wouldn't he simply proclaim himself not to be Emperor? "Is the man a fool? A madman? Or perhaps entangled with His Majesty's affairs?"

The Superintendent General also grew slightly impatient, “Ultimately, this appears to trace back to our blunder. Then let’s have them brought here discreetly for questioning. After all, that’s the quickest way.”

The Bureau Chief’s eyes filled with terror,

“Wait a moment. What if they turn out to be someone of noble status? I beg you to spare me from stirring up any more trouble on top of this.” Hayashi wore an uneasy expression, unable to properly focus on the two men’s discussion,

“Bureau Chief, who gives a damn about some greenhorn?” “What’s become of the Emperor—the Emperor?” “You don’t think something’s happened…?”

The Bureau Chief waved his hand, “Mr. Hayashi, must you bring up such trivial nonsense?” “But if by any chance such a thing were to happen, it would be a major crisis.” he turned to the Superintendent General,

“You, call the hotel and confirm whether His Majesty was indeed staying there until the day before.” When they promptly called the hotel to inquire, they received a reply stating that His Majesty the Emperor had partaken of dinner the previous day—that is, December 31st—at around seven o'clock in the evening, and had departed on an outing shortly after nine. They had someone make thorough calls to all places His Majesty was likely to have visited, but no favorable response came from anywhere. Before long, Hayashi was instructed by the Bureau Chief and set out for Kōda’s house.

Afterwards, the Bureau Chief and the Superintendent General could only exchange looks and repeat, "This is bad, this is bad." It might sound like senseless talk, but with Kaju's identity still unknown, they couldn't make a reckless move. While they were occupied thus, it became half past two. Just as they reached their limit of deliberation, Manago walked in.

Manago advanced before the Bureau Chief, took a document from his pocket, and with an expression that seemed almost callous, placed it on the table,

"As a result of the investigation, it has been conclusively established that Matsutani Tsuruko committed suicide." "This is the official investigation report." With that declaration, he snapped a military about-face and strode toward the exit. The Bureau Chief called out to halt him, "That's acceptable, but do take a seat here." "We find ourselves facing a most inconvenient development."

With that, he explained the current matter and, "I want to somehow ascertain that man’s identity—do you have any viable strategies, Manago?" Manago glared sharply up at the Bureau Chief’s face. “Bureau Chief—is this merely a consultation, or an order?” The Bureau Chief could only gape at Manago’s expression. Manago bowed formally and continued, “I have resolved to resign as Investigation Section Chief due to personal circumstances. However, since my resignation letter remains undelivered to your office, I shall obey any orders per official duty regulations. That said—even were you the Bureau Chief—I’ve no time to indulge your consultations.”

The Bureau Chief stroked his forehead, "Well, given how urgent this was, we too had our lapses—but I must ask you not to get angry." "We'll settle that matter later—for now, I need you to take care of this."

Manago said in a gloomy voice, "I request your command."

The Bureau Chief looked somewhat irritated, “Very well. I will issue an order. “Now sit down—don’t keep standing there.”

Manago sank heavily into the chair. "The investigation you ordered has now been completed per internal directives." "However, as long as I occupy the position of Investigation Section Chief, I cannot professionally overlook crimes before my eyes—therefore I've conducted a full independent investigation of this case." "I request your acknowledgment." The Superintendent General, who had remained silent with crossed arms until now, abruptly spoke: "Approving or disapproving—that's irrelevant now." "What's done can't be undone through words." "...You're making too big a scene." "We excluded you from this case precisely because we feared that unbridled passion of yours." "It wasn't contempt—it was reverence." "Accept this explanation."

Manago still kept his eyes lowered, "If I could be satisfied with such an explanation, I would never have resolved to cast aside my position." "I have already mailed my resignation letter, so I expect it will reach your desk by tomorrow morning at the latest. However, due to certain circumstances requiring consideration, I request that its processing be temporarily withheld."

The Bureau Chief took it and, “Understood.” “Since you wish to make this clear, I will accept your resignation letter for now and retain it.” “Be that as it may, now that matters stand clarified, let us put this morning’s events behind us and begin anew with your cooperation.” “With all due respect, I fail to comprehend your meaning.” “My resolve to resign remains unaltered.” “My temporary retention of resignation stems solely from my own will—it bears no relation to your admonishments.… I found myself dissatisfied with the government’s handling of this case and had resolved to accuse the Emperor of murder at the cost of my position as Investigation Section Chief. Yet my investigation’s results have unexpectedly stripped me of that purpose.” “…The Emperor is no perpetrator—he is a victim.… The Emperor was abducted by unknown parties around half past four this morning.”

The Bureau Chief leapt up, “Wh-what? Th-that’s... Is that true?” “Therefore, as far as this matter is concerned, my resignation—”

The Superintendent General grew impatient and,

“Understood, understood. That’s fine—first, inform me of the circumstances.”

Manago recounted the details of his investigation in a flat tone. He omitted only his visit to the tailor’s shop, laying out everything else in full—Hanako’s interrogation, the scene’s particulars, Kaju’s firsthand account of that night’s events, why Kaju had been posing as the Emperor at the hotel, his motives, and the perilous situation that had followed. The Superintendent General and Bureau Chief exchanged apprehensive glances before the Superintendent turned back to Manago. “So it boils down to this,” he began. “The Emperor came to Japan with his royal treasure for some purpose. That diamond lies at the heart of this affair—Tsuruko’s murder and the Emperor’s kidnapping were both committed to seize it. To summarize: Shortly after Furuichi Kaju left Ariake-so Apartments, someone arrived and threw Tsuruko from the window for reasons unknown. They then lured the Emperor out through the kitchen, rendered him unconscious at the foot of the stairs, and abducted him. Considering Tsuruko never cried out, how easily the Emperor was led away, and how they’d severed one of the entrance bell’s external lines to create a removable key—it’s clear the perpetrator knew both victims intimately and understood the apartment’s layout perfectly. We must focus our search accordingly. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Manago?”

“I cannot state anything definite.”

At that moment, the telephone rang.

The Superintendent General had picked up the receiver and listened, then covered the mouthpiece and turned toward the Bureau Chief. “Bureau Chief, another complication has arisen.” “…The Foreign Ministry received a call—the French Embassy has pressed for confirmation about whether His Majesty can indeed remain securely at the Imperial Hotel. They’re now asking if responding that he can stay would pose any issues.” The Bureau Chief muttered to himself, “Ah, this keeps piling up,” pressing his forehead and groaning, then resolutely lifted his face—

“Tell them there’s no issue in confirming that His Majesty can remain securely at the hotel.”

The Superintendent General said that and hung up the phone.

The Bureau Chief spoke in a dignified tone, “We have no alternative but to proceed this way—we cannot possibly announce he’s missing.” “If this fact leaks to the public, it would spell catastrophe.” “At any rate, to quell rumors, we must absolutely maintain the pretense that His Majesty remains securely at the hotel. Until we locate the true Emperor, we’ve no choice but to keep that man Furuichi playing his imperial role as before.” “We must implement whatever extraordinary measures necessary to sustain this charade.” “In an emergency, having the intelligence chief authenticate him should allow us to persist until we recover the real Emperor.” “Given these circumstances, we must marshal all governmental resources to shield Furuichi as the Emperor and formulate impeccable strategies to prevent any exposure of flaws.” “Our most pressing concern remains formulating a response about the diamond—I only pray they don’t utter some absurdity that unravels everything.” “Regardless, I shall now depart for the hotel—”

Manago calmly lifted his face, "I have brought the Intelligence Chief and had him tour the interior of the Metropolitan Police Department."

The Bureau Chief clapped his hands together with genuine delight, “Splendid work! “Well done.” “Now then, Superintendent General, have that man detained for now.” “In the meantime, I will report this matter to the minister, then go to the hotel and meet Furuichi—no, the Emperor—and tactfully make him understand what can and cannot be said.” “Mr. Manago, I need you to exert yourself and discover the Emperor’s whereabouts at once.” “Please, I’m counting on you.” “Because the circumstances are now utterly different from before.”

Just as he said that and was about to leave, the telephone rang again. The Superintendent General took the call and,

“It’s from the Foreign Ministry.” “…We’ve received information that the French Ambassador has canceled his weekend trip, departed Kyoto today on the 4:10 PM train, will arrive at Tokyo Station tomorrow morning at 4 AM, and will immediately present himself at the hotel to make some significant proposal—they said they wanted to inform us of this.” The Superintendent General’s face had turned pale. When he looked up at the electric clock on the wall, it was exactly 4:00 PM. There remained only twelve hours until 4 AM tomorrow.

The Bureau Chief stood rigidly in the center of the room with his head bowed, but then he drew near to Manago and, in an indescribably grim voice, uttered a single word: “Mr. Manago!” he said.

Manago nodded faintly.

No matter what happened, they had to ensure the Emperor was returned to the hotel by 4 AM tomorrow. Ah, twelve hours!

Part Six

Seventeen: It Takes a Thief to Catch a Thief

Also: The Two Villains' Misapprehension

The Yūhi Newspaper in Akasaka Shinmachi

Kōda Sessan’s mistress’s residence. In the tea room sat a gaunt forty-five-or-six-year-old man of unmistakably sinister mien—already known to our readers as Sakazuki Mamoru—nursing a cup of awamori while tending to a squid hotpot simmering on the elongated hibachi. His position as head park gardener was but a temporary guise; strip away that veneer and you’d find a prime surveillance target of the Karafuto Prefectural Police Department. After ravaging Honshu and crossing to Karafuto to become a swindler—skimming profits from rapacious profiteers and lining his pockets—he’d become entangled in the Shōwa 5 government timber poaching scandal. Narrowly escaping capture in Awaya, he fled back to Tokyo where he now lay low until his daughter Etsuko forged connections with Kōda—fruits of which included that notorious composition *The Singing Crane Fountain*.

That the bronze crane, which should never have sung, did indeed sing must surely have had some profound reason behind it—but this was something that Sakazuki and Kōda, I swear to heaven, had no knowledge of. That being said, having committed such an audacious open-air fraud in Hibiya Park—practically under the nose of the Metropolitan Police Department—there was no way they could simply walk away unscathed. Pursued by detectives and fleeing in death-defying desperation, they had barely managed to take refuge in this hideout; yet even Kōda now appeared to be in grave peril.

Just then—as if heaven itself sided with villains—came news of the suicide of Matsutani Tsuruko, favorite mistress of the Emperor of Annam. As if Tome—the old woman who made daily visits to Tsuruko's household—were present at that very gathering, she had kept muttering about being killed, killed on a daily basis—so Ah, that's it for sure, Tome had said something twisted like that. Then John Hutchinson of the "Havas" News Agency—another resident of the Ariake-so Apartments—came to visit his partner Baroncelli, leader of the "Carnus Show" troupe, and recounted how all six residents had been temporarily detained at Akashi Police Station that morning.

Being shrewd in matters of wickedness, they had swiftly discerned the essence of the case from these materials and, concluding it must be something along these lines, wrote up a headline: “The Annam Emperor’s Murder! Authorities Frantically Conceal”—completing about ten pages on rough manuscript paper with clever deductions. Just then came a “Hey, Kōda, come here,” and he was taken to Tameike Police Station. In the end, when that manuscript was presented for the Police Affairs Bureau Chief’s review, through some murky process it was settled that he would be safely released. The subtle intricacies of these circumstances had already been detailed in the previous installment, so there was likely no need to reiterate them here.

Sakazuki’s daughter—that is, Kōda’s mistress Etsuko—had taken Tome the old woman and gone out to see the opening day of the “Carnus Show” today, leaving Sakazuki naturally in the role of house-sitter here; even so, five hours had already passed since Kōda had left. Having grown tired of the liquor and finding himself with nothing to do, he kept looking up at the pillar clock when, after nearly four hours had passed, Kōda finally returned. In terms of chronological context, this coincided precisely with the moment when the Police Affairs Bureau were left aghast and pale upon receiving both Manago’s report on the Emperor’s abduction and the information that the French Ambassador would attend an imperial audience at four o’clock tomorrow morning.

Sakazuki said in a voice that sounded like he was throwing a tantrum, “You’re late, aren’t you? What happened?” he snapped. Kōda sat down cross-legged before the long hibachi with a ground-shaking thud, “After going from the Police Affairs Bureau to the office and working on the newspaper’s layout, that Matsuzawa from the Tokyo Gem Club—you know, Shimadoku’s underling—showed up, so I’ve been talking with him until now.” “You have no consideration for others! “…So, how’s the case coming along?” Kōda said nonchalantly,

“Smooth as silt—didn’t make a peep.” Having declared this, he abruptly thrust his knees forward, “Now then, there’s another strange tale... I’ll keep it brief since we’re pressed. Last spring, whispers reached me about some grand item surfacing in Kansai—something that had the Osaka Gem Club’s heavyweights scrambling.” “The Kanto authorities too launched desperate investigations, but when the rumors abruptly died down, they wrote it off as mere groundless gossip.” “Then today around two, Manago brings this peculiar diamond model—three hundred carats if it’s one—to Matsuzawa’s shop. Casually asks for a replica, inquires about the real thing’s value—all under the guise of routine inquiry.” “Matsuzawa’s an old fox—no way he’d miss the scent.” “Using that model he’d glimpsed from the back room as his lead, he cross-references the registry... Don’t faint now—it’s the Annam royals’ secret treasure! That great diamond they call ‘Emperor’!” “Even at fire-sale prices—fifty million ryō.” “...What d’you say to that?”

“I see.” “Why has the Emperor been coming to Japan in such a hectic rush time after time? This finally unravels the whole mystery. When they holed up with Tsuruko in Yamashina, Kyoto, they’d planned to offload that diamond through Kansai connections—but when those negotiations fell through over there, they came to Tokyo this time.” “Hmm, interesting.”

Kōda groaned and gulped down a mouthful of awamori,

“At that, Matsuzawa turned pale and began following every thread, but neither major syndicates nor petty gangs showed any sign of movement.” “When they probed whether someone might be operating through unorthodox channels instead, they picked up a rumor that Yamaki Motokichi’s son—the so-called Coral King—had recently been frequenting Inui Jinpei’s place alongside Indō Chūsuke, Inui’s adopted son. Connecting this to the hernia lead made everything click into place.” “After all, both Yamaki and Indō were residents of the Ariake-so Apartments—and long ago in Paris, they’d engaged in wild escapades with the Emperor…”

“You’re being redundant. So what’s your plan then?” “It’s too big a catch—even Matsuzawa can’t get his hands on it. When we took it straight to Shimadoku, he got fired up and decided we’d snatch it for ourselves by any means necessary.” “There’s more than one way to snatch something. How exactly do you plan to do it?” “We’ll lure Indō to our side first—cut off Yamaki’s supply lines upfront. Buy up all his promissory notes, slap him with a court order for collection. Threaten a hostile takeover if he resists, then dump everything dirt cheap. That’s the scheme.”

“So, do you know where the actual item’s stashed away?” “If that ain’t clear as day, you can’t pull off that damn scheme.”

“That’s it… Probably even Indō doesn’t know that much.” “Tsuruko must’ve been more privy to those details than anyone else—but dead men tell no tales, and this one’s beyond questioning now.”

Sakazuki raised his face, “According to Tome, Tsuruko would always confide her personal stories earnestly to a seamstress named Hana living in the amateur house below the cliff.” “……How about we give that girl a little pressure?” Kōda leaned forward,

“That’s good. There might be some unexpected lead there.” “...Alright, I’ll take charge of Indō. You get Etsuko to lure out the girl and bring her to Nakasu by seven.”

Sakazuki sat deep in thought with his hands tucked in his sleeves when suddenly his gaze sharpened. "That aside—given how things are going—the Emperor likely isn't safe either." "What?!" "He might've already been killed." Kōda leaned in urgently. "But... Hatch's bastard just confirmed it!" "Did he actually storm in and see His Majesty's face?" "We confirmed over the phone he's safe at the hotel." Sakazuki turned away,

“What nonsense! If His Majesty were safe，there’s no way Inspector Manago would be hauling around some diamond replica.” “Hmm.” “First off—since when does a seasoned investigator like Manago panic over carting some trinket? If it were just stolen，they’d flood every pawnshop with bulletins.” “But instead they’re twitchy—means there’s rot underneath.” “……Face it—the bastard’s already dead.”

Kōda thrust his jaw forward, “So, Yamaki?” “Who knows?” “When you’re saddled with over a million in debt and can’t move an inch forward or back—well, this might just be the kind of thing they’d pull.”

Sakazuki abruptly raised his face,

“However, there’s a reason we can’t say it’s entirely that.” He remembered something strange. “...Actually, earlier—after you left—when I casually mentioned to Hatch that Yasui had come making a fuss at the Hibiya meeting, the bastard suddenly stood up, spat out something like ‘You mixed-blood bastard! If that’s your game, just the King won’t be enough!’ and dashed out like a madman.” “...‘King’ probably refers to the Emperor.” “...Since ‘mixed-blood’ refers to his partner Baroncelli, when you think about it, there’s some scheme on our side too.” “There’s no doubt Hutchinson and Baroncelli are both playing some role in this. ...Now that I think of it, that bastard Hatch was acting oddly calm.” “Under normal circumstances, he should be running around dealing with some major incident, but seeing him lazing around here like this—that bastard knew from the start the Emperor wasn’t killed and was just playing dumb. Damn him!”

Kōda nodded along with vague affirmations like "I see" while wearing a strange expression, but suddenly slapped his side, “Got it—!” he planted his knees forward. “Hey, Sakazuki, didn’t you notice? By the pond, next to the arbor—there was an Annamese man standing there, wasn’t there? With curly hair, darting eyes, a dark complexion, dressed splendidly.… That was the Emperor.” Sakazuki also held his breath, “So, they caused a commotion and then carried out their work amid that chaos?”

Even these two hardened villains could only stare at each other in silent bewilderment, but soon Sakazuki crossed his arms, “The fact that Nogeyama did it’s pretty damn funny.” “This bumps the stakes up another order of magnitude.” “Shimatoku’s one thing—should I scoop up this prize too while we’re at it?” “Dōkanyama’ll pay top yen if we flip it their way.” Kōda gave a decisive nod, “Solid plan.” “However this shakes out, we stay clean.” “If it flops—just grease the wheels again.” “This fire’ll burn hotter than last time—who’d bat an eye?… Kōda Sessan’s riding Fortune’s coattails now.” “Let’s move.”

With that, he grinned slyly.

They could laugh all they wanted, but this was a miscalculation. Dear readers, you must already know—the man standing there slack-jawed beside Manago at the pond's edge was not the Emperor. The one who had threatened the false emperor Furuichi Kaju was Sō Shūchin, intelligence chief attached to the Emperor of Annam. The true Emperor had already been kidnapped by persons unknown around 4:30 AM, as Manago had proven. So then—for what purpose had the Nogeyama faction come to stir up trouble at the Singing Crane Fountain venue? This we shall leave to your sagacious discernment, dear readers—but as for these two villains before us, oblivious to these truths and seemingly bent on hatching fresh schemes, even the author could no longer rein them in. What fresh turmoil this might unleash remained unknowable—in the end, one could only let events follow their course.

The moment the two came bounding excitedly out to the three-tatami entrance hall, the lattice door clattered open. Kōda stood rooted at the entrance to the three-tatami room, exchanging a startled look with Sakazuki—then suddenly whirled around, dashed into the tea room, and darted out the kitchen door like a house mouse.

The one who entered was not a detective. For the third time—it was Dōkanyama's adopted son Komagata Denji, who had been waiting by Hibiya Park for Hayashi's car and now whispered with feigned concern about Nogeyama's Yasui causing a disturbance in the park. Carrying two thousand yen in his pocket under Hayashi Kin'nao's orders, he had come to bury the "Emperor's Murder" case.

A chic morning coat and a bowler hat. A man with straight-cut eyebrows, a piercing gaze, and the rugged bearing of a hardened boss. When Komagata slid open the entrance’s shoji screen with a clatter and saw Kōda’s retreating figure darting into the kitchen, “Tch. Stingy old fox.” he muttered.

Eighteen: The Meeting Springs into Action

And: The Emperor's Design

Around this same time—specifically around five o'clock in the afternoon—the Ministers of Home Affairs and Foreign Affairs, their respective vice-ministers, the Director of the Eurasian Bureau, and the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau—six men in total—were gathered around a large conference table at the official residence of the Home Minister in Nagatachō, locked in anguished deliberation. All of them wore gold-braided formal attire, their brows deeply furrowed as they sat rigidly in silence—a scene that resembled nothing so much as a satirical cartoon titled *The Government’s Worries*. The faint glimpse of one or two lights from the problematic Ariake-so Apartments visible through the trees beyond the large western window made for an eminently appropriate backdrop at this juncture—truly akin to the final brushstroke that brings a painted dragon to life. Even on ordinary days, the winds of worldly affairs did not blow too harshly upon this neighborhood. Moreover, on the evening of New Year’s Day, the surroundings fell into utter stillness, with nothing audible but the sound of a pendulum marking the seconds.

Just as it seemed this stasis might continue eternally, the Minister of Home Affairs suddenly disrupted the tableau’s equilibrium by stirring into motion. Casting a troubled gaze around the assembly, he let out a heavy sigh along with,

“This has become dire,” he pressed out.

The Director of Eurasian Affairs lifted his face, "I had long suspected the Emperor’s pro-Japanese attitude was disingenuous.…As you are all aware, when the Japan-France Treaty was concluded in Meiji 41 [1908], our government ruthlessly expelled Pan Shihan—an Annamese independence activist then seeking asylum here—alongside Kyōtei, Marquis of the Outer Regions of Annam’s royal house." "Pan Shihan was promptly arrested by French authorities, while Kyōtei barely escaped to America with his life." "The backlash fell heaviest upon the Emperor’s father—the Eleventh Restoration King—who was deposed at seventeen and exiled to Réunion Island in the southern Indian Ocean. To this day, he scrapes out a wretched existence playing violin on street corners, barely sustaining his threadbare life." "Given this history, it’s inconceivable the Emperor could harbor any genuine goodwill toward Japan." "His so-called pro-Japanese posturing was mere camouflage to facilitate selling the royal treasure here.…Yet even so, what astonishing recklessness he displayed." "Were this exposed, it would hand French authorities the perfect pretext to demand his immediate abdication under the guise of seizing revolutionary funds—this much is self-evident—"

The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs interjected, "For what possible reason would the Emperor expose himself to such danger?" "Well, I really couldn't say." "...Whether it's the Vietnam National Revolutionary Party or the Annam Independence Party, the independence movements in Annam have completely fallen into inertia. They've grown so lax that even if you tried injecting vitality now, it would be utterly futile. I can hardly consider this matter connected to those factions." "I surmise that the Emperor, anticipating his abdication, intends to sell it and go into exile to America or some such place—is that not the case?"

The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs wore an expression of utter disgust, "In any case, such matters aren't our immediate concern." "As for us, if we can just have the Emperor back at the hotel by the time the French Ambassador requests his audience tomorrow morning, we'll raise no objections." With that, he turned squarely toward the Police Affairs Bureau Chief, "Well, Mr. Ōtsuki—can you manage to find him?" "Give me one clear answer." "...The Foreign Ministry wants no further complications at any cost. What exactly have you done?" "All this commotion since morning stems from your blunders." "And now I hear—when I pressed for confirmation earlier, you already knew the Emperor was an imposter. Why didn't you breathe a word to me then?" "Had you done that much, we could've kept things suitably vague." "Now we're left shouldering your mess at the Foreign Ministry with no room to maneuver." "...This unilateral approach is unacceptable." "We can't endure having such critical matters forced through without Foreign Ministry consultation!"

The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs frowned, “Save your complaints for later—let me first hear your opinions on the Police Affairs Bureau Chief’s proposal.” The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs puffed out his cheeks in displeasure,

“That’s precisely what I was saying!…As the Foreign Ministry, our answer remains—we cannot sanction such an absurd scheme.” “To think of using some tabloid reporter hack as the Emperor’s stand-in to paper over this mess—isn’t this desperation beneath us?” “Mistaking him for royalty was shameful enough—and now you propose—”

The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs sharply interrupted, “If that’s utterly shameful, then you’re no better.” “The fact that you paid such effusive respects to the false Emperor and then withdrew is equally disgraceful.” “Since none of us have ever seen the Emperor’s face, there’s no point arguing about this now.…So I take it the Foreign Ministry has no objection to announcing his kidnapping?” The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs coughed harshly, “D-don’t talk nonsense! How could we possibly permit such an announcement?” “As the Foreign Ministry, we refuse to participate in this reckless conspiracy.” “Just wait until it comes to light—there’ll be no containing the fallout!” “On the contrary—arresting that imbecile Furuichi and handling this with sincerity would secure ultimate victory.” “At minimum, it gives us grounds for having mistaken him as Emperor in the first place.”

The Police Affairs Bureau Chief adopted a defiant stance, “With all due respect, even if we were to detain Furuichi Kaju now, it would only expose the fact of the Emperor’s disappearance—it would not erase the blunder of having mistaken him in the first place.” "...If it becomes known that the Emperor has not returned since last night, the French Embassy will not remain silent. Should rumors of the Emperor’s kidnapping suddenly spread from such circumstances, matters would spiral entirely beyond control." "For the government’s dignity, of course, and to ensure the investigation’s swift and thorough execution, until the Emperor is found, no matter what happens, the Emperor must remain securely at the hotel." "...There may have been some misunderstandings, but I have no recollection of ever suggesting that we create a substitute." "Since it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other, I intended to propose that we continue with the misidentification as before for a little while longer."

The Foreign Minister, who had been silently crossing his arms until now, abruptly opened his mouth at this moment.

“Does that man bear a close resemblance to the Emperor?”

The Police Affairs Bureau Chief shook his head,

“He bears no resemblance whatsoever.” The Foreign Minister gave a wry smile, “That works in our favor—but how do you plan to keep him suppressed? There’s no guarantee he won’t proclaim ‘I’m not the Emperor!’ on his own.” “Should he utter such words, he’d bring terrible consequences upon himself—no risk of accidental slips remains. However, I intend to make that implication thoroughly clear to him.”

The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs pursed his lips, "However, Manago has already seen through his true nature. Who knows what that desperate fool might be up to by now?" "Since His Majesty is currently in a somewhat confused state," replied the Police Affairs Bureau Chief, "I have already instructed the hotel manager by telephone that he must not respond to any summons whatsoever." "Is there no risk of him fleeing?" "He has been securely contained."

Once again, the assembly fell into silence.

The Police Affairs Bureau Chief glanced up at the clock with growing impatience, "Now, regarding the aforementioned Annamese intelligence chief—we’ve detained and entertained him at the Metropolitan Police Department during this consultation, but we can’t keep him held indefinitely." "When Director Sō returns to the hotel, he will immediately press Furuichi for answers regarding the return date and the treasure’s response. But given that fool’s inability to provide a satisfactory reply, his disguise will inevitably be exposed as a fraud." "At present, that man is the only reliable witness who would testify that Kaju is the Emperor in case of emergency. But if he were to take the lead in causing an uproar, that would truly spiral beyond control."

The Home Minister wiped his sweat while, “It’s absurd beyond words—but given this critical situation, perhaps we should resort to extraordinary measures.” Having said that, he turned toward the Foreign Minister,

“If things escalate into such a disturbance now, we won’t be able to contain it. It may run counter to established procedure, but I must ask you to cooperate as well.”

The Foreign Minister wore a vexed expression, "If matters have become so dire, then I suppose there’s no alternative but to paper things over for the time being in this manner." said to the Eurasian Affairs Bureau Chief,

“Yanagihara-kun, you are to go to the Imperial Hotel with the Police Affairs Bureau Chief and see that you cram some knowledge about Annam into that tabloid reporter posthaste. He should at least know the name of the capital—it would be most inconvenient otherwise.”

The Home Minister, rising unsteadily to his feet, addressed the Police Affairs Bureau Chief: “Well then, I leave everything in your hands.” “In any case, I can’t have you doing anything that might tip him off.” “Ensure you handle His Majesty with utmost care… And don’t forget to take the money.” “That tabloid reporter for a red-top rag’s bound to be penniless anyway… No, no—more importantly, make sure to imply he should quit loitering and just go to bed already.”

With that, he clutched his head and collapsed onto the desk,

“Ah, even so—why did such an idiot have to come barging in?”

19. Kaju's Foolish Considerations

Furthermore, the Matter of the Black Beard Fluttering in the Wind

Amidst all this fervent acclaim, Furuichi Kaju himself was holed up as usual in an opulent guest suite of the Imperial Hotel reserved for dignitaries. Yet upon observation, his earlier brazen demeanor had vanished; sunk deep into an armchair with the evening paper still in hand, he contorted his lips into an inverted V-shape, "A dream... a phantom..."

he muttered.

As this alone would leave you grasping at clouds with no understanding of the matter, to convey the circumstances of the intervening period, I shall now recount the subsequent dealings between Furuichi and Inspector Manago. In the previous installment, this chapter had concluded at the moment when Furuichi—engaged in a tense negotiation with the Annamese Emperor's intelligence chief while teetering on the brink of disaster—was abruptly exposed by Manago, who slipped into the room and declared, "You're Mr. Furuichi of the Yūhi Newspaper—quite an unusual place to find yourself."

Now, having used being informed of Manago’s visit as an opportunity to temporarily extricate himself from his predicament, before Manago could expose him, Kaju dashed toward the window facing the outer garden and tried to make a desperate escape. Even the most audacious villain would undoubtedly feel this same impulse upon hearing Manago’s name. Manago’s ferocity was truly terrifying; he overlooked no crime, however concealed. Once he sank his teeth in, he never let go. Not even a wicked woman’s slander could match this tenacity. There’s a tale in Vigny’s novels about a detective pursuing criminals to the North Pole—but really! Manago would tunnel straight into hell itself. Faced with this relentless pursuit, no master could ever slip from his grasp.

Kaju was still a fledgling tabloid reporter, but having frequented the Metropolitan Police Department regularly, he knew full well how terrifying Manago was. Whether he had genuinely intended to flee or whether it was some kind of reflexive reaction, he threw open the window in a half-mad state—but attempting such a thing before Manago’s very eyes was, no matter who you asked, ultimately nothing but a futile struggle. Manago darted forward like lightning and seized Kaju’s wrist with a bone-crushing grip that defied his skeletal frame—where did such strength even come from? Even clamped in a vise, his grip wouldn’t sear into one’s very bones like this. He had no choice but to resign himself. After all, the pain was unbearable. Kaju was forced down onto the leather chair, while Manago sank deeply into the armchair. In an instant, their positions were reversed—but this too was unavoidable. Kaju was no longer a king or anything of the sort—he was now merely a criminal defendant.

Thus began the interrogation—or rather, Kaju’s confession. Manago, as usual, kept his eyes half-closed and cast downward, merely listening indifferently with a grim air. Kaju narrated everything—how he had rushed out from the Tokyo Kaikan’s year-end party to meet the Emperor at “Paris,” bar-hopped together through Ginza’s back alleys, proceeded to Ariake-so Apartments near three o’clock to have supper with Tsuruko all three of them; the incident of Tsuruko falling from the heavens; the Emperor’s extraordinary remarks followed by his vanishing like mist from the bedroom; being transferred here from Tameike Police Station and unwittingly made a king…… As for why he had persisted here—it wasn’t out of any desire to mock the Metropolitan Police or Japanese government, but purely due to professional zeal to secure this exclusive scoop…… From there, when pressed by Director Sō of Intelligence about how the smuggled great diamond had been disposed of—just as he nearly fainted in panic—ah, right then you appeared like a savior angel. Since Manago remained silent no matter what he said, Kaju grew increasingly emboldened, narrating it all with almost cheerful abandon.

Manago would occasionally half-open his eyes and steal glances at Kaju’s face. Seeing his guileless demeanor—foam gathering at the corners of his mouth as he rambled on endlessly—one could immediately tell this man wasn’t lying. Every detail of his statement matched each and every result of the on-site investigation. It had already been established through the cast carving on the kitchen wall that Kaju was not the culprit. This medium-built tabloid reporter could not reach the line of the coat hem carved into the wall even if he stood on tiptoe. Moreover, this excessive amount of hair could never give the impression of a chestnut-burr head. But Manago was quite cunning. He tried steering things in this manner.

“When she came to see you off at the entrance—did Tsuruko appear quite drunk then?” “She didn’t come to see me off at all—she didn’t even stand up.” “I see. Then she must have handed you the front door key.” “I didn’t receive any key.” Manago’s eyes glinted sharply, “During supper, you stated that Tsuruko got up to lock the front door and returned with the key. ……How then did you exit through that door without it? This seems somewhat peculiar.”

“What are you getting wrong?” “I never said anything about ‘holding the key’!” “I said, ‘Tsuruko closed the front door and came back.’” “And then?”

Kaju remained composed, “In short, the front door was open, you see. As proof—now that I think about it—I didn’t even touch the knob. I staggered over, leaned against it, and it just swung open on its own.” “At that time, was the light on in the entrance hall?”

“No, it was pitch black.”

If Kaju's memory was accurate, the following scenario could be inferred. The culprit had already entered the entrance hall before Kaju left and hidden himself in that darkness. Soon noticing this, Tsuruko went to close the front door. At that moment... The single lingering doubt—that the third man, namely the Emperor and Tsuruko's dining companion, might be the culprit—was thereby resolved. As surmised, the criminal was the tall "fourth man" who had been leaning against the half-dried kitchen wall.

“You said Tsuruko fell like a furoshiki-wrapped bundle.” “Then naturally your eyes would have taken in the second-floor window—what sort of figure did you see in that window at that moment?”

Kaju tilted his head in puzzlement,

“I have no memory of seeing the window.” “...No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that since I was positioned almost perpendicular to the building, I couldn’t see the window from there.” “After all, what remains in my memory are only the waning moon and Tsuruko.” This concluded the interrogation. When Manago called the Police Affairs Bureau, four individuals arrived in under five minutes. They all bore a cold, clinical air about them, as if they had emerged straight from a science laboratory. When Manago whispered something, something strange began here. And thus began a highly elaborate indoor investigation. Kaju had no idea what was happening and simply gaped blankly, but as for what Manago was searching for—you, dear readers, know full well. Manago was searching for the “Emperor.”

The four individuals moved with such swiftness and rationality that one might have thought they had spent their entire lives conducting nothing but indoor investigations in this manner. Poe’s “The Purloined Letter” Had indoor investigation methodology advanced to such a sophisticated degree since Poe’s “The Purloined Letter”? They divided the space of the four rooms adjoining this audience chamber into several sections and spared nothing within them, no matter how subtle. They proceeded with their investigation at a blindingly fast pace, flipping over even the undersides of dust particles to examine them. They took apart chairs and desks alike. Because Kaju had been standing dazedly within one partitioned area, even he was stripped completely naked and subjected to a search that extended into his very ear cavities.

Soon, the investigation concluded.

The room returned from battlefield-like chaos to its original pristine elegance.

The fact that the "Emperor" was not here was more certain than truth itself. Manago had summoned the four scholars to a corner of the room and issued some command, but once the group departed, he briskly approached Kaju. “You are not to move from here,” he snapped, then slipped out silently like a shadow. The dejected state of Kaju left behind was truly a sight to behold—as vivid as if it could be painted. He had dreamed of a global scoop about “the murder of the Dragon King, Emperor of the Annam Empire,” enduring all manner of hardships to cling stubbornly to this place—but it had all been in vain, for the culprit who killed Tsuruko now appeared to be someone other than the Emperor. He had been so hell-bent on making this his big break—practically bursting with determination—that when the tension suddenly snapped, he was left utterly deflated. For a good while, he sat plopped in the chair like a dementia patient, letting his vacant gaze drift about aimlessly, until eventually—without conscious intent—he absently picked up the evening paper on the desk and looked it over. There in the lower section of page two ran a small single-column article about this morning's incident.

Suicide in Apartment—This Morning at 4:20 AM A former Takarazuka Girls' Opera School student,

Matsutani Tsuruko (23) of Akasaka Sannōdai, Ariake-so apartment building’s second-floor window to a cliff approximately thirty shaku (about 9 meters) plunged from a thirty-shaku (approximately nine-meter) cliff below to commit suicide. The cause was world-weariness.

In all of vast Tokyo, there was likely no one who read this mere six-line article with as much deep emotion as Kaju. No, not just Kaju—had there been anyone who knew the hidden circumstances behind this incident, they would have surely uttered a cry of lamentation at this merciless contrast between appearance and reality.

This must be precisely why Tokyo is simply referred to in one breath as the City of Demons. Incidents begin and incidents end without our ever knowing. Of the various crimes ceaselessly occurring day and night in this metropolis, those that reach our eyes and ears amount to less than one percent. Moreover, these forms sink deep into obscurity, and only by chance does a fleeting glimmer of their reflection catch our eye.

This article must certainly have reached your eyes, dear readers, but at that time, not a single one of you could have discerned the immense turmoil lurking behind these mere six lines. Not only that—the incident had only just begun. The turmoil thus far had been but a prelude. With this suicide incident as its overture, a turbid grand orchestral crime was about to begin its performance—

Kaju knew nothing of this; convinced he had abruptly lost his purpose, in a sentimental voice,

“Ah, it was all a dream, an illusion... If this had been real, it truly could have shocked the world, but everything’s ended in failure.” ...Waking from that infuriating nap—or... Ah, it’s all so pointless, so utterly pointless. …Because I was convinced the King had killed her, I’d steeled myself to make this my big break even if it meant getting stuck in pretrial detention for a month or two—but if that’s not how it went down, whether Tsuruko lived or died was none of my damn business. I’ve been through all sorts of things, but never had I felt the transience of life as keenly as that day. This was precisely the impermanence of worldly things. Until just moments ago, it had been all 'Your Majesty this, Your Majesty that'—I’d reveled in glory and splendor, but all of it was but a half-day dream. Far from receiving any special treatment, I’d likely be arrested and handed over to the prosecutor’s office before long—but all of this must be divine punishment for daring to attempt something beyond my station. I’d rather not live anymore. ……Still, I was appalled at my own incompetence. Why had I been so convinced that the King was the culprit? First of all, there was no way someone planning to kill Tsuruko would promise to have dinner with three people tomorrow. He’d been grinning foolishly throughout supper, and from what I observed, hadn't seemed like a dangerous individual prone to sudden violent outbursts. “Even up until vanishing into thin air from the bedroom, he remained composed throughout—not at all like someone who’d killed a person…” I began, then suddenly fixed my gaze,

"Oh, this is odd. ...The Emperor possesses an unparalleled great diamond... ...and that King has vanished into thin air... This is bad. What if His Majesty wasn't exiled but actually kidnapped? ...It wasn't entirely impossible. Then this is a major incident."

With that, he once again took on a wild-eyed look, started to stand up restlessly, but then sat back down,

"There’s no point getting so flustered like this. Alright—let me calmly think through everything that’s happened since last evening." With that, he pompously crossed his arms,

“...Last night at seven, I got angry and stormed out of Tokyo Kaikan. Up to this point... nothing unusual had happened. Then, after meeting Murakumo Emiko in Ginza… Wait, now that I think of it, this is already strange. …There was a colleague from the same Hokkaido elementary school where I once taught who rose to become a movie star and even opened a lavish bar called ‘Paris.’ Out of nostalgia for our shared hometown, I went once to pay my respects—only to be literally given the cold shoulder. …Why had Emiko been so unusually friendly last night of all nights? That haughty dame took my hand and forcibly dragged me off to ‘Paris.’ There was the Emperor, and that morning a murder occurred. …The Emperor was abducted, and I alone was left at the scene. I alone at the scene…. Damn it! Moreover, Emiko is a resident of Ariake-so Apartments. ...There’s something here. Even if my meeting Emiko in Ginza was coincidental, there was something undeniably abnormal in her attitude as she tried to forcefully take me to where the Emperor was. But even so, this alone isn’t enough to go on. Isn’t there any article that could serve as a lead?”

While muttering this, he hurriedly picked up one evening paper after another, scanning them rapidly with his eyes—but before he could reach the Yūhi Newspaper buried at the bottom of the pile, he involuntarily let out a startled cry: "Ah!"

The resplendent front page of the Yūhi Newspaper’s special edition blared forth its five-column banner headline—“Crane Fountain Sings This Morning!”—beneath which, strung together with florid prose across the entire page, it grandly detailed everything from the event’s bustling attendance and prize-awarding procedures to the full texts of congratulatory telegrams, a summary of Dr. Kanekiyo’s lecture, and finally that ecstatic moment at 9:35 AM when cries of “Long Live the Empire!” culminated in the crane’s resounding song.

Kaju wore a dumbfounded expression,

"This is astonishing. That was a collaboration between Head Gardener Sakazuki and President Kōda—since holding an unauthorized illegal assembly in Hibiya Park right under the Metropolitan Police Department’s nose meant they’d inevitably be forced to disband before the announced time of 9:12 when the crane was supposed to sing, they’d planned from the start to swiftly collect admission fees by then and wrap things up with a 'What a shame' curtain call, having arranged everything to leave no incriminating traces... But then, why did the crane sing after all? With this, another mystery had been added... Alright, let's line them up and see. (Emiko, who should never act friendly, was being friendly. A crane that should never sing does so)... At first glance, these two phenomena seem entirely unrelated... yet perhaps they share some profound connection."

He kept tilting his head in puzzlement while narrowing his eyes upward, but soon gave up as if resigning himself, “No matter how much I rack my brain, my smarts just aren’t up to it. There’s no choice but to charge ahead as usual. First I’ll get a rough idea, then investigate the fountain crane—that should help me figure out this connection somehow. Alright, now that it’s decided—let’s head out right away.” The moment he stood up with determination, the hotel manager entered and announced that the chiefs of the Police Affairs and Eurasian Affairs Bureaus had arrived. Kaju slumped into the chair with a tear-streaked face,

“Ah, I’d forgotten.” “I’m going to prison, huh?” “Far from special treatment—I’ll have to bid farewell to everything.” After muttering this, he addressed the manager in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum,

“Tell me you’re prepared.” Soon, the two bureau chiefs entered. When they respectfully announced themselves at the doorway, first the Police Affairs Bureau Chief stepped forward with a gesture of full-body deference, “Your Highness, we have once again come before you to offer our most humble apologies." "Since this morning, we have committed blunder after blunder, leaving us with no face to present before Your Highness. Thus, we have donned masks and now approach Your august presence with bowed heads." “Most recently, one called Manago had the audacity to intrude upon Your Highness, and through various actions appears to have gravely injured Your august reputation—an unthinkable oversight for which we profoundly apologize. The individual in question has already been subjected to the most severe disciplinary measures. Regarding this matter, we two hereby…”

He looked as though he were on the brink of collapse, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The Bureau Chief had quite a flair. The new theater actors of today were utterly flustered by such a performance.

Be that as it may, there was nothing as unfathomable as Kaju’s predicament. He had just been kicked off the throne moments earlier, yet out of some necessity found himself reinstated into the emperor’s chair. Even a marionette wouldn’t be jerked about this mercilessly. If that were the case, it would appear all the more tragic. Kaju did not let his guard down. When he glanced sidelong at the two men from beneath his brows, both grown figures were quivering uncontrollably, their foreheads beaded with cold sweat as though they might vanish into thin air at any moment. Their trembling stemmed from rage, their sweat from bitter frustration—yet under such circumstances, even the most astute man would misinterpret these signs. All the more so for someone as guileless as Kaju, who had fallen headlong into this trap without resistance. It suddenly felt as if the heavens had cleaved open. Do it well, and you won’t have to go to prison. Thereupon, he leaned back as haughtily as possible and,

“There’s no need to apologize.” “You are well aware of my magnanimity.” “You’ve done quite enough.” “Since this matter is settled, you may take your leave.” The Bureau Chiefs would not withdraw over such a thing. After bowing courteously, “As always, Your Magnanimous Highness’s…” Kaju waved his hand impatiently, “So, do you still have some business here?” “With all these different people coming one after another like this, I can’t even catch my breath.” “If you have business, say it quickly and be on your way.” “I’m coming down with a bit of a cold—my mood isn’t particularly favorable.”

The Police Affairs Bureau Chief maintained his groveling posture, "To be brief, we humbly seek Your Highness' guidance regarding the Imperial Household's sacred treasure currently stored in the Metropolitan Police vault. May we continue safeguarding it in its present condition?"

So that's how it was. Oh, if I'd heard this just one hour earlier, I wouldn't have landed in such an awful mess. Kaju smacked his forehead and,

“Oh, I’d completely forgotten. Please, leave everything exactly as it is. Keeping it at hand wouldn’t be particularly beneficial anyway.” Well, Kaju wasn’t such a fool after all. The Police Affairs Bureau Chief reverently withdrew about three steps, then the Eurasian Affairs Bureau Chief stepped forward in his place,

“As I am given to understand, Your Highness’s return to your homeland is anticipated within two or three days—a development I find profoundly regrettable.” “We humbly presume that this succession of grave improprieties has diminished Your Highness’s esteem for Japan; we earnestly implore you not to let this experience prejudice your future considerations...”

To recount these negotiations in full would have resulted in a highly dramatized theatrical scene; however, there was no point in writing about such matters indefinitely.

In short, after devising various cunning schemes sufficient to win over Chief Song of Intelligence, these two bureau chiefs earnestly implied that he should stop dawdling and go to bed early before making their exit—leaving the rest to the reader’s imagination.

Whether proper arrangements had been made or not, Sō Shūchin returned almost simultaneously. Having likely been vigorously entertained at the Metropolitan Police Headquarters, he entered with a tipsy, brisk gait. After saluting at the doorway, he respectfully approached Kaju’s side, “Ah, what an honor this is!” “We have until this very moment been receiving the impeccable hospitality of Japan’s Superintendent General of Police.” “This too flows solely from Your Majesty’s august virtue—I can express nothing but deepest gratitude.”

Kaju haughtily indicated a chair with his chin, “Don’t drink unfamiliar liquor and upset your stomach. … Now then, I’ll give you my answer from earlier.”

Shūchin properly sat down on the chair. “We humbly await Your Highness’s response.” Kaju declared triumphantly, “Now, don’t misunderstand. The diamond has been properly deposited in the Metropolitan Police Department’s vault. If you think this is a lie, call and verify it yourself.” Shūchin’s face instantly flushed with profound gratitude. “Ah! Truly, truly! To even presume Your Wise Highness might engage in such reckless conduct would itself constitute excessive discourtesy. Thus we have received Your Highness’s answer regarding the sacred treasure... Next, concerning your return date—”

“I shall return within two or three days. You are to dispatch an encrypted telegram to the Director-General of the Administrative Bureau beforehand.”

Having said that, he forced a strange smile,

“Shūchin, you’ve been a lot of help this time. When I return, I’ll give you a medal.”

Shūchin sprang up from his chair, "No need! For something this trifling, rewards are wholly unnecessary!"

“No, I absolutely will. … Now, here’s what I want to discuss—as intelligence chief, you must be well-versed in various disguise techniques, correct?” Shūchin puffed out his chest, “With all due respect, such an inquiry proves ultimately unnecessary, Your Highness.” “By virtue of my duties, I always maintain the necessary items for disguise at hand.”

Perhaps I can escape from here. Then he would immediately head to Hibiya Park... Kaju, delighted, leaned forward, “Well then... apply to me a beard like those on postage stamp portraits.” “I intend to take a walk with you now, but in Tokyo—unlike in Annam—my real face is too widely recognized, which poses certain difficulties.” “Moreover, it’s dangerous.”

Shūchin nodded solemnly,

“Ah, that indeed constitutes a most fitting consideration on Your Highness’s part.” “For Your Sacred Majesty’s august personage, such precautions are indubitably natural.” Having said this, he left the room and soon returned carrying an antiquated handbag. From its meticulously arranged compartments he extracted wig adhesive and hair tufts. After murmuring “Pardon the intrusion,” he daubed the adhesive onto Kaju’s chin. Then with slender tweezers, he commenced fastidiously implanting each individual hair.

Finally, it was done. Though the vulgar glint in his eyes remained unavoidable, in all other aspects he closely resembled the Emperor. After scrutinizing himself in the mirror from every angle and finalizing arrangements to meet at the park's west gate, Kaju stepped through the entrance with leisurely disregard for the plainclothes officers he recognized, his Qin Shi Huang-esque black beard fluttering in the wind as he walked toward Hibiya Park. He was now going to investigate the crane fountain.

Twenty: A Series of Errors

Also: The Evening Scene of Akashicho

The inner tatami room of Sumiyoshi in Tsukiji Akashicho. Against a backdrop of Maruyama Ōkyo’s "Mount Hōrai" painting and a large moss-covered pine tree with its roots entwined with kale stood Hayashi Kin’nao, the oyabun of the Dōkanyama Maeda-gumi, and about five of Hayashi’s family retainers. Here too was a tense tableau of crossed arms and knitted brows. Earlier, they had dispatched Denji to Kōda’s mistress’s residence, and not long after receiving word from the Police Affairs Bureau about the Emperor’s disappearance, they were now gathered here to discuss countermeasures. The mining rights for high-quality bauxite that Hayashi had secured in Annam by ingratiating himself with the Emperor. Given that their formidable rival Koguchi’s Nikko Konzern—a conglomerate of nearly equivalent capital and structure—was covertly maneuvering to wrest these rights from Hayashi’s grasp by inciting the emperor’s opposition faction (namely, the imperial nephew faction), it was only natural for suspicion to arise in everyone’s mind: this was surely Nikko’s doing, calculated for some ulterior purpose. Moreover, there was the fact that the Nogeyama-Tsurumi group—one of the leading factions of the Kanto Civil Engineering Club under Nikko’s umbrella—had caused some commotion earlier that morning in Hibiya Park, which was also in close proximity to the Imperial Hotel. This alone would not amount to a direct confrontation, but if it were indeed true, they had on their side the mastermind of the Kantō-gumi—the oyabun of Dōkanyama—commanding over three thousand daredevils. It would not be settled without bloodshed after all.

Even with seven gathered, they lacked Manjushri's wisdom and stood idly by with folded arms—when Komagata Denji came rushing back, his face twisted in panic. He had received a tip from Kōda that Yasui Kamejirō—known as Ankame—of the Nogeyama faction, who held territory in Bushū Koganei, had caused a disturbance at the "Singing Crane Fountain" venue and, amidst the chaos, kidnapped the Emperor; he had come flying back. Denji bent his knees properly in his morning coat and bowed respectfully, while glaring sharply at Hayashi.

“The situation stands exactly as I reported, but there’s also some shady business afoot that’s got ’em twitchy.” “They’re gutter trash through and through—squeezing confessions won’t take spit. Either way, I reckoned you needed this intel pronto, so I hauled ass back here.”

There was no need to belabor these details further. This was but another link in that chain of errors—the Emperor had indeed been standing before the arbor by the pond. Hayashi clawed at his knee as his temper erupted, "This is pure idiocy! Even if it's harassment, I won't—I absolutely won't tolerate it any longer! To hell with courtesies! Call the Metropolitan Police this instant and have Koguchi and Nogeyama trussed up!" As Hayashi—his normally ruddy Ebisu-like face flushing crimson until he resembled a fiery orb—raged unchecked, Dōkanyama calmly restrained him,

“Mr. Hayashi, that won’t do.” He appeared to be fifty-five or fifty-six years old, his silver-white hair slicked back in an all-back style, his forehead bearing not a single wrinkle commensurate with his age. Arched eyebrows resembling silkworms at rest and large lips drawn tight. His eyes, full of vigor in the Danjūrō style, were imbued with a gentle light as he leaned leisurely against the pillar, a clenched fist resting on his hakama-clad knee. His physique—as mild as a spring breeze, making him appear like a retired gentleman from Yamanote—nonetheless carried an indefinable solidity and impervious stance. Dōkanyama allowed his lips to relax into a gentle curve,

“Mr. Hayashi, that won’t do. If I weren’t present here, it might be acceptable, but as long as I am seated here, having such a thing done would compromise my honor. It would be problematic if word got out that Dōkanyama had resorted to clinging to the police’s coattails because he couldn’t handle things himself. From what I’ve just heard, there’s considerable doubt whether Nogeyama did it based solely on that, and besides, it doesn’t seem like something Nogeyama would do... But well, if we have even that much of a lead, we can at least find a thread to start with. I will now go over there and negotiate reasonably, thoroughly hear their side of the story, and somehow retrieve just the Emperor... You may think this is an old man’s cold water dousing your enthusiasm, but I have some prior knowledge in these matters.”

Having said that, he stood up.

Because Kōda had blurted out such reckless conjecture, everything finally came to this. How on earth was this going to be settled? It was then that Dōkanyama's car dashed out through Sumiyoshi's gate and headed toward Shiba.

Across a single moat from there, at the foot of Akatsuki Bridge, there was a man who had been intently watching a seemingly deep-set house called "Kuretake" for some time now. He appeared thirty-seven or thirty-eight years old, with a Western-style mustache that suited him well, a high nose, and slightly sunken eyes—features that marked him unmistakably as mixed-race at first glance. This was John Hutchinson—the third time he had come roaring up to "Paris" in his roadster—one of the residents of Ariake-so Apartments and a correspondent for the French Havas News Agency.

The New Year pine decorations rustled softly, the battledores clacked rhythmically—a tranquil evening steeped in seasonal tradition. Stylish house robes flitted intermittently through the scene. Crouching in the shadow of a side wall, he fixed Kuretake residence with a predatory gaze before darting forward impatiently to peer through the gate's depths. About fifteen minutes later, boisterous farewells erupted from the alley's recesses. A gaunt-faced man in his mid-thirties emerged—tall frame hunched, coat collar raised to obscure features. His sunken eyes darted shiftily as he avoided the Royaguchi intersection's streetlamp, veering right toward Akatsuki Bridge. Hutchinson exploded from beneath the wall's gloom with a clatter of shoes, blocking the path. Seizing the coat collar in one brutal yank,

“Hey Baroncelli, why are you sneaking around?” Dear readers, you will recall that infamous “Carnus Show.” These two had gathered a troupe of rural vaudeville performers from around Shanghai and built them into a grand international revue company second only to New York’s great Ziegfeld—all while today marked their opening performance at the Nihonza Theater. Both were Japanese-French mixed-race men. This shared background forged their bond, and like shadow and form, they pursued shady ventures across Annam and Guizhou. Hutchinson’s name summoned Baroncelli’s as naturally as night follows day—such was their partnership. What strife could have split these two, bound tighter than blood brothers?

Hutchinson pressed Baroncelli against the bridge railing and shook him with all his strength while, “Hey! Say somethin’! Spit it out!”

Baroncelli lowered his eyes with a troubled look, “I-I… what am I supposed to say?” Hutchinson ground his teeth fiercely, “This isn’t some backwater town in Hue—this is the heart of Tokyo. Even if you try to outwit me… Hey, where’d you take the Emperor?” “I don’t know a damn thing.” “Oh, so that’s it. Even though it’s opening day, what the hell were you doing in a place like that?” “A patron.” “Shut up. …You bastard—you double-crossed me and sold off the Emperor to Nogeyama, didn’t you?”

As he said this, he went for Baron’s throat with his right hand, “I know damn well those ten Ankame gangsters who were raising hell in Hibiya this morning are holed up in Kuretake’s back room.” “Well? Got anything to say now?”

Baroncelli held his breath sharply and spoke in a hoarse voice, “I don’t know! I don’t know!” “…What’re you doin’?!” “What’s this hand?!” “Let go! Let go!” Groaning through clenched teeth, he desperately threw an uppercut into Hutchinson’s chest. Hutchinson staggered but righted himself instantly, “Fancy move there—” He reached into his coat and began drawing a white-sheathed blade, then seemed to think better of it. Sliding the weapon back, he gripped Baroncelli’s arm and spoke with sudden earnestness:

“It’s not like I couldn’t barge in there—but I didn’t. I’ve been waiting here clutching my chest because I wanted to settle this just between us two.” “C’mon Baron—just don’t cut me out of this deal. I’m beggin’ ya… No cut, no percentage.” “All profits go to you.” “...So spit it out already.” “I’m tellin’ ya—stop hidin’ shit and there won’t be no trouble. Ain’t that right?” “Wh… what’s this?” “Quit makin’ that face… Laugh.” “Hey—laugh for me.”

Baroncelli sharply turned his face away and stared at the dark water's surface as if transfixed, teeth clenched tight. Tears streamed down his cheeks, invisible from Hutchinson's angle. Hutchinson stood rigidly still, glaring at Baroncelli's back until finally heaving a sigh. "...You're like a different person... I can't make sense of your behavior anymore." "...What's wrong, Baron? Talk to me." "Hey."

Baroncelli whirled around sharply. No tear stains remained. With a defiant look, “If ya don’t get it, I’ll make it crystal clear.” “I’m done playin’ big brother to you.” “Huh?!” “We’ve walked this road long enough—time to split.” “Don’t even nod if we cross paths again.”

Hutchinson trembled his fist, "You bastard—you've gone money-mad. You think I'm just some money-blinded scum?" Tears glinted in the corners of his eyes,

“Hey Baron—after all the hardships we shared through all these long years in the backwaters of Indochina—this is how it ends?” “Is this really how we should part ways?... You’re a fool... You utter fool…”

Baroncelli leaned his back against the railing and let out a hollow whistle, “Yeah… that’s fine.” “I’ve gone greed-mad.” “Just leave me alone.” “So… that… you mean it for real?”

“You’re tedious.”

“At least tell me why…” “Do whatever the hell you want.” Hutchinson shook violently, glaring at Baroncelli with a ferocious gaze before his voice burst forth, “Fine—we’ll part ways. …But I’ll smash everything to pieces. Don’t forget.” With trembling hands, he fastened his coat buttons and vanished into the darkness beside the wall.

21. The Strange Neck Experiment Incident

And the Voice on the Telephone Incident

In the frigid expanse of the Metropolitan Police Department's First Investigative Division Chief's office, before a massive desk, Chief Inspector Manago sat like a solitary shadow, utterly motionless. Just as he had done previously at the Ariake-so Apartments—once again adopting the posture of one preparing for ritual disembowelment—he sat with arms crossed and face lowered, his features etched with profound anguish, frozen like a fossil without the slightest movement. On the desk lay neatly arranged evidence from the Ariake-so case: a green vest, a lion-headed cigarette holder, a paper-carved shoe last, and a notebook inscribed with "〇Bei 86."

For Manago, these items seemed to cause him considerable anguish. Depending on one's perspective, he even appeared to be bowing to them. This marked the second time he had adopted such a posture—but why would these objects torment even Inspector Manago, a man considered the very embodiment of ruthlessness, so profoundly? There was something that didn't quite add up. Earlier, when explaining the crime scene investigation at the Police Affairs Bureau, he had strangely omitted any mention of his visit to a tailor shop called Ibuki. Nor was that all. He hadn't breathed a word about the distinctive cigarette holder or the imprint left against the still-damp wall. While experts might dismiss such details as trivial, coming from someone who prided himself on meticulousness day after day, this oversight felt somewhat incongruous.

Undoubtedly, these items must have contained some extraordinarily significant secret. That Manago—meticulous and thorough—hadn't divulged it suggested there existed a reason worthy of his character, but regardless, when he looked up at the clock, it already showed 5:15. The special express carrying the French ambassador had likely reached the Hikone area by now. They absolutely had to return the Emperor to the hotel before the ambassador's 4 AM audience tomorrow—was this truly the time for brooding here? Those impatiently frustrated by this thought—"If you must agonize, do it after solving the case!"—likely included more than just the author alone.

Eventually, the clock struck 5:30. Then, as if precisely on cue, the four guardsmen entered and stood rigidly motionless before the doorway in formation. At last, Manago stirred into motion. Slowly turning toward them, he glanced at the guardsman at the far right. The signaled man stepped forward and reported in clipped tones: "The six residents of Ariake-so—Iwai Michiyasu, Indō Chūsuke, John Hutchinson, Yamaki Motokichi, Murakumo Emiko, and Kawamata Fumie—split into three vehicles with six 'Carnus Show' members, departed 'Paris' at 3:10 PM, and arrived at the meeting house 'Suzumoto' in Tsukiji Kojimachi-cho by 3:20 PM. Upon their arrival, 'Suzumoto' locked its front entrance and remained sealed until the 5:20 PM inspection. Though we interrogated the six 'Carnus Show' members, all Ariake-so residents claim none left before inspection time. We examined 'Suzumoto's' back gate but found absolutely no traces of recent entry or exit."

Manago signaled to the second guardsman. The second man stepped forward, "The Superintendent General on his morale inspection tour passed through Akasaka Ward Fifth Night Watch Post and Tameike Intersection at 3:50 AM. 4:40 AM at Sixth Sentry Post, Akasaka Mitsuke— 4:45 AM at Kōjimachi Ward Second Sentry Post, Miyakezaka—4:50 AM at First Sentry Post, Sakuradamon. ...That concludes my report." The third guardsman stepped forward. "Matsutani Tsuruko's registered domicile is 120-banchi, Fukano, Yamashina-cho, Higashiyama Ward, Kyoto City. The former Kyoto Prefectural Police Department Chief's registered domicile is 120-banchi, Fukano, Yamashina-cho, Higashiyama Ward, Kyoto City."

When Manago jerked his chin, the fourth guardsman left the chief’s office and soon returned with the famously beautiful seamstress Hana in tow. When Manago issued a low-voiced command, the four guardsmen withdrew accordingly.

Manago beckoned Hana over, had her sit in a chair, and then began in his usual mechanical tone, “There’s something I need to ask you—that’s why I had you brought here.”

Hana raised her face, “It was perfect timing. I was just thinking of asking you myself.” “Oh? What business?” Hana wore a determined expression,

“The criminal isn’t Your Majesty. I went to the hotel and met with Your Majesty.” “You look pleased.” Hana smiled sweetly but immediately stiffened her expression. “His Majesty doesn’t have a chestnut-burr head, nor is he that tall. I must insist you correct this misunderstanding.” “I never said His Majesty was the culprit—don’t presume things. Regardless, my request is simple: there’s something I need you to examine. Come here.”

With that, he took out a pistol from the desk drawer, slipped it into his pocket, and left the chief’s office with Hana.

Before long, the figures of Manago and Hana appeared in the dark concrete courtyard. Surrounded on all sides by a three-story building with glaring lights spilling out, it was exactly like the bottom of a well. Manago had Hana crouch there and pointed to one of the high third-floor windows, "The height from here to there is roughly the same as from your room’s window to Tsuruko’s window at Ariake-so. … Now, when I give the signal, the window shade will suddenly be drawn up, and a man will appear at the window." "It should follow the same sequence as when the culprit threw Tsuruko down this morning." “Keep a close watch on the man’s height, head, and wrists.” “Do not let your attention wander to other windows.” "And no matter what you see, you must not speak here." “…Understood? Then I’ll begin.” “Do not take your eyes off that window.”

As soon as he said this, he took out a pistol from his pocket, aimed its barrel skyward, and fired a single thunderous shot into the air. Innumerable windows on all sides flew open at once, various faces thrusting outward from them. From the window Manago had indicated, the chestnut-burr-headed Superintendent General leaned halfway out, peering down at the courtyard while bellowing, "What's this? What's this?" Manago took Hana's hand and withdrew from the courtyard with unhurried composure.

On the third floor in the Superintendent General’s office, the Superintendent General, who had pulled his head back from the window, was shouting into the loudspeaker intercom in a furious voice.

“What on earth is this? What’s happened?” The loudspeaker answered in a grating voice.

(Section Chief Manago was accidentally shot. There were no injuries.) (There were no injuries.) “With this much damage, isn’t that just splendid? … So you still haven’t found the whereabouts of the six from Ariake-so?” (There is still no report.)

The Superintendent General clicked his tongue in irritation, pulled out a cigarette from his cigarette case, then reached for his waistcoat's breast pocket and gave a bitter smile. Because he always kept his cigarette holder there, it had become a habit; even though he had dropped it, he'd forget and find his hand going to that spot. He had just lit a cigarette when the loudspeaker blared again. (From a call by Mr. Hayashi—reporting that another incident had occurred and requesting the Superintendent General's immediate attention.)

The Superintendent General threw down his cigarette and,

"Hurry up, connect it! Stop dawdling!" Just as he was roaring this, the Police Affairs Bureau Chief entered alongside Manago, muttering, "I’ve had a terrible time." The Superintendent General waved his hand, "Chief, they’re reporting another incident. Hayashi is taking the call now."

Before the Bureau Chief and Manago could settle into their chairs, Hayashi’s thick voice spilled out from the loudspeaker. “Superintendent General? This is Hayashi. I don’t have time to come over there, so I’ll speak by telephone—something utterly outrageous has occurred. Are you alone there?” The Bureau Chief lunged for the transmitter: “I’m here too. Manago’s here too. What’s happened? Out with it already!”

To summarize Hayashi’s account: When Dōkanyama confronted Nogeyama territory about the matter, the claim that Ankame had caused trouble in Hibiya came as news to them. We hadn’t disclosed it to outsiders since it would shame our organization, but something had felt off—so around summer this year, we made Ankame return his sake cup, cutting all ties. Now that he’s a stranger, he suddenly looked suspicious when we brought up his past misdeeds, muttering there was something odd to report. Around the 28th or 29th last month, an unfamiliar mixed-race man came wanting someone killed. When I pressed him—since he’d come to me—that eliminating this person must benefit Japan, he insisted it wouldn’t benefit Japan at all. I sent him off with a warning not to test me, but later we wondered—what if his target was the Emperor? Even as a baseless rumor, such a plot existing would be catastrophic. That’s why I called.

When the call ended, the Bureau Chief turned back to the two with a bitter smile,

“Hayashi’s getting a bit flustered. What a pointless thing to bring up.” “...If we start entertaining mere conjecture, it’ll be impossible to handle.” “He’s out of his mind.” The loudspeaker blared out.

(Public telephone call from Ginza 12th Telephone Exchange: critical tip-off regarding Emperor assassination plot—requests Superintendent General.) Manago ran toward the transmitter,

"I intend to keep this conversation going as long as possible. Alert the Yakumo-cho police box immediately and have them apprehend the caller at all costs." "Once their call ends, route it through the loudspeaker."

In less than a minute, the loudspeaker reported back. (The notification to Yakumo-cho police box has been completed.) (The call will now be connected.)

As the three waited with bated breath, a hoarse voice began spilling from the loudspeaker. "Superintendent General? ...This is Ginza Exchange Twelve. Kept you waiting long enough, haven't I? Trying to catch me by dragging this out won't work. Decided from the start I'd only make one call. ...Made me wait so long, we're already a minute and half over. Only ninety seconds left now. Even mid-sentence, when this call ends - that's us done. Keep that in mind. ...Now then: there's a plot to assassinate Annam's Emperor in Tokyo. Assassin from Emperor's opposition faction - Imperial Nephew Li Guangming's lot - got secret orders. Arrived Yokohama December 27th on President Hoover. Two conditions. First: make Japanese authorities handle the killing as much as possible. Second: dump corpse in Tokyo's most visible spot. ...You've heard about this already, haven't you? Ambassador's visiting hotel at four tomorrow morning. They aim to finish it before then. Since I know where the killer's holed up, might as well tell you. The man's... [CLICK] This will now transition to two calls.)"

The clang of the receiver being slammed down reverberated sharply through the loudspeaker. Every nerve of the Metropolitan Police Department was simultaneously subjected to violent stimulation and began striking reflexive movements. The Bureau Chief rushed out of the Superintendent General's office like a whirlwind. Yet Manago alone remained slumped forward without attempting to rise. The Superintendent General had been observing Manago's posture with furrowed brows when finally, perhaps unable to contain his irritation any longer, he spoke in a voice as keen as a drawn blade:

“Hey—what’s wrong with you, Manago?”

Manago looked up piercingly at the Superintendent General’s face and, in a gloomy voice, “Superintendent General, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you alone.” The time was exactly 6:20. Less than ten hours remained until 4 AM tomorrow. Would the Metropolitan Police Department prevail, or the assassins? ...In the midst of this critical moment, what in the world could Manago possibly be about to say so nonchalantly?

Part Seven

22. The Matter of Manago's Long Lecture

And Also the Matter of the Lion-Headed Pipe

When one scratched beneath the surface of the suicide case of Matsutani Tsuruko—a former Takarazuka Revue School student dismissed in just a few lines in the evening paper’s news section—it proved to be anything but straightforward. On society’s surface, not even a ripple of disturbance appeared; yet like a submarine volcanic eruption in the Mindanao Trench, there was a roaring, seething frenzy of chaos churning from the abyssal depths of darkness.

At first glance, everything pointed to the Emperor having thrown Tsuruko from the window; the authorities scrambled to conceal the truth, finally framing it as a suicide—only for it to emerge against all expectations that the Emperor himself was on the victim's side, having been abducted by unknown parties around 4:30 AM shortly after the incident. That a sovereign emperor could be kidnapped within Japanese territory—and in central Tokyo no less—constituted an unprecedented crisis; the authorities' shock and panic defied comprehension. The Ministers of Home and Foreign Affairs along with other government leaders hastily convened to devise countermeasures, but the incident dissolved into a haze of obscurity that resisted clear resolution. Ultimately, they concluded this brazen act aimed to seize the Annamese Imperial Family's secret treasure—the diamond called "Emperor"—which had been smuggled into Japan for sale.

However, in the author's view, this reached conclusion seemed somewhat abstract. Wasn't this exactly like the plot of some trite detective novel? If they found that acceptable, then how did they intend to explain away the crane fountain in Hibiya Park having sung? Just as it became clear this was no simple incident, a tip came in alleging an Emperor assassination plot. An assassin who had received a secret decree from the Imperial Nephew Faction—which sought to depose the Emperor and install Imperial Nephew Li Guangming—had arrived in Japan about a week prior, specifically on December 27 aboard the President Hoover. Moreover, it was under conditions stipulating that Japanese authorities should carry out the killing wherever possible and discard the corpse in Tokyo's most conspicuous location.

That this tip was neither a jest nor a prank would be readily acknowledged by anyone sufficiently acquainted with the friction between the Emperor faction and the Imperial Nephew faction in Annam as an entirely plausible scenario. Not only that, but through this act one could discern a sinister twofold objective—to incite a grave international incident while simultaneously driving a wedge between Japan and France. The informant even knew that the French Ambassador was currently en route back to Tokyo to visit the Imperial Hotel tomorrow morning at 4 AM, verify the fact of the secret treasure's sale, and urgently advise His Majesty to return to his country. The informant’s telephone voice streamed forth from the Superintendent General’s office loudspeaker with solemn urgency and compelling realism.

A mere suicide incident in the city had undergone three dramatic twists and achieved such grand escalation. The government had literally shrunk back in terror. Were one to arrive at such a situation, the very thought of its consequences would prove terrifying beyond measure. Even by mobilizing all governmental functions, they had to prevent the conspiracy to assassinate the Emperor before its execution and return him to the Imperial Hotel by 4 AM tomorrow morning at all costs. When one looked at the clock, it was exactly 6:20. The irregular express carrying the ambassador had already reached Gifu's vicinity. Only nine hours and forty minutes remained until 4 AM. In this perilous race, would the Metropolitan Police Department triumph splendidly and safely restore the Emperor to his hotel?

From the informant’s tone, they could roughly deduce that the Emperor was still alive, but they couldn’t even begin to grasp his whereabouts—it was like trying to clutch at clouds. The Metropolitan Police Department erupted into frenzied activity. The entire Tokyo police network shifted simultaneously into wartime mobilization. Headquarters hastily convened an emergency investigative meeting, determined the investigation’s general policy, then deployed an airtight dragnet across all jurisdictional districts and five neighboring prefectures. The Investigation Division immediately launched pursuits of the six Ariake-so residents and the Yasui Kamejirō faction—rumored to have abducted the Emperor from Hibiya Park’s “Singing Crane Fountain” venue—while the Foreign Affairs Division began nit-combing through every arrival and foreign resident’s movements since early December.

Amidst a war-like commotion that seemed to have turned the Metropolitan Police Department upside down, Inspector Manago Akira alone remained slumped in his chair in the Superintendent General’s office, making no move to stir. Manago—the Metropolitan Police Department’s foremost genius, the leading figure of the Prosecutorial Brain Trust, known for his ruthless efficiency—should have been at the forefront directing the investigation at such a critical juncture. Yet here he remained, dismissing this monumental uproar as mere wind blowing through emptiness and clinging to this spot—a demeanor utterly unbefitting his usual swift decisiveness.

In the previous installment, even the Superintendent General—ordinarily unflappable—had finally lost patience with Manago’s vexing demeanor and snapped, demanding to know what was wrong. At this, Manago looked up piercingly at the Superintendent General’s face and declared in a gloomy voice, “I have been waiting all this time for an opportunity to speak with you alone,” ending with this eerily formidable statement.

Having said this, Manago once again lowered his face and looked down. What in the world was he about to say? Be that as it may, this must be what they mean by a withered tree in the dead of winter. His shoulders rose bonily as if cold, the hair at his crown had thinned and gone sparse, his shadow faint as he sat with hands on knees, dejectedly hunched over—this entire spectacle was utterly desolate and moribund. This could not be perceived as a living human being. It was as though a corpse had been disgorged from the grave’s maw to wander lost here.

The Superintendent General turned his pale face toward Manago and waited for his words, but Manago had only delivered a preamble before lapsing into complete silence, so the Superintendent was growing somewhat impatient. "Is this matter you wish to discuss related to the current case?" "That is correct." "Why must it be just the two of us?" "......" "Is it truly that significant?" "That is correct."

Manago Akira remained bowed forward,

“Superintendent General, we’ve identified the culprit.”

The Superintendent General leaped up from his chair, “What?! Is that true?” “So you’ve definitively identified them?” “It has been ascertained.” “If you wish, I can render that individual’s entire physique here in detail for your inspection.” “Furthermore, I have fully ascertained every detail of that individual’s actions on the night of the crime.” “Well now, what new facts have come to light?” “When did you find out?” “It had already been ascertained during our on-site investigation earlier.”

The Superintendent General's expression immediately turned unpleasant, "You never cease to amaze me... I cannot comprehend your actions at all... If you knew during the investigation, why didn't you mention it in your previous report?"

The Superintendent General furrowed his brows severely, “I will pose a question that may overstep, but surely you aren’t deliberately prolonging this case to indulge in some perverse satisfaction? I don’t want to think that excluding you from this morning’s preparations has led you to take such a retaliatory attitude, but your methods do seem to suggest precisely that. What on earth is wrong with you? Then let me hear the reason for that first.” “Superintendent General, since I will resign as Investigation Division Chief simultaneously with this case’s resolution tomorrow morning, it matters not whether you think me narrow-minded or slander me as sinister—I feel neither pain nor itch from it. Therefore, I shall refrain from responding to that particular point. As I find it rather undesirable to waste precious time on such back-and-forth, I shall set aside your remarks and promptly proceed to address the main points.”

When it came to Manago’s unyielding integrity and obstinacy, he was the very embodiment of such traits. There was no moving him now—not even with a lever. The Superintendent General, exasperated, stroked his neatly cropped crown while, “If that’s the case, then very well.” “Then proceed with your account at once.” Manago closed his eyes for an instant as if in silent prayer, then “I have already fully reported on the general circumstances suggesting His Majesty was lured out through the service entrance during my earlier crime scene briefing... I provided complete details regarding all of Hana’s testimony, the discovery of what appears to be His Majesty’s customary vest in the wardrobe, and the traces indicating the perpetrator leaned against the service entrance wall for some time. However, I omitted a detailed explanation of the evidence left upon the partially dried wall surface.” “...Furthermore, regarding another item I discovered in the wardrobe drawer, I did not mention a single word.” “These matters could have an extremely significant impact on a certain individual, and as I had to exercise utmost caution in disclosing them, I ask that you understand this delay in reporting was due to that necessity.”

Having said this, Manago broke off his words and slowly raised his face. "Superintendent General, what in the world do you think was imprinted on that wall?" "...Though it proved a most regrettable outcome for the criminal, upon its surface—from their height and social standing to habitual movements and even psychological state at the time—everything had been engraved as though meticulously drawn." "Good heavens!"

“Upon the wall were clearly imprinted two intersecting lines at right angles—the vertical seam of a coat’s back and the horizontal hem of a jacket." "The height from the floor to the jacket’s hem measured 0.86 meters." “Not only can we easily calculate this individual’s height by applying the coefficient to this measurement, but the distortion in the coat’s back seam imprint makes it abundantly clear they suffer from a constitutional defect—lateral curvature of the spine.” “But what basis do you have for definitively concluding these are the culprit’s imprints?” “Could they not be traces left by the Emperor leaning there?”

“The Emperor’s shoe size is 12.30. “That individual’s shoe size is 12.00. “The shoe prints on the service entrance floor conclusively prove this person was not His Majesty. “...This wall had been damaged for about two weeks prior, but under Tsuruko’s insistence, they finally repainted it at 11 PM on New Year’s Eve. “Since the daily maid Tome remained in the kitchen until 11:30 PM, and after 4:30 AM the Tameike Station detective stood guard motionless outside the door, we’ve determined the imprint was made between 1:00 AM and 4:30 AM—neither earlier nor later. “...When I pressed my finger against the wall during this morning’s 11:30 AM investigation, it no longer left any mark. “There was a wooden box containing leftover plaster by the iron stove in the kitchen—when I touched that, it still hadn’t dried. “The wall plaster dried faster because a steam pipe runs right beside it. By checking when the hot water supply stopped last night and restarted this morning, we can pinpoint the imprint’s timing with greater accuracy. “Given that Ariake-so’s steam heating ceased at 1 AM and resumed at 5 AM, correlating with the physical evidence, we’ve conclusively determined this was pressed between approximately 3 AM and 4:30 AM.”

"I see... So you're saying you can determine their social status and occupation?" "Upon closely examining the wall imprints, an object resembling the end of a belt was seen hanging from the jacket's hem, part of which had left an impression precisely beneath the spine on the wall." "...When I first observed this, given the sloppily dangling belt, I thought the man might have been dead drunk." "However, upon examining the shoe prints near the wall's edge, not only were the heels neatly aligned about two centimeters from the wall, but he had also shifted his feet repeatedly with nervous impatience." "A drunken person would not lean against the wall under such circumstances. Moreover, a loosened belt would typically hang forward or flip back due to its own weight—in any case, it would never contact the wall directly beneath the spine." "...If this isn't an ordinary belt, then what could it be?...Needless to say, it's the end of a sword belt." "This makes it clear that the criminal belongs to a profession requiring daily wearing of swords."

The Superintendent General drew in his breath sharply, “That… that is truly unexpected…” “You must recall the portion of Hana’s testimony—she who witnessed the moment of the crime—where she stated that the criminal had something glittering wrapped around their wrist. Hana said it might have been a wristwatch, but if what was dangling below the waist was a sword belt, then naturally its true nature becomes apparent, does it not?” The Superintendent General involuntarily leaned forward, “Oh! Then that would be...”

“Indeed, it was a sleeve insignia like those attached to your official uniform. Having now fully explained the nature of the imprints on the service entrance wall, I shall proceed to the entrance hall and discuss certain evidence likely overlooked by the maintenance personnel. [...] When I entered the entrance hall and examined both the window through which Tsuruko was thrown and the adjacent wall surfaces, there was one particular detail that caught my attention. It consists of three faint scratch marks imprinted on the right-hand wall of the window, 1.45 meters above the floor. They are extremely shallow scratches, but upon examining them, it becomes clear that they were created by a rather hard substance—spaced approximately one centimeter apart—being violently dragged upward at an angle of about eighty degrees. ...What kind of substance could create such scratches in a place like this? Even roughly considered, there are dozens of possibilities, and these scratches alone cannot clearly explain anything.”

For some reason, Manago’s tone suddenly turned listless,

“In other words, crime scene investigations are a kind of fateful endeavor,” “Science pursues; chance decides it.” “...Though it may sound like an unscientific outburst, only those of us who have been thoroughly steeped in the grime of investigations can assert this with confidence.” “Superintendent General... In short, it has been determined that those three scratch marks were caused by being scraped against the star insignia on the sleeve of an official uniform when someone attempted to abruptly lift something heavy.” “...for I discovered a minute fragment of gold braid directly beneath it on the floor. [...] The perpetrator’s height is approximately five shaku seven sun five or six bu. [...] Superintendent General—while you, with your stature, measure over five shaku seven sun five bu—I take pride in possessing nearly identical dimensions myself.” “...Therefore, conclusively determining this through experimentation was indeed straightforward.”

Having said this much, Manago abruptly fell silent. From what one could observe since earlier, Manago had been speaking in an exceedingly roundabout manner. Why not get to the point more briskly? To those watching, it was utterly exasperating. What could possibly be making Manago hesitate so profoundly? Of course, even the author could not know, but one could at least discern he was handling something of utmost gravity with a delicate approach—as if skirting its edges yet never quite confronting it directly. Observing them, while Manago gradually took on an increasingly composed demeanor, the Superintendent General's complexion grew sallow, revealing vague unease. The Superintendent General—his handsome forehead, more befitting an artist than prosecutor, deeply bowed—had his well-shaped lips pursed tautly into a straight line, while from beneath his brow he intermittently darted fleeting, troubled glances toward Manago.

Manago sat with his arms deeply crossed and his eyes downcast in silence, as if awaiting something. However, as I had often written before, his inscrutable countenance—one where joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure never clearly surfaced—made it utterly impossible to discern what he was thinking. Moreover, when he grew weary of speaking, he would suddenly fall silent with others still before him and remain that way for half a day or more. The Superintendent General, seeming to have thoroughly internalized this habit of his, made a face that said "here we go again," yet patiently kept waiting on and on.

After maintaining their strange face-off—a wordless communion akin to a Zen temple’s koan session—Manago abruptly lifted his eyelids and,

“Ah, exactly ten minutes have passed. Given that certain aspects of my explanation may not have been fully understood, I shall state matters more directly and clearly. [...] Superintendent General—concerning the physical characteristics of Matsutani Tsuruko’s killer, whom the Metropolitan Police Headquarters is currently mobilizing all resources to investigate—I intend to delineate them here in utmost detail. Do you have any objections?”

The Superintendent General wore a look of utter bewilderment, "You say such outlandish things... There couldn’t possibly be any issue with that, could there?" "Please, go ahead and do so."

Manago shook his arms wide and, uncharacteristically arching his back slightly, fixed the Superintendent General with a confrontational glare as if ready to pounce,

“Then I shall state.” “The man is approximately fifty-two or fifty-three years old, stands five shaku seven sun five or six bu tall, has a chestnut-burr head, and is a large, muscular man.” “Scoliosis with an additional slight stoop; shoe size 12.00, Princeton style, manufactured by the American Edith Company.” “He has a slight limp in his left leg.” “His occupation is either police officer or naval personnel—if a police officer, he holds a rank of inspector or higher.” “If a naval officer, between Warrant Officer and Special Duty Lieutenant.” “This constitutes the physical profile of the criminal who murdered Matsutani Tsuruko and abducted the Emperor—and simultaneously serves as the visage of the future Emperor’s assassin.” “Now regarding the criminal’s occupation—should we establish this individual as being among the authorities, it aligns perfectly with the condition stated in the earlier anonymous tip about entrusting matters to Japanese authorities. This creates what might be called a perfectly consistent scenario.”

The Superintendent General looked unconvinced. “The fact that Matsutani Tsuruko’s killer abducted the Emperor is clear from your explanation—but what grounds do you have to infer this person will assassinate the Emperor in the future? If it were me,” he continued, “I’d take precisely the opposite view. Given the assassination conditions required dumping his corpse in the streets, stabbing or strangling him on the spot would’ve been simplest. Why go through the trouble of abduction?”

Manago made a bored gesture, “That is because they have another objective besides assassinating the Emperor.……Needless to say, the criminal wants to seize the Emperor’s diamond.” “Then they could just kill him first and take it afterward, couldn’t they?” “The reason they didn’t do that is because killing the Emperor would place them in a situation where they cannot obtain the diamond.……In other words, the diamond has been hidden somewhere unknown, so they abducted the Emperor to make him disclose its whereabouts.”

“That point remains unclear to me. You insist the Emperor was abducted—why must we categorically dismiss the possibility he was killed on the spot?” “Precisely on the floor at the base of the service stairs, there are two circular degreased stains in the linoleum. As you’re undoubtedly aware, only two substances in existence possess the chemical properties to completely degrease resins, perfumes, and similar materials.” “...Namely chloroform and ether.” “Furthermore, small glass fragments—likely from a shattered chloroform ampoule—were found scattered nearby.” “This forms the evidentiary basis for my deduction that His Majesty was not murdered, but abducted.”

Manago glanced at the Superintendent General’s face and resumed his former gloomy tone: “Superintendent General, I had thought I could spare you these details, but since you doubt my investigation, I shall now fully recount the criminal’s actions that night to prove my deduction isn’t baseless... The perpetrator drove a roadster at 3:50 this morning through Akasaka’s Fifth Night Watch Post and Tameike Intersection to reach Ariake-so Apartments. Having previously disabled the entrance bell mechanism, he slipped into Tsuruko’s foyer and hid in the darkness.” “Shortly after, Furuichi Kaju left the foyer dead drunk.” “This occurred precisely at 4:10... Two or three minutes later, Tsuruko entered to lock up and pressed the wall switch, exposing the hidden man... What transpired between them during those five or six minutes remains unknown, but Tsuruko resisted fiercely until being lifted and thrown from the window—yet never once cried for help.” “The Emperor in the adjacent room heard no screams, nor did Hanako below the cliff or Kaju.” “She met her death in silence.” “Whether from affection or terror, Tsuruko clearly endured extreme psychological coercion from her assailant.” “The criminal pinned her writhing form with his left hand while flinging open the window curtain with his right... He pushed open the pivoting window frame, hoisted her out, then instantly switched off the foyer light.” “He then rushed from Ariake-so’s entrance hall... When halfway down the Sannō-shita slope, he encountered Kaju ascending with Tsuruko’s body.” “With no hiding spots on that single path, he doubled back to Ariake-so.” “But the brightly lit hallway offered no concealment.” “He ultimately retreated toward the service stairs.” “Those stairs ended at Tsuruko’s kitchen door.” “Anticipating this contingency, he’d prepared a spare key... Leaning against the wall beside the doorframe, he stood ready to act.” “Meanwhile, Kaju carried Tsuruko up only to find her dead... After alerting concierge Hana downstairs, he returned to find the Emperor—who’d been drinking in the dining room—suddenly retrieve his overcoat and hat before retreating to the bedroom.” “Kaju knew nothing of His Majesty’s subsequent movements.” “Yet this followed...” “Likely seeking sobriety...” “The Emperor entered the washroom to wash his face and gargle.” “Minute cigar fragments and food residue remained on the towel’s edge and in the basin.”

"...As you know, the washroom connects to the kitchen via a door." The man who had been leaning against the kitchen wall opened the washroom door and took a single step into the bathroom. "The criminal's right shoe print clearly imprinted on the new mat proves this." Whether through friendly persuasion or by leveraging his uniform's authority, the Emperor was led out with utter silence. The circumstances could be inferred from Kaju—stationed in the slightly separated dining room—hearing no noises, and from the freshly lit cigar when His Majesty stepped out of the washroom. A single spent match remained in the washroom, while the cigar—barely one-tenth smoked—had fallen beneath the stairs. The man locked the kitchen door with a duplicate key. The Emperor descended first down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom step, His Majesty staggered and dropped the cigar from his mouth. In that instant, the criminal crushed a chloroform ampoule hidden within a handkerchief or cotton wad against his palm, then pressed it over the Emperor's nose and mouth from behind." "When rendered unconscious, he dragged His Majesty by the collar to the entranceway, propped him against a gatepost, restored the doorbell mechanism to its original state, shouldered the Emperor down to Sannō-shita, concealed him in the waiting roadster—passing Akasaka-mitsuke at 4:40, Miyakezaka at 4:43, clearing Sakuradamon's checkpoint by 4:45—before vanishing near Police Headquarters."

The Superintendent General nodded, “I see, that makes perfect sense.” “Be that as it may, what I want to ask for now is the Emperor’s survival—is he still alive?” “The Emperor remains alive.” “Well, well, how can you be sure of that?” “The reason is that I have deduced where the Emperor had the diamond hidden. Since it remains safely there, I infer that the Emperor is therefore still alive.”

The Superintendent General half-rose from his chair, "Ah! Where on earth could it be—" Manago appeared not to hear the question, "The Emperor is likely confined somewhere even now, but the moment he confesses the diamond's location will mark his final hour—and I suspect that moment may not be long in coming." "It is precisely a candle flickering in the wind." "However...I may be speaking out of turn, but as long as this Manago remains here, I won’t let them kill him so easily." "They may have their strategies in place, but I’m not idling either." "I will bring them to justice without fail." "No matter what occurs, I will have the Emperor safely returned to the hotel and presented before you by 4 AM tomorrow...A rather formidable resolve, I must say." "You may find this laughable, Superintendent General, but for my part, I already consider myself to have the criminal by the scruff of the neck." "You are well aware of how tenacious I am." "Once seized, I won’t release my grip even if their head tears free."

As he said this, he wrinkled the corners of his lips so faintly it was nearly imperceptible to the eye.

This was Manago's smile. If you would permit it to be termed a bitter smile, you might equally regard it as his characteristic smirk. However one chose to interpret it, Manago made that facial movement and thrust his right hand into his coat pocket. "I've inverted the sequence of events - I had yet to inform you what I discovered in Tsuruko's wardrobe drawer.... In truth, it was something scarcely worth retrieving - this."

As he spoke these words, he produced the familiar lion-headed rose-root cigarette holder—this petite item beloved by the Superintendent General and well-known to everyone in the department—and placed it upon the table. After offering a ceremonious bow, he quietly opened the door and departed.

23. The Matter of a Vengeful Transaction

And the Matter of the Skilled Courtesan

The shadow of the kadomatsu fell upon the sacred lantern. A dizzying flurry of figures in formal banquet attire came and went. Porters in patched trousers, wiping away sweat, rushed blindly through Konpura District in boar-year frenzy—all while night still lingered at its threshold.

At the corner of the second side stood "Nakasu," a structure meticulously crafted in the Omotesenke school style. In the inner room of this secluded space, waiting in attendance with a proper kaiseki meal laid out appropriately were, first and foremost in the seat of honor, Shima Tokubei—the capable agent acting as proxy—followed by his subordinate Matsuzawa Ippei of the Tokyo Kiseki Club, and Kōda Sessan, president of the Yūhi Newspaper. Opposite them sat Indō Chūsuke—adopted son of Inui Nihei, one of Ariake-so Apartments' six residents who had appeared in the third act at the "Paris" bar—his tuxedo-clad knees alluringly crossed, his elongated face lightly powdered with Ocher No. 28 greasepaint now slightly flushed, sipping from his cup with calculated affectation.

As for why these four individuals had gathered here on New Year’s Day—as previously explained—it concerned the great diamond known as the "Emperor," which the Emperor himself possessed. The Emperor had entrusted its sale to Yamaki Motokichi—son of the famed Coral King and one of the Ariake-so residents—who brokered the transaction to Inui through Indō’s mediation, securing a commission that would effortlessly soar to 500,000 yen without negotiation. Now they rushed about frantically, desperate to plug debts that left them cornered. This being a world of survival of the fittest, there was no chance they’d hear of such a windfall and let it slip away. That greenhorn’s overambitious scheme? They’d snatch it for themselves—ally Indō to their side, sever Yamaki’s supply lines in advance, gather up his promissory notes for enforced collection, then make an abrupt power play to seize everything by force. But unless they uncovered where Yamaki had hidden the actual diamond, their grand production couldn’t raise its curtain.

There, in an amateurish house beneath the cliff of Ariake-so Apartments, lived a beautiful seamstress named Hana on the second floor. Since she had been on intimate terms with Tsuruko and gotten along like sisters, she likely knew about those circumstances. If she did know, they would have to make her spill it by any means necessary. This Hana would soon be brought here by Kōda's partner—Sakazuki Mamoru, the park head gardener. Matsuzawa pressed his knees against Indō's, wrinkled his magnificently bald forehead with feigned solemnity, and pursed his lips like salt efflorescence as he—

“That’s heartless.” “That won’t do.” “...They say you and Yamaki have been thick as thieves since Paris... How could you pull such a flimsy, standoffish move?” “Making your foster father mediate every damn thing, putting you through all that trouble, only to ditch you when things get settled—then hogging all the commission for yourself? That’s too brazen.” “However you spin it, that ain’t right.”

Here, at the crux of the matter, he shook his head repeatedly as he argued vehemently. Indō bit down tightly on his thin, lipstick-coated lips in frustration, “You called me cute and even rubbed cheeks with me, but all of that were lies... Ah, I never thought he was that kind of man.” “Even though I’ve been putting in so much effort, to think they’d handle it like this—treat me this way—it’s just so mortifying…”

and pressed a handkerchief to his eyes. Even Matsuzawa seemed somewhat at a loss, tapping his forehead while hemming and hawing, “This’s... well now, kinda hard to ask about, ain’t it.” “I hadn’t imagined it would go that far.” “Well now, let’s have ourselves a drink, shall we?” He thrust out his cup to mask his embarrassment. Kōda came to the rescue, “Anyway, what exactly was the story there?” “Now, let me hear the details.” “Depending on the circumstances, I’ll even roll up my sleeves and lend a hand.” “After all, with Mr. Shima here like this—and though it may be presumptuous of me—having Kōda Sessan deliver payback to Yamaki on your behalf and make him taste his own deceit is no trouble at all.” “...What exactly was the situation here?”

Indō crudely licked his lips, "It all began around May two years ago when an anonymous telegram arrived—nothing but 'Nara Hotel' as the sender—urgently demanding Yamaki come meet them." "Yamaki felt uneasy, but when he went to check, there was His Majesty sprawled out with some strange woman." "This was Tsuruko," he continued, "but since Yamaki didn’t know the backstory, he blurted out, 'Your Majesty, why this sudden summons?' The Emperor smirked and said, 'I'm no emperor—just a mining engineer from Annam.'" "You probably didn’t know this, but as an engineer, he'd already visited Japan twice before... When Yamaki finally asked his business, His Majesty led him to the hotel's rear garden—there was something urgent he needed." "'Due to circumstances requiring immediate funds,' he said, 'I've brought out a diamond passed down through imperial generations. Could you dispose of it in absolute secrecy?'" "'I tried Amsterdam and Antwerp,' he went on, 'but Europe's crawling with economic spies—too dangerous to act.'" "'At present, Japan's my only option. Do your utmost to handle this.'" "'If it's too large,' he added, 'a single telegram will bring Wineger—Amsterdam's master cutter—to shape it however you want.'" "'Succeed, and I'll give you five percent commission plus ample gratitude.'" "Truth was," Indō leaned forward, "Yamaki had racked up absurd debts from eccentric hobbies—he was desperate enough to hang himself. No refusing divine providence." "Overjoyed as if hearing heavenly orders, he rushed to Yamanishi at Osaka Kiseki Club using his father's credentials, whispering the deal." "This was perilous work—if anyone discovered we'd smuggled out the diamond, His Majesty would be imprisoned. We explained everything discreetly to Kanō Trading Co., Ishida, and Tsuge at Suigetsu in Kita no Shinchi... But heavens—the stone's sheer size made even seasoned dealers gasp, eyes bulging." "The moment they saw it, they recoiled—'Beyond our means!'" "...After endless haggling, they agreed: cut it into four equal pieces at 500,000 yen per head... A pittance!" "'Even fire-sale price would fetch fifty million yen silent.'" "So His Majesty gave up and left—two million wasn't worth discussing." "But Yamaki," Indō's voice turned bitter, "clung to that shabby dream—no other lifeline at crisis hour." "Last December, he wrote His Majesty: 'Tokyo prospects look good.'" "When His Majesty arrived thinking everything settled, Yamaki just gaped stupidly about 'starting efforts soon.' Furious, His Majesty declared: 'You're useless—I'll handle this myself!'"

“Yamaki was in a complete panic and came begging me to do something about it.” “In the end, we decided to consult my foster father. On December 27th, we asked His Majesty to accompany us, showed the genuine article to my foster father—and he got so enthusiastic he agreed to put up ten million yen.” “Since His Majesty also understood that my foster father wasn’t scheming anything, they decided to settle on that arrangement.” “But…”

Matsuzawa swallowed his breath,

"But?" Indō grinned slyly and— "That fell through."

Shima Tokubei leaned forward,

“H-how did that happen? Was there some interference?” “It was His Majesty who changed his mind.”

“Oh ho.” “The next morning, a coded telegram arrived from Annam revealing that His Majesty had secretly removed the diamond. Then Li Guangming’s faction—the opposition group trying to overthrow His Majesty and install their own nephew as emperor—caused an uproar by threatening to report to the French Governor-General about His Majesty’s supposed plans to secure independence funds…… So the chamberlain sent an urgent message begging him to abandon selling the diamond at all costs. Startled, His Majesty declared he’d postpone the sale.”

The three villains involuntarily exchanged glances at Indō’s unexpected words, but Kōda turned back toward Indō. “So, the diamond’s no longer in Yamaki’s hands then?”

Indō stared back at Kōda’s face with a look of mild contempt, “No. “However, that’s not the case.” Matsuzawa interjected, “So what’s the situation? Does Yamaki still have it?” “Who knows?” “You can’t just drop it at the crucial moment. So—do you know who has the diamond?” Indō nodded, “Yes, I know.” “Oh? Who on earth has it?”

Indō undulated coquettishly, putting on an alluring act, "No," she purred, "not without compensation."

With that, he turned toward Shima, “Rather than haggling with these foot soldiers, I think it’d be quicker to talk straight to you—well then, Mr. Shima, how much will you pay altogether for the defection fee, snitch money, and commission combined?”

Shima Tokubei relaxed his sun-tanned, taut cheeks, "I’m not stingy enough to turn you over for free." "I’ll properly pay the commission." "Three thousand each for three items, plus cosmetic fees to make it ten thousand ryō total." "If a check works, I’ll write it now."

Indō stretched out his legs in a slovenly manner, “Fine. Write it now.” Shima Tokubei took out a checkbook from his pocket, wrote in the amount, placed it on his knee, then grinned slyly at Indō, “There you go.”

Indō twisted his lips into a sly grin, “Shall I throw in a grand while we’re at it? ……The diamond’s in Yamaki’s hands.”

“Hey, Mr. Indō—ten thousand ryō for just that?”

“Don’t rush—there’s more. ……Why Yamaki has the diamond, you ask……”

Indō glanced sharply around the group, "That's because Yamaki killed the King. ......Now then, hand over ten thousand yen. I'll lay out the whole story for you." The group exchanged looks with shuddering faces—not a soul dared utter a word. At length, Shima Tokubei wordlessly slid the check before Indō, who swiftly snatched it up, "Thanks."

he said, tucking it into his pocket, “...This is how it went down. Last night at Emiko’s bar, the six of us from Ariake-so held our year-end party when Baroncelli from ‘Carnus Show’ insisted on spilling everything. So our six joined forces with their six and left ‘Paris’ around three in the morning.” “We went straight to ‘Suzumoto’ in Odawara-chō. Once everyone was there, we drank some weak tea and called it a night.” “That was about 3:20.” “...My room was at the garden-facing edge by Bizenbori—just a Tsukiji wall separating me from the street.” “...Maybe twenty minutes after I’d gone to bed,” “I heard something shuffling across the pawnshop’s connecting eaves.” “Not a cat—definitely human footsteps. ...Feeling suspicious, I slipped into the bathroom and peered up through the gourd-shaped window. Under the pale moonlight, Yamaki was crawling across the gleaming roof with this terrifying look on his face, slinking down toward Sakai Bridge.” “While I was wondering what the hell he was doing, about five minutes later I heard Hutchinson’s Roadster start up and drive off toward Bizen Bridge instead.”

Indō laughed coldly, “Yamaki’s been abandoned by both his old man and relatives. Without three hundred grand here, he’s at his last gasp—forge documents to scrape by or hang himself.” “When you’re backed that far into a corner, you’ll do anything.” “Can’t blame him—I get how he feels.” “But if he was that desperate, why not breathe a word to me?” “……Slaps on that greasepaint and puts on airs, but truth told, even he’s got some spine.” “Ask me nice and I’d help shoulder the load for something like offing the King. ……That’s what burns me.” “Pissed me off how he kept me out of it.” Damn it all, he thought. However it shook out, he’d pin their tails and give ’em what-for. ……Couldn’t have been mistaken. When he slipped into the hall to check Yamaki’s room, Janet from the Gold Dust Dance—who should’ve been sleeping with Yamaki upstairs—drifted out of the neighboring room in nothing but a chemise. “Hey Janet,” he called. “Fancy meeting you here.” She whispered that Yamaki and Fumie had done them a solid—let her and Ronald shack up together. ……Stank to high heaven from the start, and sure enough. “Those two’ve been diddling behind Iwai’s back for ages.” “Thoughtful my ass—it’s one hell of a mess.” “Leaving Iwai snoring next door? Takes brass balls.” “……Shows Fumie’s cut from the same cloth.” “Had their fun then cooked up this scheme. ……So Janet,” he pressed, “Yamaki and Fumie told you two to slink back come morning, yeah? Before first light—you to Yamaki’s place, Ronald to Fumie’s—then play dumb like nothing happened.” After shutting Janet up, he planted himself in his room and waited. ……Around five, the faint purr of a Roadster stopping by Suzumoto. Figured they’d returned. He ducked into the john again but they didn’t show. Nothing on the roof but moonlight.

……After about fifteen minutes had passed, they finally showed up on the roof. ……About twenty minutes later, a night storm blew in, and the six of them were strung together like prayer beads and hauled off to Akashi Police Station, finally being released around eight-thirty. After parting with Iwai and Hutchinson in front of the police station, the four of us—me, Fumie, Yamaki, and Emiko—went to have breakfast at Tentoku in the fish market. I sat directly across from Yamaki and kept staring at him—he really had a terrible look on his face. ……He had a large scratch behind his ear, and the glass of his platinum wristwatch was missing. There was a reddish-black stain on the edge of his cuff; when I casually leaned in to look, it was blood. Where the hell had he been clawing? The tips of his right hand’s index, middle, and ring fingers were completely worn down, with something like wall plaster packed thick between the nails. “……Well, that’s about it.” “Please—I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.”

Outside the sliding door, a crystalline voice called "Good evening," and there appeared a twenty-three- or twenty-four-year-old geisha of noble beauty—her shimada coiffure so sleek it seemed water might drip from it, comb teeth neatly aligned, her figure slightly slender, eyebrows thick, eyes wide and bright—who lightly knelt at the threshold,

“Happy New Year. Continued patronage this year, I suppose?” She gracefully entered the tatami room and closed the door behind her, “The villains have gathered and are plotting something again... Oh my, what an impressive assemblage you’ve got here. “Well now—even General Kôda graces us with his presence. “How are we feeling?” Trailing the scattered pine needle hem pattern of her crane-feather crested double-layered kimono, Izumi went to Shima Tokubei’s side,

“Another wicked scheme, I suppose. “Starting right on New Year’s Day itself? “You ought to show a little restraint.”

And with a sharp slap, she struck Shima Toku's head.

Shima Toku laughed with a goldfish-nibbling-at-food expression—"Ah ha, ah ha ha"— "Izumi, I can’t win against you. Here—this is your tribute."

With that, he tossed out a bundle wrapped in a silk fukusa cloth. Izumi picked it up nonchalantly and dropped it into the drum-shaped knot of her obi, “I’ll keep this as a charm—a demon repellent.”

At that moment, Sakazuki entered, bringing Hana with him. Leading her in as if she were a criminal, he shoved Hana into the center of the tatami room, then sat sullenly before Shima Toku with a grim face, keeping one hand in his pocket as he gave a slight bow,

“Please continue your patronage this year as well.”

Shima Toku accepted this with a magnanimous “Ah,” “Thank you for the trouble.” With that, he jerked his chin toward Hana, “So this is the one?”

“That is correct.” “Please, do as you wish.” “……Though I’m not good with young girls, so I’ll leave the rest to you.”

He stood up, stepped between Kōda and Matsuzawa, took the cup, and wordlessly held it out to Kōda with an unfriendly air. Hana kept her flawlessly beautiful face lowered, nervously plucking at the fuzz of her multi-cocoon silk kimono while hunching her shoulders as though she might vanish. Her form resembled a crabapple tree battered by rain.

Izumi twisted her body around and was gazing enraptured at Hana’s profile when—"Ah"—she suddenly stood up, smoothly came over to Hana’s side, and sat down as if pressing their knees together,

“I couldn’t help but stare.” She tilted her head and peered up at Hana’s face,

“How rude of me—I’m sorry. But... you're just too beautiful, you know. Oh my, what am I to do?” and pressed and kneaded her body. Shima Toku frowned. “Izumi, you—step back for a moment.” Izumi looked crestfallen, “Oh? Am I being left out? …How dreary—and here I was enjoying the view.” Matsuzawa waved his hand in a fanning motion while, “You’re quite the flirt, aren’t you, aren’t you?” and spouted some cringe-inducing nonsense. Izumi placed three fingers on the floor in formal posture,

“Your mistress shall now take her leave.”

And when she stood up, "If you scold her, I won't have it."

She left, her hem fluttering behind her. This too was beautiful. Her retreating figure looked as though she had emerged from the moon.

Kōda shook his knees, swollen like those of a rural sumo wrestler, “Hana, you don’t need to be so scared. “I’m not saying I’ll gobble you up or anything……You’ve already heard from Sakazuki, right? Just answer what we ask, and that’ll be enough.” Hana said in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum, “If it’s something I know, I’ll answer.” She bit her lip tightly, “But, this kind of…” “I won’t ask about things you don’t know. “Let’s get straight to it—you know who has the Emperor’s diamond now, don’t you? “You’re Tsuruko’s close friend, and both Yamaki and Fumie doted on you terribly—so you couldn’t be unaware of those circumstances. …Who exactly has the diamond?”

Hana kept her face lowered,

“What do you mean by ‘diamond’?” “Hey, playing dumb won’t work.…We’ve already got solid evidence that Yamaki slipped out of Suzumoto via the rooftops this morning, rushed to Ariake-so in Hutchinson’s roadster, snatched the diamond Tsuruko was keeping, then went back to Suzumoto acting all innocent.” “How about that—hit the mark, didn’t I? …… If this isn’t enough to convince you, shall I tell you more details?” “Around 3 AM this morning…”

and parroted back what he had just heard from Indō, “It’s beyond any doubt Yamaki did it. …Hey, Yamaki’s got the diamond, right?” Hana raised her face,

“If you already know, then there’s no need to ask, is there?”

Kōda glared, "What did you say, you harlot?" As he started to raise his knee, Matsuzawa restrained him, “There’s no use acting so rashly. Let me handle this one, please.” Turning back toward Hana, he spoke in a coquettish, cat-like purring voice, “Come on now, Hana—we won’t let you go without making you talk anyway, so just tell us smartly and get it over with. Protecting Fumie and Yamaki won’t earn you a single penny. ……Come now, be a good girl. I’ll give you a reward if you just tell us. ……Eh? Yamaki has it, right?”

"I don't know." "Ah now—don't go sayin' that." "That's quite impossible."

Matsuzawa sidled closer,

"Then I won't force you to answer, but you must know where Yamaki is staying. 'Where is Yamaki now?' 'I don't know.' 'Hmm—the way you're covering for them means you're in on the conspiracy too. ...This works out nicely. Fine then—I'll drag you to Police Headquarters right now and make you talk whether you want to or not.'"

he pretended to stand up as if deceiving a child. Hana declared in a resolute voice, "Very well, I shall accompany you." Matsuzawa turned toward Kōda and Indō, pressing his hand to his forehead,

“This is a tough one. “Let’s pass this on to the next.” Indō was slouching against the wall, watching the scene with a mocking gaze, but then wordlessly stood up, strode over to Hana, and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not that complicated,” Indō said. “Just tell me where Yamaki is—that’s all I need.” Hana looked up at him resentfully. “Even you…? I truly don’t know anything. Please have mercy.” He twisted her hand upward. “Spit it out—it’ll be easier.” She writhed against the tatami mats, hair scraping across the woven reeds. “Please forgive me.” Her knees fell open, pale shins flashing between vibrant kimono patterns as she winced with a pained “Ahh,” brows furrowing in distress—a vision of violent disarray. Humming tunelessly, Indō wrenched her arm higher.

“Still nothing?”

“I-I don’t know.” “Stubborn, aren’t you? Fine—I’ll make you talk this way.” He thrust against Hana’s back, knocked her face-down, and straddled her. “Hana—sorry ’bout this—gonna strip you naked now.”

Without hesitation, he began to untie her obi. “Wait—what are you doing?” “Hey—underestimate this, and you’re making a big mistake. Just stripping you naked won’t be enough— —Just wait and see what I’ll do to you, you bitch!” He untied the obi, grabbed the collar, and yanked it off. A smooth, plump white shoulder like glossy silk…. Pitifully, her chest was now showing through.

The sliding door opened, and Izumi entered. Rustling her hem, she approached Indō’s side and snorted derisively, "What a scoundrel you are, Iwato." Extending her slender hand, she lightly jabbed Indō’s chest.

Some may know of her—an accomplished student at the Futsu-Ei-Wa Girls' School who continued bringing Western books to a French nun even after leaving town. Her lover was a professor at a certain university and master of the Fujiyama school. While working as an interpreter, she had accompanied her teacher to France, where she thoroughly studied their dances there. The fingertips she had honed through dance struck with karate-like precision, sending Indō tumbling helplessly off Hana's back. As he kicked at the ceiling with his soles,

“Bastard!”

Izumi smiled seductively, “Spineless coward—don’t get cocky.”

Pulling Hana up and quickly fastening her obi, she tucked her under her sleeve and wing like a mother bird sheltering her chick, and led her to the sliding door,

“The rest, I’ll…”

Striking an alluring kabuki pose with theatrical flair, she smacked her chest resoundingly to demonstrate her earnest commitment.

24. On the National Anthem of Annam

And Also: On Manago’s Recitation

Around the same time—specifically, around seven-thirty in the evening—a man sporting a long black beard entered Hibiya Park. Upon following the yatsude path to reach the elevated ground, he began gazing at the fountain pool below while crossing his arms. Normally at this hour, one might catch glimpses of couples lingering close, but given it was New Year's Day from the very start, there seemed to be no one wandering such a place. Though still early in the evening, a profound stillness had settled over everything, leaving only the arc lamps along the pond's edge to blaze with a stark, futile brilliance. The crane fountain spread its solemn bronze wings, thrust its beak toward the zenith, and sprayed sparkling jets of ethereal white water into the night sky—luminous even in darkness.

The man in question had been gazing fixedly at the crane fountain with an unbearable expression, but soon spoke in a voice that seemed forced out, "Since that crane is said to have sung a song, there really are such utterly mysterious things in this world. This isn't some fairy tale world—a bronze crane has no business singing. Someone must've installed a phonograph or maybe a radio-like device; that's likely the trick here. But as for President Kōda or Sakazuki making such a blunder that'd leave their tails caught in a vice—well, I of all people, being part of their crew, know damn well they didn't. If that’s the case, then who the hell had any reason to pull off such an elaborate scheme?"

The black-bearded man was none other than our already familiar Yūhi Newspaper reporter Furuichi Kaju. That morning, at the scene of Matsutani Tsuruko’s murder, he had been mistaken for the Emperor and sent to the Imperial Hotel; after various twists and turns, as a desperate measure to prevent public speculation about the Emperor’s disappearance, he had been placed here as a substitute until the real Emperor could be found—but upon reflecting on subsequent developments, his initial assumption that the Emperor had fled into obscurity somewhere to avoid chaos had now given way to a growing suspicion that, on the contrary, the Emperor might have been abducted. Come to think of it, Murakumo Emiko—one of the residents of Ariake-so Apartments—had suspiciously forcibly taken my hand and dragged me to "Paris," where the Emperor was staying, and the Emperor himself showing particular interest in me was equally suspicious. Moreover, the fact that the crane fountain had sung might somehow be connected to this case. Though still a novice, Kaju—being even a lowly tabloid reporter—suddenly grew emboldened at the thought that probing this angle might uncover the truth behind the Emperor’s disappearance. Seizing the opportunity that Sō Shūchin, the intelligence chief who had come as a secret envoy from Annam, genuinely believed him to be the real Emperor, he skillfully deceived the man into affixing an imperial-style beard to his jaw. Dismissing the plainclothes guards with a contemptuous glance, he rushed out of the Imperial Hotel and headed straight for the “Paris” bar in Ginza’s backstreets—only to find, against all expectations, a sign reading “Closed Today” pasted on its door. It’s not like some government office—a bar of all things wouldn’t close on peak-season New Year’s Day. Still convinced there was some reason behind this, he circled around to check the back entrance just in case, but here too, a sturdy lock had been fastened from the outside, with no trace of anyone present. Since he had an appointment to meet Shūchen at seven o'clock at the main gate of Hibiya Park, he decided to postpone pursuing Emiko and hurried back. The reason I had tried to bring Shūchen out here was with the ulterior motive of explaining the situation and borrowing his wisdom—but for some reason, that Shūchen still hadn’t shown up, no matter how long I waited. Since there was no other way, he had resolved to try to get a rough idea on his own and wandered up to the pond, muttering utterly disjointed thoughts while gazing at the crane fountain—as has already been described.

Then, about ten minutes later, a sudden clattering of hurried footsteps came racing up the path. Startled—his wounded shin throbbing—Kaju instinctively braced himself and turned toward the noise, only for Sō Shūchen to emerge from the darkness beneath a pine tree. Gasping for breath, he came to Kaju's side and snapped to attention, "Your Highness, an unexpected situation has arisen this very moment. Most regrettably—and contrary to my deepest intentions—this has caused my tardiness."

Kaju's heart pounded,

“Hmm—what kind of incident has occurred? Speak quickly.” Shūchen started and showed a look of bewilderment. “The matter is far too grave—ultimately, I dare not disclose it before Your Highness’s august presence.” “Never mind that—out with it.” “However…” “Spit it out. If you don’t talk fast, things’ll get ugly.”

Shūchen suddenly raised his face resolutely, “Ah, regardless of circumstances, we have no recourse but to obey Your Highness’s command.” “…Then I shall comply with Your Highness’s decree and deliver my report. Yet I most earnestly implore you beforehand not to take offense.” “Enough.” “In truth—as Your Highness instructed—we kept the detectives occupied in the hotel lobby’s depths through casual chatter while Your Highness exited via the main entrance.” “…When it became evident Your Highness had departed safely, we resolved to end our conversation and return to our quarters. Yet as we did so, I caught two bellboys conversing furtively down the corridor.”

“Hmm, what were they saying?” “‘What’s with that bearded fellow now? That’s not the Emperor,’ said one. Then the other replied, ‘I think so too—the Emperor has a much more refined face and is taller than that.’” “In any case, a... a person like that…” “A person like that... What?” Shūchen clasped his hands, “I beg your forgiveness.” “Never mind that.” Shūchen continued in a voice trembling on the edge of tears, “That is no mere disguise... Truly, it was an utterly intolerable matter, so I summoned those two and sternly rebuked them—yet both men show no sign of retracting their claims.” “So we confronted them—such a foolish notion was impossible.” “I declared with full authority that since I, the Emperor’s own intelligence chief, had affirmed it, there could be no mistake—what nonsense were they spouting? But then they retorted that if Your Majesty now present were genuine, then yesterday’s occupant must have been an imposter.” “They insist their eyes could never err, even adopting a sullen defiance... Given these circumstances, we could hardly let matters rest. After exhaustive inquiries—ah—we have uncovered a most grievous truth indeed.”

Kaju edged back defensively, “Hmm, go on.”

“In short, it has been ascertained that during Your Highness’s residence at Ariake-so Apartments, someone violated Your Highness’s private quarters and fraudulently assumed your august title.” “What brazenness! What temerity!” “...Moreover, for what purpose anyone would perpetrate such an outrageous deed—we struggle profoundly to fathom their true motives.” “We immediately notified Police Headquarters of these facts, but they dismissed it with a casual remark that ‘such things might happen,’ leaving us momentarily struck dumb.”

Shūchen looked up at the tall buildings around him, enveloped in the halos of neon lamps, and let out a long sigh as if in lamentation. “Ah! What a demon-ridden capital this is! To us, it feels as though within the very air of this Great Tokyo—this vast metropolis—countless demons and ghouls run rampant like argon suspended in the atmosphere. Has Your Highness perhaps already heard tell of this? Could such a state of affairs truly exist? In reality...”

and pointed at the crane fountain below, “This morning, that bronze crane let out a voice and sang resoundingly. When we heard it with our own ears—our shock! Ah, how can I possibly convey that feeling of rapture and awe?!” Kaju grew agitated, “You heard it? Tell me everything that happened.” “We arrived at Tokyo Station at eight this morning. We meant to go straight to the hotel—using the map as our guide, we set out from the station toward Hibiya Park. Soon after reaching this main gate, we saw crowds streaming inside. We followed them to the pond’s edge and asked what was happening. They said the fountain’s crane would soon deliver New Year’s greetings to the people. We stood there with bitter smiles... Then at the appointed hour—utterly unexpectedly—that bronze crane recited [the anthem] in a voice of crystalline purity, ringing clear through the air. Ah! What sorcery! What madness!”

Having said this, he cut off his words and stared intently at Kaju’s face, "What kind of song do you suppose it sang? ...It was none other than—truly beyond all expectation—precisely the national anthem of Annam!"

The bleak, spacious Investigation Section Chief’s office. Under the glaringly bright electric light, as usual, Manago sat solitary and motionless. The loudspeaker atop the office desk clamored with updates on city-wide investigations, yet he remained utterly indifferent—sitting perfectly upright with an expression of extreme calm, as if harboring some secret resolve.

When the wall clock struck eight, an unarmed policeman entered and reported that a seamstress named Hana living below the cliff of Ariake-so Apartments was waiting at reception, saying she urgently needed to relay something. When Manago nodded, about two minutes later, Hana entered with frenzied eyes and abruptly sat in the chair before him. “You’re in terrible trouble! You can’t just keep sitting idly in a place like this. There’s someone who stole the Emperor’s diamond.”

Manago made a sullen face, "Oh? That sounds promising." "Well then, who exactly was it?"

Hana frantically pressed closer, grasping Manago’s arm as she recounted every detail of the incident at Nakasu and what Kōda had told him. When Manago had finished listening, "So you're saying there was wall plaster lodged between Yamaki's fingernails?" “Yes, that’s correct. “And the glass of his wristwatch was broken, they say… Didn’t any glass fragments fall somewhere around there?” “……See? I told you so.” “His head looked like a chestnut burr, but they said it might’ve been something he was wearing that made it seem that way… And the glittering thing on his arm was indeed a wristwatch, just like I told you.”

Manago rested his cheek on his hand atop the office desk and kept his eyes closed in silence for some time, but suddenly stood up, pulled out a thin Western-language book from the shelf, and began quietly turning its pages on his lap. “Miss Hana, have you ever read Turgenev’s prose poems?”

Hana's eyes widened in surprise, "No, I haven't. Why?" "I see... There are some rather excellent ones." "I'll read you one."

With that, he placed the book on his palm and began reading aloud in a melancholic tone that gently enveloped the listener's heart. "Sparrow.—Suddenly, the dog slowed its pace and began moving with the stealthy tread of one who has caught the scent of prey ahead." Looking up, there across the path was a fledgling sparrow with yellow around its beak. Its head was covered in downy feathers. The fledgling sparrow had been shaken from the nest and lay motionless. The dog quietly approached. Then, suddenly, from a nearby tree, a parent sparrow with black breast feathers..."

The clock struck nine. Only seven hours remained until 4 AM tomorrow. Amidst this great commotion, what could Manago possibly be intending by reading the likes of Turgenev?

Part 8

25. The Scenery of Ochanomizu and: The Matter of the Dried Monkey

And: The Matter of Dried Monkey

Greater Tokyo spread its rows of tiled roofs beneath the hazy moonlit sky, their edges melting into pale mist. To the right lay the dark stillness of Hibiya forest, while in Surugadai's direction glowed a whitish plaster building that could only be Nikolai's Cathedral. The horizon beyond Hibiya stretched wrapped in a dreamlike halo, where green, blue, red and yellow neon lamps of every description—flickering, whirling, bursting forth—seemed ready to scorch the clouds themselves, creating suspended illusions of five-colored explosions.

The National Railway trains thundered along the roofs of the elevated tracks, while trucks and taxis darted like arrows through the chaotic jumble of Toido's valley depths. ...all sounds jumbled and blended chaotically together, resounding through the heavens to play the metropolis' nocturne.

Within this vast metropolis spanning eight ri, countless millions of lives swarmed and seethed, now raising their first cries, now gasping their last breaths. Some completed sinister murders; others tried to end their lives in this world by scattering their brain matter. The metropolis itself unfolded a tableau of suffering akin to an Asura hellscape panorama, replete with the screams of Avici. Beneath each of these tiled roofs—what tragedies unfolded, what sins lay concealed—it proved nearly impossible to fathom. Of the various crimes ceaselessly occurring day and night in this metropolis, those that reached society's notice amounted to no more than a hundredth or thousandth part; countless other schemes and tragedies began and ended without our knowledge.

Previously, Sō Shūchin—intelligence chief attached to the Emperor of the Annam Empire—had stood by the pond in Hibiya Park and, while gazing up at the surrounding tall buildings wrapped in five-colored halos, lamented how he could not help but feel that within this diabolical metropolis’s atmosphere, countless demons and malevolent spirits ran rampant like argon in the air—a perception that had indeed been most reasonable.

This morning, the bronze crane had cried out in Hibiya Park, and now near Nikolai Cathedral, another new incident was about to unfold.

Having indulged in following Sō Shūchin's lead and unwittingly digressed into trivial musings, I shall cease these useless authorial sentiments that bear no relation to the case's progression. Now then: Emperor Munakata Ryūtarō of Annam had secretly brought to Japan the imperial heirloom diamond called "Emperor," intending to sell it. Given that such a treasure had been brought to this diabolical metropolis, one might well have assumed matters would not end peacefully. And indeed, at around 4:20 AM this morning, he was lured out through the service entrance of his mistress Matsutani Tsuruko's residence at the Ariake-so Apartments in Akasaka Sannōdai by unknown parties, thereafter vanishing without a trace. It was evident from the scene's condition that he had been administered an anesthetic and carried out, but the reason for abducting the Emperor without killing him was to force him to disclose the diamond's whereabouts; thus, according to Inspector Manago’s assessment, the Emperor must still be alive somewhere.

The Matsutani Tsuruko murder case involving the Emperor of Annam at the Ariake-so Apartments had twisted and turned through such developments, ultimately taking an unexpected leap forward. The authorities had papered this over as a suicide case and were breathing sighs of relief at having settled everything—little did they know this was merely like the prologue before a kabuki's pale blue curtain, nothing more than the overture to this incident. The Emperor, who had been thought to be the perpetrator, was instead revealed as the victim; not only was his diamond being stolen, but his irreplaceable life itself now hung on the brink of being taken.

An assassin from the Emperor's opposition faction—having received secret orders from Ri Kōmei's group—had arrived in Yokohama aboard the President Hoover on December 27, and an anonymous informant reported to Police Headquarters that there was a plan to assassinate him before the ambassador's audience at 4 AM tomorrow. The ambassador had departed Kyoto at 4:10 PM today aboard an irregular express train and was now en route back to the capital. By 4 AM tomorrow morning, they had to return the Emperor to the hotel no matter what; otherwise, a grave crisis would erupt. If within Japan—oh, right in Tokyo's very center—the Emperor were to be assassinated...the consequences would defy imagination.

Police Headquarters entered wartime footing. Every nerve of the prosecution began to exhibit a ferocious state of agitation, as though injected with caffeine. The search area spanned five neighboring prefectures, with twelve branch offices ceaselessly reporting the latest developments to the nerve center around the clock. The loudspeaker in the Criminal Affairs Division Chief’s office—now serving as investigation headquarters—continued screaming madly, yet despite this, not a single trace could be found of the Emperor’s whereabouts; nor of Yasugame’s faction, rumored to have abducted him from Hibiya Park; nor of Tome, the live-in maid at Matsutani Tsuruko’s household—the sole credible witness on whom the investigation headquarters pinned its greatest hopes; nor even of the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments suspected of some connection to Tsuruko’s murder—all having vanished as if they had simultaneously burrowed into the earth’s depths.

The hour drew ever closer, until finally it struck nine. The investigation headquarters' heightened state was now about to reach its zenith.

Now, among the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments whom Police Headquarters were pursuing with desperate urgency—Count Iwai Michiyasu; his mistress Murakumo Emiko, a former film actress now serving as madam of the bar "Paris"; and Kawamata Fumie, a then up-and-coming dancer who had recently arrived from America—these three were currently in such a place.

The gentle upward slope leading from Surugadai Post Office toward Nikolai’s Cathedral. Midway along the road from Kōbaichō to the government railway’s Ochanomizu Station stood a deeply set mansion encircled by high Tsukiji-style walls, its nameplate reading "Matsunaga." In the spacious front garden rose a startlingly large ancient pine tree that served as the house’s landmark.

To all appearances, this might seem the residence of a respectable merchant, but in truth it was among the twenty-six gambling houses within old Tokyo City—the most prosperous den of its kind, known in their parlance as "Ochamatsu." Nyūbune Ami no Suke—a relative of Kiyoyoshi from the Tsurumi-gumi’s Nogeyama faction and one of the leading figures of the Kantō Civil Engineering Club—managed this gambling den. Until recently—though not so long ago—up until around last August, Yasui Kamejirō (known as Ankame), who held territory in Bushū-Koganei, had managed this gambling den. However, having apparently committed some blunder, he was made to return his ceremonial cup by the Nogeyama oyabun, and it came under the management of the Tsurumi-gumi.

When Yasugame was managing the gambling den, this establishment had not been performing particularly well. Rumors spread that they were using gutter dice and marked cards, and [the gambling den] abruptly became deserted. This cheating die—also called "Dobu," "Roppō," or "Usu"—is made by filling the die with gold dust, so that when placed in the dice cup, it settles without rolling. When flipped, the opposite face that was showing when placed in the dice cup appears. As for what is called “Ryōtsū,” in its slightly more sophisticated versions, they employ a mechanism where the gold dust’s weight distribution affects both sides. When someone passes the die’s weight downward and flips it, the odd-numbered half—5-3-1—appears; when shaken upward and flipped, the even-numbered full—2-4-6—comes up.

I have inadvertently narrated some rather unsavory details, but these are secondhand accounts and by no means based on the author’s own experiments. I must ask for your understanding on these matters; it could be inferred that Yasugame was made to return his ceremonial cup due to these circumstances. The reason three residents of Ariake-so Apartments—Iwai Yasutomo and Kawamata Fumie—were at this gambling den stemmed from the recent arrival in Japan of Lou Gehrig, known as the world’s hitting king. A welcome gambling event had been organized for the occasion, with these two enlisting themselves as its organizers.

Having been released from Akashi Police Station, Iwai apparently met with five others at the back-alley Ginza bar "Paris" before coming straight here. Still wearing last night's tuxedo from the Ariake-so residents' year-end party at "Paris," he sat cross-legged beside the large hearth with its adjustable hook, though even he showed signs of fatigue, hands on knees as he slumped exhaustedly. The area around his forehead was slightly pallid, rendering his appearance—more poetic than aristocratic—all the more melancholic. His eyes and nose were almost too perfectly defined, but years of dissolute living had cast upon them an indescribable shadow of stagnation and fatigue, which in its own way exuded a decadent beauty. Lips as red as if wet, resembling some venomous flower—appearing even eerie to behold. A discerning physician would have detected clear prodromal symptoms of syphilis upon those beautiful lips. His jet-black long hair was neatly combed back in an elegant all-back style with visible comb marks, and he sat slightly bowing his head as he smoked a fragrant Western cigarette.

In a thirty-tatami mat room—as previously described—two massive hearths, rustic as mountain dwellings, had been built, while a large red copper kettle bubbled and seethed on an adjustable hook. Enough teacups for about a hundred people had been laid out there, along with about five bent chimneys lined up, while a kettle for heating sake atop them made the sound of wind through pines. Beyond the ten-mat wooden floor area stood a three-tiered serving shelf where about fifty eel rice bowls—each wrapped in small quilts—were lined up in a row, while side dish bowls had also been prepared in tight clusters across the shelf's upper and lower levels.

The gambling den now appeared to be in full swing, with a tremendous uproar of voices erupting between each flip of the dice cups.

Amidst this, there were occasional shouts of “Han” or “Chō.”

The one roaring was likely Lou Gehrig. Looking over, Lou Gehrig had thrown his calf-like massive frame carelessly sprawled beside the round gambling mat and was directing with his chin a man named Nantaro—a former foreign correspondent for a top-tier newspaper with a simian face—who served as the caller. Nyūbune Ami no Suke—the man handling the banker role, who had attended up to his first year at a certain high school in Tōhoku and drifted to San Francisco for a time—sat cross-legged atop two large stacked zabuton cushions, his red face glistening,

"C'mon, place your bets! This time you'll get lucky numbers!" he rattled off between flips of the dice cup, never pausing his patter—"No worries, no worries!" and "Here she rolls! Big win!"—maintaining a constant stream of encouraging banter. Lou Gehrig wasn't gambling alone. About fifteen Westerners surrounded the round mat...half of them young society women perched in awkward cross-legged positions, their shrill voices cutting through the smoke. This was diplomatic Tokyo's crème de la crème—among them lounged Azabu's celebrated dandy of an embassy councillor, his patent leather shoes gleaming beneath the mat's edge.

Next to the councillor sat Kawamata Fumie in her usual careless posture, cross-legged with shapely knees peeking from beneath her evening dress as she fidgeted restlessly. She seemed oblivious to her scandalous appearance, alternately furrowing her brows and biting her lips—presenting an altogether deeply troubled demeanor. On the fourth occasion, she had held a suspicious secret meeting with Yamaki Motokichi at Banseiken in Toranomon, and appeared to have come here directly afterward, still wearing the same wrinkled evening dress from that encounter.

She had been mechanically placing and collecting bets with an absent air, but suddenly gathered the bills before her knees into her handbag, mercilessly kicked away the Councillor’s foot that had been skillfully tucked beneath her knee, then rose with a languid motion and made her way to the hearthside in the next room where Iwai sat. She roughly threw down her handbag and slumped exhaustedly next to Iwai. Leaning petulantly against Iwai’s knee,

"Let's just go home and sleep," she said, grinding her elbow into Iwai's knee. Iwai lifted his face dazedly and gave an ambiguous reply. Growing impatient, Fumie pressed, "Hey, I said let's go home already. I'm so sleepy I could melt." Yet she didn't look the least bit sleepy. On the contrary, from the depths of her bloodshot eyes, something like flames flickered and burned. As readers are already aware, Iwai kept Murakumo Emiko as his mistress while running the bar "Paris," all while maintaining Fumie as his lover. For someone as sharp as Emiko, this seemed uncharacteristically careless, but she still didn't appear to have noticed their relationship.

Now, regarding this Fumie: while concealing her activities from Iwai's eyes, she had entered into a rather complex relationship with Yamaki Motokichi—another of the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments and son of the famous Coral King—a fact that was made clear in the previous "Nakasu" chapter through the account of Indō Chūsuke, adopted son of the moneylender Inui Jinpei. The situation was as convoluted as a never-ending game of cat and mouse—even the author found himself somewhat dumbfounded—and given how things stood, there was no telling what Murakumo Emiko might have been up to either. According to rumors, there were those who claimed to have seen John Hutchinson—a Havas correspondent and one of the residents—seductively holding hands with his partner Baroncelli, the leader of the notorious Carnus Show troupe and a Japanese-French mixed-race man, as they emerged from a rendezvous spot in Tsukiji. However, whether this was rumor or fact remained unclear at present.

Iwai nonchalantly pushed aside Fumie’s elbow,

“Where exactly do you mean we should go when you say ‘let’s go home’?” “If we’re talking about going home, then it’s to Ariake-so.” “Don’t joke around. If we try slinking back now, we’ll catch some serious blowback. If we get caught this time, it won’t be some minor morals charge—we won’t see daylight again until this case is settled.”

Fumie widened her eyes, "Oh, is that so? ...But it must've been Hanako who did it. With her being such an idiot, she must've been arrested ages ago." She said this airily, wearing an expression full of hidden meaning. True to form, Iwai seized on this detail. His dewy eyes searched Fumie's face as he demanded, "Hanako... How would you know that? Do you have proof that Hana did it?"

Fumie pursed her lips oddly, “You could say it exists or doesn’t... but I know a truth surer than any evidence.” “Oh?” He kept up his nonchalant air, yet this man too held himself warily. Through slitted eyes that seemed both looking and not looking, he stole furtive glances at Fumie’s face. His features took on a sinister cast. “When I heard Tsuruko got done in this morning, I knew right off it was Hanako’s work... The why of it’s a right chilling tale, though...”

Fumie glared up from under her brows, “Around early December last year when I went to pester them about my visiting kimono’s tailoring, Hanako was nowhere to be found.” “I figured she’d come back eventually, so I went up to that idiot’s room to wait—but she never showed up.” “...Just as I got fed up and was about to leave, I spotted something like paper sticking out from the tatami seam by my feet.” “...Not just any paper.” “Back in America, my father used this old Mikawa hanshi paper for his diary—the very same kind I recognized here. Feeling oddly nostalgic about seeing such paper nowadays, I reached out to touch it... only for it to slip deeper under the mat.” “Even antique paper doesn’t look like it’s been there a year or two.” “I could tell it’d been tucked there recently...” “But paper doesn’t slide under tatami by itself—someone had to lift the mat to put it there.” “Can you imagine frail little Hanako lifting tatami mats herself? That scrap must’ve meant everything to her... Running my finger along the edge showed straw backing poking out everywhere—bits scattered across the black border too—no doubt she’d lifted it last night or this morning before leaving.” “...Looked like she’d pried it up with fire tongs—the triangular corner was all worn down there.” “...Not just once either—you could tell she’d been flipping those mats constantly.” “...What on earth was this paper? Using tongs to pry up the mat and pull it out... Even I got chills like ice water down my spine—so awful I screamed before I could stop myself.”

With frightened eyes, “...What do you think was written there?” “What are you saying was written there?” Fumie’s very voice trembled as she— “That’s...the Five Monks curse diagram. You know about it, right? The kind courtesans in Yoshiwara use when they want to curse someone to death. They draw a doll of the person they want to kill in the center, with an ox-headed demon on the right and a horse-headed demon on the left—each pulled by two vengeful spirits.” “Sitting in the northeast corner of the room during Ushi no Toki, she burns one spot each day with incense—eyes, mouth, nose, limbs, stomach, heart—in that order.” “...It takes twenty-one days to complete the ritual.”

Iwai too wore a thoroughly chilled expression, “What an unpleasant story. So...” Fumie nodded, “Ah, that’s right… On the doll’s chest was written, ‘Matsutani Tsuruko, twenty-three, woman of the Year of the Rabbit.’” Iwai drew in a sharp breath, “With such a pretty face that wouldn’t hurt a fly… It’s terrifying… Yet hearing this, there’s something pitiful about it too.” “She must have been truly obsessed with the Emperor… Still, resorting to such old-fashioned methods.” “Where the hell did she learn something like that?” “Surely you didn’t teach her that yourself?”

“Idiot… Hanako’s mother was a madam in Yoshiwara. She was raised in the pleasure district until twelve or thirteen—must’ve learned it from one of the courtesans.” “Well… that’s just like her. Even normally, she’s got blue veins throbbing at her temples and this crazed look in her eyes.” “…I’ve never seen such frighteningly beautiful eyes in all my born days.” “When she stares straight at you, it makes every hair on your body stand up.” “…The old couple downstairs say she often has fits and causes scenes—maybe madness runs in her blood. When she’s cornered, there’s something fearsome about her—you never know what she’ll do.”

Iwai furrowed his brows imperceptibly, "I see, I understand that part—but are you claiming Hanako killed Tsuruko?" Fumie stretched out her legs, “Well, that day she put the ‘Five Monks’ diagram under the tatami mat and rushed out with an innocent face, but it lingered in my mind—so horrifying I couldn’t stand it.” “Then about fifteen mornings later, when Hanako left, I made up some excuse to the amateur couple downstairs and went up to check. Lifting the tatami mat revealed the curse’s moxibustion scars had reached the navel—just one final burn to the heart would complete the ritual.” “More than fear, it was her obsessive persistence that made me tremble—that day too I crawled home.” “...When I realized that night was finally the ritual’s culmination, even I grew restless.” “They say the Five Monks curse never fails. Thinking Tsuruko would die that very night became unbearable.” “As terrifying as it was, part of me wanted to witness how she’d perish.” “...When I finally couldn’t endure it any longer and entered Tsuruko’s room around eleven, there she lay as usual—wearing nothing but a nagajuban undergarment, carelessly sprawled on the chaise lounge smoking.” “No sign of anything amiss.” “...She suggested playing hanafuda cards. Through six hundred rounds we played until 2 AM.” “...An oppressive dread lingered nonetheless.” “The lamp’s thick wisteria shade left every corner steeped in murky darkness.” “Perhaps my imagination ran wild—in that gloom swarmed countless specters: the dead, hungry ghosts, spirits writhing endlessly. Their clawed fingers pointed at me while they cackled, stuck out tongues, whispered... Cold sweat drenched me head to toe; every hair stood erect—I felt near fainting... Yet Tsuruko remained utterly unbothered, gulping absinthe while chattering animatedly.” “...The clock struck half past two... then three... finally half past three—still Tsuruko didn’t flinch.” “Far from dying cursed, she grew fierce as a tiger—even acted out dramatic tales with gestures... I stayed over that night. Nothing happened.” “Some interference must’ve broken the curse—but if that failed her...”

Iwai sharpened his gaze and snapped his face toward Fumie. In an urgent voice,

"I see... She could very well kill." he declared heavily. "...That girl is acquainted with Granny Uma, knows that flipping the switch in Uma’s room disables the entrance bell, and since she often runs errands for Uma, she must have a spare key to the entrance. So if she wanted to go to Ariake-so, she could enter freely anytime—morning or midnight." "...The elderly couple downstairs haven’t returned home since year-end, there’s only that modest house at the base of the cliff, and the surroundings are the deserted Sannō Forest." “She wouldn’t have to worry about being noticed by anyone.”

He cut off his words,

"Moreover, pushing someone out a window is such a feminine method, isn't it? A killing driven more by hatred than murderous intent." "The approach is underhanded." "If this were a man determined to kill, he wouldn't choose such an unreliable method. Even with a thirty-foot drop from window to cliff base, he wouldn't rely on crude thinking that a mere push guarantees death." "What if she survived with just a broken leg—what then?" "...He'd never attempt such idiocy." "Not only that—knowing Hanako's second-floor window lay directly below, he wouldn't risk throwing her from a spot where he might be seen at any moment." "The psychological barrier of that window overlooking Hanako's room alone should've made it unusable... Yet Tsuruko was thrown from precisely that window."

Iwai laughed with a kind of cruel amusement, "Just from this alone, I feel we can say it was Hanako who threw Tsuruko out. "The reason is that, in Hanako’s case, the presence of a house beneath the cliff does not serve as a psychological deterrent. "The fact that there’s no risk of being seen even if thrown out from this window is something Hanako herself knows better than anyone. "Not only is using this window most appropriate for Hanako, it’s highly exculpatory... When questioned, rather than claiming complete ignorance, she could say she saw someone like that throw her out—thereby sketching an image of the culprit and diverting police attention in that direction. "In any case, there’s no need to say anything substantial. "She just needs to say something vague and inconsequential that she can get away with. "That overly sharp girl would be capable of pulling off something like that.”

Fumie nodded, "That’s true… No matter how you think about it, Hana’s the most likely one." "She knew we’d be at Paris for our year-end party until morning, knew Tsuruko would be alone at Ariake-so, knew we’d delivered New Year’s sake barrels to Granny Uma… Either way, if Tsuruko was going to be killed, it had to happen between New Year’s Eve night and dawn—there was no other chance." "By the second night, arrangements had been made for Tsuruko and the King to go to Atami together—might’ve even seen him off to Shanghai from there. But aside from us, only Hanako knew those details. Just her choosing that specific day makes the suspicion against Hana stronger than ever."

With that, she shifted into a brazen posture that threatened to expose her innermost thighs, resting her chin on her kneecap. "That’s not all—there’s more." "...When I left you at the Paris Bar this morning and was walking through Toranomon, Hanako came toward me with a deathly pale face. When I called out abruptly, she jumped like she’d been electrocuted." "I casually asked if she’d heard about this morning’s commotion at Ariake-so Apartments. That normally sharp girl turned mute as a stone—couldn’t string two words together... When I grabbed her hand, she was trembling so violently with cold sweat that it soaked my own palm." When I thought, 'This little witch,' pity curdled into loathing. I said, 'Hana, I hear Miss Tsuruko’s dead. Congratulations.' She gaped at me like an idiot struck by lightning—eyes rolling white, on the verge of convulsions... That’s when I knew everything... When I changed tack—'Hana, Happy New Year'—she revived enough to say, 'Oh, how rude of me! Happy New Year. Please keep favoring us this year,' with a laugh. But that smile... Lonely, resentful—like a dying woman’s last grimace. Indescribably fragile." "I stared hard, couldn’t help marveling... So this is how killers laugh." "That smile still haunts me." "When killing, she must’ve been possessed—but after doing it, fear drove her from her room. That’s why she wandered there." "Young girls are terrifying. Once obsessed, who knows what they’ll do."

Iwai laughed, “Talent—pure talent. You’ll often find such cases among sheltered daughters from old downtown establishments or girls raised in the inner chambers of pleasure quarters. Long ago, a friend of mine had one of those types become obsessed with him. When he tried to shake her off for being too clingy, she insisted on spending ‘just one last night’ lying beside him. At dawn, she sliced open his carotid artery with a straight razor. A proper little demon... Though I wonder—has she been caught yet?”

Fumie curled her thin lips,

“If she isn’t caught, I’ll rat her out myself.”

Iwai involuntarily widened his eyes in surprise, "Oh? Do you have some grudge against her?"

Fumie whistled nonchalantly, “There’s no grudge. She’s just too damn brazen.”

Just as she was saying this, Murakumo Emiko entered, guided by an attendant. The hem of her silver-threaded omeshi double-layered kimono tangled carelessly around her ankles, fist clenched inside her sleeve in a Yazō-like pose. Thoroughly drunk yet retaining sharpness in her faintly bloodshot eyes, she swayed before the heavy storehouse-style sliding door while glaring at the pair. Suddenly biting her taut lips, she slid toward them with hands still tucked in sleeves—planting herself rigidly upright—and spoke in a voice of deadly allure:

“Well, thanks for the feast!” “That’s not how it works! I don’t know whether this is some American style or what, but show a little discernment, would you?” “Don’t get cocky just ’cause you’ve kept quiet—cut the crap, woman!” She stamped her foot in frustration.

Fumie, on the other hand, was completely unfazed, smirking all the while.

"What, are you drunk?" "Spare me your cheap booze breath." "Stay back, stay back! Your stench is rubbing off on me!" Emiko's eyes instantly narrowed sharply, "Damn you, talking shit!" As she lunged to grab her, Fumie—true to her skills as a dance teacher—lithely ducked beneath the grasping hands and retreated to the far side of the hearth with steps so light they might have been choreographed, then stuck out her red tongue in mockery.

“Emi-chan, quit it! I’ve had my fill abroad of this cheap kimono-liner act.” “Don’t work yourself up—this is utterly absurd.”

As she tried to give chase with her hem in disarray, Iwai roughly yanked her back, “Stop it—this is nonsense. Where the hell did you get yourself plastered? Ugh, what an ugly sight.” Emiko slumped down, “How kind of you to call my face disgusting. Do you want to know where I’ve been drinking? I’ve been drinking with a nice man named Baroncelli at Kuretake until now. How about it? Want me to tell you some more vulgar stories?”

She crawled toward Iwai with a ferocious expression. Even Iwai struggled to handle her,

“This one’s got me beat—if I don’t keep her fed, she’ll start raising hell in no time.” “Get over here.” Grabbing her hand and pulling her close, Emiko lunged at his lapel with warrior-like ferocity, knocked Iwai flat on his back, straddled his chest, and began recklessly clawing at every part of his face—cheeks, jaw, all of it—while demanding, “Well? Are you going to apologize?”

Iwai shielded his face with his hands while, "I apologized! I admitted it!" “Say ‘I’m sorry’!” "Alright, I'm sorry!"

Emiko stomped Iwai's face with her tabi-clad foot,

“If you’ve apologized, then I’ll forgive you. If you pull another stupid stunt like that, I won’t let it slide!”

With that, her expression abruptly cleared, "I'll go check the gambling den. It's really hopping, isn't it?" Dragging her long hem behind her, she headed in that direction. A chorus of raucous shouts erupted. The gambling den seemed to grow even livelier. Iwai exchanged sly smirks with Fumie, but upon catching some sound, he suddenly narrowed his eyes and raised one knee. The large buzzer on the gambling den's lintel began rumbling ominously. The den's electric lights flickered erratically on and off.

Taking the hand of Fumie, who had nimbly leaped over the hearth's corner and come flying toward him, Iwai darted to the wall opposite the serving shelf. Before he could fully open the earthen blind door disguised as part of the wall, he rushed down the stairs—thud, thud, thud—stomping his way toward the darkly gaping basement.

At the bottom of the stairs was a secret passageway just high enough for a person to stand and walk, with dim three-candlepower electric lights spaced far apart. This secret passageway bent at a right angle about forty yards ahead and exited to the side of the Ochanomizu embankment. When the two ran to that corner, they found an old woman of about fifty, her hair in a small round chignon, slumped against the wall as if asleep. The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department was now mobilizing all its functions in a frantic investigation—yet here lay Tome, that talkative housekeeper of the late Matsutani Tsuruko’s household, sprawled out in the most negligent of ways.

No, she wasn't sleeping. She had been murdered. Her neck had been strangled with an old rope, and like a dried monkey specimen hanging from a charred goods shop's ceiling, she bared her teeth and glared resentfully up at the ceiling.

XXVI. Manago's Lyrical Interlude

And Also: The Matter of the Two Superintendents

The Investigation Section Chief’s office felt slightly too spacious, its electric lights blazing with wasteful brightness as the surrounding white walls flickered their reflections back—a landscape of false chill. While the Metropolitan Police Department remained in continuing turmoil, here alone prevailed a profound stillness—a sort of serene desolation that had fallen completely silent. Manago’s melancholic voice, seeming to gently stroke the listener’s heart, continued flowing faintly. It carried a strange cadence that appeared to lure people into slumber.

I couldn't help but think this was a truly bizarre approach. Here was Manago—who by all rights should be acting as Investigation Section Chief—showing not the slightest concern for the immense uproar while nonchalantly reciting Turgenev's prose-poems. That Manago had finally gone mad from overzealous devotion to duty—this notion likely wasn't unique to me alone. In any case, this could only be described as conduct that had strayed beyond all reasonable bounds. In the chair facing Manago sat the beautiful seamstress called Hana from beneath Ariake-so Apartments' cliffside, listening with solemn attention. She didn't look particularly engaged. No—"troubled" would be more accurate—plucking at the frayed hem of her tama-mayu silk kimono while fidgeting incessantly.

Previously, after Manago had delivered an excruciatingly convoluted explanation in the Superintendent’s office and returned to this Section Chief’s room to sit solemnly alone at his desk as if awaiting something, Hanako—who had been cornered by Shimatoku, Matsuzawa, Kōda, Indō and others at Nakanasu in Kimpura-cho demanding she reveal Yamaki Motokichi’s whereabouts, nearly stripped naked for torture before being rescued by a geisha named Izumi—came rushing straight to Manago.

Around 3 AM on the morning of Matsutani Tsuruko’s murder, Yamaki Motokichi had slipped out via the rooftops from Suzumoto, driven off somewhere in the roadster that Hutchinson had arrived in, and returned around 5 AM—a sequence Indō Chūsuke observed through the bathroom’s gourd-shaped window. Indō’s right index, middle, and ring fingernails were worn down, their crevices packed with a white substance resembling wall plaster, and his wristwatch glass had been shattered. After Hanako detailed these facts about what Indō recounted at Nakanasu, Manago propped his cheek on his desk and closed his eyes in prolonged silence. Then he abruptly retrieved *Turgenev’s Prose Poems* from the bookshelf and began reading the section titled *The Sparrow*—marking where the previous installment had ended.

As I just mentioned, after Hanako finished her account, Manago abruptly began his recitation. But during the brief interval when he had gone to search for a book in the shelves and returned, he had done something rather peculiar. With his head thrust into the bookshelf as he searched for a book, he was muttering something to himself. The context couldn’t be clearly heard, but only the word "Aufklärung" was faintly discernible. Aufklärung is a German word meaning "investigation". An intercom mouthpiece lay open beside the bookshelf, which must have been connected to the switchboard. Thus, Manago might have issued some command with a nonchalant expression.

One might assume that Manago had ordered a search of Hana’s house, but of course this was nothing more than the author’s conjecture—the truth of the matter remained unclear.

After this ambiguous, inscrutable incident, Manago returned with a thin Western-language book and began his recitation. Dear readers, you must be familiar with "The Sparrow"—the story where, when a hunting dog stealthily approaches a fledgling sparrow that has fallen from its nest due to the wind, the parent sparrow swoops down and tries to shield the little one with its own body. I simply couldn't understand what Manago was doing. What could this man’s cold intellect—as if born into this world solely for prosecution—possibly be contemplating now?……Even the stark contrast of a girl sitting before him, beautiful and brimming with health like a flower in full bloom, opposite this gaunt, shadow-pale man who resembled a revenant, felt too jarring. And against the austere solemnity of this room, prose poetry seemed utterly incongruous.

In the very midst of this uproar, why Manago had taken to reading Turgenev and such was beyond the mediocre author’s powers of deduction—but glancing over, he saw that Manago was once again engaged in some bizarre behavior. At the edge of the desk piled high with documents was something like a small angled mirror, and while appearing to look at a book, Manago’s gaze remained sharply focused on its surface. In the mirror, Hanako’s beautiful profile was clearly reflected. Manago appeared to have been closely observing Hanako’s expression in the mirror without taking his eyes off it since earlier.

Manago proceeded with extreme slowness. This man, who resembled a specter wandered out from a graveyard, possessed a voice so pure, clear, and unclouded—so rhythmically resonant beyond what one would imagine possible from such a figure—that the beauty of its intonation could rival even the greatest of actors. It held a mysterious power to lure people’s hearts into a dreamlike trance. “……The dog quietly approached.” “Suddenly, from a nearby tree, a parent sparrow with black breast feathers came flying down like a stone right before the dog’s nose. Fluttering its feathers in disarray and straining out a pitiful cry, it lunged at the dog—which bared its white teeth—twice.” “……The parent tried to shield the fledgling sparrow’s life with its own body.” “But its singing voice grew increasingly frantic and hoarse, until at last it fell to the ground……Before this brave little bird, before this outburst of love, I unconsciously straightened my collar solemnly.” “Love is stronger than death.” “Only through that is life sustained and propelled forward.”

The story of the noble parent sparrow seemed well understood by Hana; at first she had fidgeted restlessly as if perplexed, but gradually raised her face and began listening intently. In the reflection of Hana's face within the mirror, a simple astonishment and admiration drifted thickly, and even her eyes shone as if moved.

Considering the surrounding circumstances, it became clear for the first time that Manago had recounted the story of the parent sparrow’s sacrifice with some grave purpose and that he had been attempting to discern her reaction within Hanako’s expression. Here, even the author could vaguely surmise Manago’s intentions. This skeptical man had not trusted a single word Hana said. The suspicion arose that everything—from her claim of having witnessed the Ariake-so tragedy from her second-floor window, to the matter of the chestnut-burr-headed man, that testimony about someone with a glittering object wrapped around their arm, and now this account of Yamaki Motokichi’s bizarre behavior—were all groundless fabrications concocted by this romantic girl to protect someone, and it seemed he had resorted to such an elaborate method to verify this.

What reaction Manago had been seeking was impossible to know—as stated earlier—but only Hanako’s face appeared reflected in the mirror: entranced lips slightly parted with utmost simplicity. No shadow of anxiety nor hint of fear surfaced even faintly. Manago quietly laid his book across his knees, “Well now—a beautiful tale.” he remarked. Hana responded dreamily, “How tragic… What became of that sparrow then? Did hound devour him? Pray continue reading.”

Manago twisted the corner of his lips,

“That’s the end of it.”

Hanako opened her eyes wide, “How dull.” “Why does it end like that?” “Why did they end it this way, you ask? I suppose the author wanted to leave what happened next to our imagination.”

With that, he slowly raised his face and gazed at Hanako, “Which do you want? Do you want the sparrow to be eaten by the dog, or do you want to save it?” “If it were me, of course I’d want to save the sparrow—but a dog wouldn’t show sympathy or anything like that. It’s bound to be eaten. It’s unavoidable, I suppose... For example, even if you felt sorry for the criminal, you wouldn’t let them escape—it’s the same thing.”

Manago gave a strange cough,

“That’s right, that’s right. I would never let them escape……You’re beautiful, and what’s more, you seem to have an excellent disposition. To be frank, I like you—but if you’re the culprit, I won’t let you escape……As you say, there’s no room for sympathy in a hunting dog. To a dog, a sparrow—no matter how pitifully it may act—is ultimately nothing but prey……Do you dislike this sort of story? Thinking about facing a man like this, you probably don’t feel very good.”

Hana shook her head with childlike innocence. “Trying to scare me won’t work. I’ve seen your kindness. This morning at Hibiya, when I was crushed under that human avalanche and nearly smothered, you pushed through the people piled on top of me like a madman to save me. You couldn’t do that without a kind heart. And how you’ve treated me since then—it’s been so excessively polite it made me feel rather strange.”

Manago made an indescribably bitter smile. "In what way did it seem strange?" "Why are you being so kind to me? It feels unbearably strange...... Tell me, why?"

Manago did not answer. Once again letting out a strange cough, he sank into his usual fossil-like state, gloomily keeping his eyes downcast.

A faint buzzer sounded somewhere in the room. Depending on how one listened, it was a faint sound, like the chirping of ground insects somewhere. Manago stood up with a gloomy expression, said "Just a moment," and left the room with slow footsteps; after about five minutes, he returned, sat facing Hana, and— "Well then, shall I read you another one?"

With that, he picked up the book.

“This next one might be a bit more interesting than the ‘Sparrow’ story. Listen carefully.”

Slowly turning the pages, Manago began to read aloud again. “This one is titled ‘Curse’.” “Well then, I’ll read.……The spirit of a woman whom a girl had cursed to death staggered into that girl’s room one night, and said something like this……”

Manago was spouting utter nonsense.

Turgenev’s original text was not like that. (When reading Byron’s Manfred, where the spirit of a woman who had died for him arrives to hurl an eerie curse…)

And so, it began in this manner.

That being said, Manago proceeded with his performance. “You cursed me. Those cursed in this world cannot reincarnate until they exact their revenge. Not only did you curse me—you pushed me from the window and killed me. Therefore I must take vengeance twice over,” she declared—then gripped her head with both hands, wrenched it from her shoulders, and flung it onto the girl’s lap. “…Hey now—what’s wrong? Feeling ill?”

Hanako showed a terrible reaction. Her face contorted into a terrifying expression as if she were on the verge of fainting; she rose from her chair and said in a sharp voice, “No, no! I don’t want to hear such things! I beg you, please stop!” She screamed this, then sank into her chair and covered her face with both hands.

As she screamed, she sank into the chair and covered her face with both hands. Manago approached Hana with a coolly indifferent expression, as if absolutely nothing had happened, placed his hand on her shoulder, and began to lift her up, “I went too far. I didn’t mean to scare you.” “……That concludes the reading.” “Go home and get some sleep now.” “since you seem a bit tired.” Hana, trembling violently as if possessed by a malarial fit, gave a faint nod and, having her hand taken by Manago, staggered out of the chief’s office.

Manago returned to his desk, searched his pocket, took out a scrap of paper, placed it on the desk, propped his arms, and stared at it endlessly. On the front of the paper were crudely drawn Ox-Head and Horse-Head deities alongside a "Five Monk Curse Diagram" depicting two spirits clasping hands. This was Matsutani Tsuruko's curse diagram from the previous chapter—the one covered in moxibustion scars that the trampled image had described.

There was a knock on the door, and one of the Four Musketeers entered. He assumed a rigid stance before the door, "As a result of the interrogation, we have uncovered circumstances that are somewhat difficult to reconcile."

Manago did not respond but assumed a posture of listening to the report with closed eyes. The musketeer maintained an impassive expression, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, and— “Earlier, having received your investigative orders, we reported that His Excellency the Superintendent-General had conducted an inspection tour from Tameike Crossing to Sakuradamon between 3:50 AM and 4:50 AM this early morning. However, during that same period—from 3:50 AM to 4:50 AM—it was confirmed that His Excellency had also been conducting inspections from the Fukagawa Ward Second Night Watch Post at Kiyosumi Park Corner through Mukojima Oshiage Town, Sarue Park, and Suzaki Benten Town.” “...In other words, this means two Superintendents-General were conducting inspections simultaneously—one in Akasaka Ward and another in Fukagawa Ward.”

With that, he took out a single scrap of paper from his pocket and— "The exact times at which His Excellency passed through each sentry post have been documented in this report."

He placed the scrap of paper on the desk, bowed once, and left.

27. Road Construction

And: The Labyrinth of Underground Culverts

Now, Hibiya Park remained in the depths of night, just as it had been before. The arc lights along the pond's edge blazed with crystalline clarity, and the bronze crane sprayed spikes of ethereal white water glittering into the night sky, visible even in the darkness. On the high bank overlooking it stood Yūhi Newspaper reporter Furuichi Kaju and Annam Intelligence Director Song Xiu Chen, just as before. The only difference from before was that Furuichi Kaju had become like a hollow shell, crouched on the bench with his mouth hanging slackly open as he stared fixedly at the crane fountain.

When Kaju heard from Xiu Chen that this morning the crane fountain had sonorously recited "Annam’s National Anthem," he was instantly struck as if by lightning, slumped onto the bench, and had remained in this state for over thirty minutes now. What exactly had so startled him remained unclear, but Xiu Chen found himself unable to address him directly, so utterly bizarre was his demeanor. In his single-minded effort to demonstrate deference, following His Majesty’s example, he too had opened his mouth wide and was gazing at the crane. In this manner, time passed. A nearby time signal struck eight o'clock.

Kaju suddenly stirred, “Ah.” he let out a yawn-like sound. This was no mere yawn. At this moment, Kaju’s mind was in the throes of a tempestuous storm. Whether to call it ecstasy, terror, or perhaps even bliss—an indescribable intoxication had paralyzed Kaju’s already hazy brain, leaving him in a state where reality itself seemed like a dream within a dream. He had become completely unfocused and sat there in a daze, his mouth hanging wide open.

As the night wind suddenly gusted into his gaping mouth, he finally came to his senses. When he earnestly reflected anew, he couldn't help but realize that an earth-shattering scoop now lay right before his very eyes. Even going so far as to create replicas of the Emperor—with the Metropolitan Police Department frantically investigating—the very target, the noble sought-after individual, was right here beneath his very eyes. The Emperor of Annam was beneath the crane fountain! In all his twenty-nine years of life, he had never experienced a shock as intense as this day and night. He was so stunned he might as well have been seeing stars—it was a wonder he hadn't collapsed outright. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but this felt like stepping into a fairy tale, something too unreal to accept as fact. Yet the Emperor's presence beneath the crane fountain before his very eyes was an undeniable reality.

When he heard Xiu Chen’s words, a sudden inspiration pierced Kaju’s mind like lightning, exposing every secret and connection in a glaring light. The inexplicable phenomenon of the bronze crane—which should never have cried—singing, the reason Yasukame had come to disrupt the "Singing Crane Fountain" gathering—all of it had become perfectly clear. As has often been stated, the notion that the crane fountain sang songs originated from an audacious proposal by Yūhi Newspaper President Kōda Sessan’s accomplice—Hibiya Park Head Gardener Sakazuki Morimori, as our readers are well aware—and was from the outset a baseless fabrication. Now, this Kōda Sessan was himself a man who stood second to none in his field. Upon hearing Sakazuki’s brainchild, he declared, “This is perfect—let’s use that as seed material for a scheme.” Thus began their collaboration with the then-burgeoning “Crane’s Egg” They partnered with a soap company, mobilized all eminent scholars and doctors, ran sensational articles daily, advertised that the crane fountain would crane its neck and cry out on January 1st at 9:12 AM, and amassed a crowd of some three thousand people around the pond. They had intended to swiftly collect membership fees before this illicit gathering disbanded prematurely, but heaven and fate intervened—as if to mock those villains—and the crane fountain began singing resoundingly.

It was something that defied reality, yet when the mechanism was revealed, it turned out to be an utterly simple affair. It was not the crane that sang; it was the Emperor beneath the fountain who did. Why His Majesty would nonchalantly sing "Annam’s National Anthem" without crying for rescue remains unclear in its particulars. However, given that the Emperor inherently possessed not only a poetic demeanor but also the wise discernment to fully appreciate humor even in such adversity, one could only conclude he had performed this extraordinary act to demonstrate a monarch’s unshakable dignity.

The above were the thoughts pieced together by Kaju's crude mind, but the author had a different theory.

According to Manago's account, the Emperor had been chloroformed and transported away. However, upon closer consideration, it seemed far more plausible that His Majesty had still been wandering through the haze of anesthesia at that time—perhaps even dreaming of a national celebration day.

Such trivial matters aside—having come this far, one could roughly surmise why Yasukame’s faction had come to disrupt the "Singing Crane" gathering. It seemed Yasukame’s faction had imprisoned the Emperor beneath the fountain for some calculated purpose. However, at that very moment, Kōda and Sakazuki staged their brazen gathering, drawing crowds around the fountain until they swarmed like clouds. They likely feared that if His Majesty were to summon anyone, it would lead to an unmanageable situation; thus, using the crane fountain’s failure to sing by the appointed time as a pretext, they attempted to disrupt the gathering by causing a disturbance. However, at the critical moment, the crane sang out—startling them into defeat—and they fled with their tails between their legs.

After all, even as a mere newspaperman on the fringes, he hadn't been stunned senseless for nothing—through his fogged mind, he'd managed to think through this much. But putting that aside—who in blazes would hide the Emperor here, and why? Kaju kept tilting his head as he turned it over, but that particular point just wouldn't click.

Kaju had long known both that Hayashi Kin'nao's Hayashi conglomerate and Koguchi Tsubasa's Nikkō conglomerate—the twin pillars of Japan's emerging zaibatsu—were engaged in a fierce battle over bauxite mining rights at Lishan Mountain in Annam, and that a new contract was being formed between the Emperor and Hayashi. If the Nogeyama gang under Nikkō’s umbrella had caused a commotion in Hibiya, then there could be no doubt Nikkō was behind the Emperor’s abduction. It might have been work done to obstruct Hayashi’s contract and diminish his influence—but then what became of the Emperor’s Diamond? This part simply didn’t add up.

Moreover, even if they were to imprison the Emperor, what necessity was there in choosing such a place? The idea of hiding His Majesty beneath the elegant crane fountain pedestal carried poetic whimsy—he couldn't help but admire the scheme's audacity—yet it ventured into outright absurdity, its approach hardly serving practical purpose. That space beneath the fountain proved far from ideal for confinement—a fact decisively demonstrated when the Emperor's singing had already leaked through the crane's beak aboveground. While His Majesty's singing maintained safety, any scream would have immediately betrayed his location—a risk anyone could foresee. There was no need to force such insecure concealment when basements or storage rooms offered far safer alternatives.

Kaju sighed, "It just doesn’t make sense. I can’t fathom why they’d choose such an outlandish place to imprison the Emperor—their reasoning eludes me." …In that case, I can only think that the Emperor entered beneath there of his own volition—but no matter how eccentric His Majesty might be, he wouldn’t do something so trivial.

Muttering to himself in this posture of deep thought with his head tilted, he then suddenly slapped his knee,

Hmm, I'm starting to get a rough idea... Let me think—it must have unfolded like this... In other words, when the Emperor was abducted and brought near here, he managed to break free from his captors under some circumstance, fled into the park, but found himself with nowhere to hide. Given His Majesty's character, he must have taken refuge beneath the crane through some extraordinary means. However, the kidnappers lacked His Majesty's ingenuity and couldn't enter beneath the crane. While they fumbled around trying to lure him out, dawn broke, and to make matters worse, the "Singing Crane Fountain" event began, making things truly perilous. If handled poorly, his location would be discovered—they must have caused that commotion to drive away the park's crowd... While this deduction contains many fantastical elements and can't yet be called precise, I can't say it's entirely off the mark either. Putting aside minor discrepancies to be corrected later—if we suppose that the Emperor himself managed to enter beneath the crane fountain—what method could he possibly have used? I think they probably employed some extraordinary means—though that should become clear once I investigate... There wasn't a day I didn't regret studying something as dull as civil engineering at Hokkaido University, but as they say, time heals all wounds—unexpectedly, that knowledge is proving useful now... Alright then—I'll start by examining the fountain's surroundings right away.

Muttering to himself，he started to rise，stealing glances at Shūchen sitting stiffly on a bench some distance away，then clicked his tongue softly，“Tch，that good-for-nothing bastard’s in the way．That said，it would be inconvenient to send him back to the hotel alone first．……Alright then，I’ll have him wait somewhere…” Kaju approached Shūchen and grabbed him by the shoulder，“Hey，Shūchen．I have something to ask of you．It’s a bit of a hassle，but…”

For some time now, Shūchen had grown increasingly distressed observing His Majesty the Emperor’s behavior—the deep sighs, muttered soliloquies, and profoundly disquieting demeanor that suggested some inner turmoil. At moments it seemed His Majesty might be intoxicated, yet no trace of liquor lingered. With anti-Emperor factions recently active in Annam, Shūchen had braced himself to summon physicians should royal anguish tip into delirium—but finding no overt signs of agitation in the sovereign’s bearing, he exhaled in relief, straightened his posture, and rendered a crisp salute.

“We humbly await Your Highness’s command.” “No matter what Your Highness’s command may be, we shall stake our very lives to fulfill it.”

Kaju said in an arrogant tone, “Alright. The favor I mentioned isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but… Shūchen, you’ve seen an automobile before, haven’t you?” “Nonsense. How could we possibly not know about automobiles?”

“Ah, I see. ...Now then—at the very front of an automobile, there's a hole for pouring water to cool the engine, and its cap has various stylish designs devised. Do you know this?” “I am aware. ...For example, there are those adorned with statues of Mercury, eagles with wings spread, and sometimes merely capped with something resembling a kappa’s dish.” Kaju clapped his hands, “That’s it. It’s a bit of a hassle, but you’re to go to the front of Matsuzakaya in Ginza now, accurately count how many automobiles with kappa’s dish pass by between ten and ten forty, and return here by eleven.” “...This is a matter of grave importance to the fate of the Annam Empire—the true intent behind it cannot be disclosed to you,” he said, taking out his wristwatch and glancing at it.

“It’s almost ten minutes to ten. Don’t dawdle and be late—now, hurry up and go!”

Shūchen assumed a rigidly motionless stance, “I shall now proceed to the front of Ginza Matsuzakaya, count how many automobiles bearing kappa’s dish pass between ten o’clock and ten forty, and return to this location by eleven o’clock.” “With that, I shall take my leave.”

With that declaration, he bowed once and dashed toward the main gate, scattering gravel along the Yatsude path.

Kaju observed this intently, then descended the embankment toward the pond and proceeded along the water's edge to the fountain's side. Suddenly, two men emerged from the darkness beneath a pine tree, surrounding Kaju from front and back as one of them— “Who the hell are you?... Why are you lurking around a place like this?” the man snarled.

Dear readers, you are already aware of this. The undercover officers stationed here were acting on the Superintendent General’s conviction that this morning’s inexplicable cry from the crane—which should never have vocalized—must have resulted from Kōda and his associates tampering with its mechanisms. Their resolve was formidable: they planned to dismantle the crane at dawn tomorrow, extract its hidden devices, and this time seize Kōda by the scruff without any ifs or buts. Their surveillance aimed to prevent him from retrieving any planted apparatus beforehand.

Kaju recognized them at a glance. Moreover, these two were familiar faces he encountered daily at the Metropolitan Police Department. Though their current disguise with fake beards sufficed, if they were to apprehend him here, his true identity would be instantly exposed. Concluding he had no choice but to repel them once again through the Emperor’s authority, he abruptly leaned back and adopted a profoundly grave voice: "When I see you speaking in such an arrogant manner, I take it you are police officers." "...If you are asking in your official capacity, I will indeed answer." "Do not be alarmed—…I am Emperor Sōryū of Annam, currently residing at the Imperial Hotel. …Now—what is your reason for detaining me?"

While slowly stroking his First Emperor-style ostentatious black beard, he glared sharply at the two men, making clear through his gaze that forgiveness would depend on their conduct. Since that morning he had employed this act repeatedly, so by now it had become second nature—one might say he carried himself with majestic dignity. That morning, the sergeant from Tameike Station who had arrested the Emperor as Tsuruko’s perpetrator at Ariake-so Apartments had received a severe reprimand from his superiors—this incident had apparently become well-known among these men, for upon hearing “Emperor of Annam,” they immediately stiffened in intimidation,

“This is… We sincerely apologize. We deeply regret our misjudgment…” Kaju leaned back so far it seemed he might topple over,

“Am I not permitted to stop by this area?”

The undercover officers earnestly expressed their deference, “No... Yes.” “The truth is...” “Then why haven’t you at least erected a standing notice?” “It would be ideal if you also installed a lamp on top of it… but since no such thing is present, you have no right to obstruct my stroll.” "Moreover, since I do not care to have my actions constrained by others, I shall proceed with my original intention of taking a short stroll around here." “If you’re worried, just stand there and watch.”

Having dismissed them with those words, he approached the fountain with an unhurried air, scrutinized it intently, spent over thirty minutes meticulously inspecting every nook and cranny, then crawled up and down the embankment's slopes, probing by hand even seemingly insignificant depressions at tree bases and elsewhere.

He searched thoroughly until satisfied, but there were no gaps allowing entry from the fountain’s base, nor any holes near the embankment. Without a word, he left the plainclothes officers' side and attempted to descend the embankment in a rush to investigate the other side, only to suddenly plunge headfirst into a deep hole at its base. It was fortunate he didn’t break his neck. Having struck his head hard, he remained dazed for some time, but when he finally came to his senses and looked around, he found himself in a vertical hole about six feet deep, with a horizontal tunnel branching off its side large enough for a person to crawl through.

Delighted that he had found it, Kaju crawled further into the depths, but unexpectedly, the horizontal tunnel came to an end after proceeding about eighteen feet. When he lit a match to investigate, he found vivid traces of recent excavation; moreover, apparently in great haste, a shovel had been left behind. With this, it was proven that Kaju’s deductions were not entirely off the mark. If this were ordinary roadwork or waterworks, they would never leave a dangerous hole gaping in the middle of a path like this—at minimum, they should have roped off the area and placed a red warning lamp. In other words, this hole—just as Kaju had surmised—was something the kidnappers had dug in great haste to reach His Majesty’s location. However, once the "Fountain Meeting" commenced and the area became packed with crowds, making it impossible to continue their work, it naturally follows that they kicked off that infamous uproar.

With this, it was definitively confirmed that His Majesty lay beneath the fountain. However, given how matters stood, there seemed to be no entrance in this vicinity after all. It had begun to appear as though it might be located in some impossibly distant place. Kaju sat in the hole, calmly crossing his arms as he pondered. He seemed resolved not to budge from this spot until some brilliant inspiration surfaced. This truly demonstrated the thick-boned resilience of a country man—no small feat indeed.

In such a manner he had been sitting for twenty minutes when, once again, he suddenly slapped his knee, "I've got it!... Looking at it this way, my head isn't completely useless after all.... Ah, why didn't I realize something so simple until now?... I'd been taught in school how the Edo period's Kanda Josui aqueduct runs beneath this area like a labyrinth—its large underground conduit snaking through the earth. "...In other words, the Emperor must have traveled through that large underground conduit from somewhere to reach beneath the fountain.... If only we had an old map of the conduit, we could figure it out immediately—but even so, where on earth would the conduit’s entrance be open at this point?..."

He had been tilting his head in thought when another idea struck him. This time, without uttering a word, he stood up at the bottom of the hole, heaved himself out with great effort, and crouched at the edge, wheezing heavily.

"...In other words, I just need to look for a place where large-scale construction has recently begun nearby." "For any major construction involving basement excavation, they'd naturally cut through the underground conduit—the entrance must be open somewhere at the site. Speaking of nearby large projects—yes, at Tamura-cho 1-chome's corner, they've just started foundation work for a broadcasting station's basement." "...This should work." "This time there's no mistake... The labyrinth entrance must be there... Got it!"

With that declaration, he stood up and dashed out of Hibiya Park without brushing the mud from his clothes, kicking up the hollow with his heel as he ran toward Tamura-cho 1-chome. The nearby clock tower struck eleven.

Only five hours remained until 4 AM tomorrow! Could this unknown tabloid reporter, outmaneuvering even that brilliant Manago, successfully rescue the Emperor?

Chapter Nine

28. The Casting of the Sōgetsu-ryū

And: The Calculus of Escape

Since commencing this novel, we had already reached the ninth installment. Events multiplied in complexity; duty and human emotions tangled in confusion, weaving their own intricate patterns of fateful lives. Some wept over tragic love, others immersed themselves in perilous chivalry, while still others unsheathed the claws of malice to run rampant as they pleased.

The characters in this work pay no heed to their creator’s grand designs, scorn his furrowed brow of concern, and shape-shift freely according to their whims. They exploit his humility—rolling bulging eyes skyward while turning away with tongues protruding—then escalate their mockery by throttling some harmless crone mid-sentence. The creator seethes at such insolence; yet these figments dismiss his very being from their awareness.

Setting aside digressions, Yūhi Newspaper reporter Furuichi Kaju became resolutely convinced that the Emperor of Annam lay beneath the base of Hibiya Park’s "Crane Fountain," and kicking up hollows in his wake as he ran, he tore toward Tamura-cho 1-chome to seize this unprecedented scoop. The exaggerated posture seemed calculated to command the author’s attention—to ensure documentation of his subsequent exploits—but in this novel, Furuichi Kaju would not remain the sole active protagonist.

On the contrary, even prior to this, yet another bizarre incident had occurred at the Metropolitan Police Department.

It was unfortunate, but we had to let Kaju keep running a while longer as he was and return once more to the Metropolitan Police Department.

When the clock's hands were yanked back by about an hour and a half, in the Investigation Division Chief's office, one of the Four Musketeers had just finished delivering an astonishing report and shouldered open the door to leave.

The so-called astonishing report was this: between 3:50 AM and 4:50 AM in the predawn hours, two Superintendents-General had simultaneously appeared—one in Akasaka Ward and the other in Fukagawa Ward—to conduct year-end security appreciation patrols. This was no fantastical tale à la Hoffmann’s “Kater Murr,” yet the notion that two Superintendents-General could materialize simultaneously in central and southern Tokyo strained credulity. However, if this were indeed fact, even calling it unexpected would hardly be an exaggeration. For Manago, this report was no mere fantastical matter.

As could be inferred from Manago's elegant knee-to-knee negotiations in the Superintendent-General's office two chapters prior, he had logically concluded that Matsutani Tsuruko's murderer was none other than the Superintendent-General himself. After elaborating in meticulous detail the beginning-to-end reasoning that necessitated this conclusion through elaborate phrasing, he returned to the chief's office and awaited the Superintendent-General's voluntary action with bated breath. However, since readers who had not perused the preceding chapters would remain utterly perplexed by this statement alone, it would not be entirely without merit to briefly outline how such an audacious conclusion came to be reached.

Hana the Seamstress, who lived beneath the cliff of Ariake-so Apartments and claimed to have witnessed the crime scene, testified: "The perpetrator was a large man with a chestnut-burr head, and he had something glittering wrapped around his wrist." Through Manago's meticulous on-site investigation, this testimony was subsequently elaborated as follows: "The criminal has a chestnut-burr head. Height: Five shaku seven sun five to six bu (approximately 174 centimeters). Occupation: police officer of Superintendent rank or higher, wearing a gold-braided armband with three to five star insignia. Armed with a sword. Scoliosis present. Mild limp in the left leg. Footwear: size 12.00 Princeton last shoes manufactured by Edith Company, USA."

In essence, this was the general picture; anyone well-acquainted with the Superintendent-General who read this would click their tongues in amazement, declaring it the most meticulous portrait of him. Furthermore, if it were established that the Superintendent-General’s cherished lion-headed pipe had been discovered in Tsuruko’s wardrobe drawer, this would form a perfectly consistent whole—one that even the most mediocre detective would not hesitate to reach the obvious conclusion. Indeed, in France there was a man like François Vidocq, who rose from being a common thief in the early 19th century to become Superintendent-General. In Vidocq’s case, it was merely a matter of applying old tricks he had learned to exercise his prosecutorial prowess, but this situation was not so straightforward. As a murder suspect, there were few as far-fetched and even fewer as troublesome to dispose of as this one. What police officer would possess the courage to resolutely bring charges against this? Even Manago Akira—ordinarily as calm and composed as dead ashes—found himself gripped by no small distress when confronted with this lion-headed pipe, a reaction that was only natural under the circumstances.

However, as had been frequently noted, given that Manago—whose cold tenacity and insidiousness in executing prosecutorial duties rivaled even Inspector Javert from Hugo's Les Misérables—would never refrain from scrutinizing every deficiency down to the marrow, even if God Himself were involved, it came to pass exactly as anticipated: Manago departed Ariake-so Apartments with an air of grim resolve and commenced his ruthlessly meticulous course of action.

First, he went to the Ibuki tailor shop in Nihonbashi and had them bring out the Superintendent-General’s measurement book, meticulously transcribing its contents. As some readers may know, Ibuki in Nihonbashi was the exclusive supplier of official police uniforms within Tokyo Prefecture. The results confirmed that the jacket imprint left on the crime scene’s kitchen wall matched the Superintendent-General’s uniform. After returning to Metropolitan Police Headquarters, he summoned the Four Musketeers and ordered three investigations: an inspection of Tsukiji’s "Suzumoto" geisha house where Ariake-so’s six residents had stayed overnight with the "Carnus Show" troupe; background checks on both the current Superintendent-General—formerly Kyoto Prefecture’s Police Chief—and Matsutani Tsuruko; and an inquiry into the Superintendent-General’s movements between 3:50 AM and 4:50 AM on New Year’s Day.

As a result, it was concluded there had been no recent signs of entry or exit through either the garden or back gate at Suzumoto. This meant the culprit could not be among the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments. Meanwhile, background checks revealed the Superintendent-General and Matsutani Tsuruko had shared the same address in Yamashina-cho, Higashiyama Ward, Kyoto City—evidence of prior acquaintance. Regarding the third investigation—the deductive climax—interrogations showed the Superintendent-General had personally driven his roadster through Tameike Crossing at 3:50 AM and returned near police headquarters via Akasaka Mitsuke by 4:40 AM. In short, he had taken fifty minutes for a three-minute journey between the murder-adjacent Tameike Crossing and Akasaka Mitsuke. Here at last remained no ambiguity. Yet Manago remained unsatisfied, compelling Hanako through some grotesque method to test the criminal's head. Whether her answer proved negative or positive required no elaboration. One needed only observe Manago's confident bearing as he faced the Superintendent-General with his lengthy exposition to deduce the outcome.

However, the Superintendent-General—who was supposed to come to the Investigation Division Chief’s office to meet Manago—never arrived, and instead, he was confronted with two unexpected reports. The first was hearsay from Indō Chūsuke at the Nakasu geisha house, brought by Hanako. ...one being a report that around 3:40 AM, the aforementioned Yamaki Motokichi had escaped from "Suzumoto" via the rooftops, departed to an unknown location in Hutchinson's roadster, and returned to "Suzumoto" around 5:00 AM—and the other being the earlier strange tale of the "two Superintendents-General."

This development had completely blindsided the author, leaving him momentarily speechless—but given these circumstances, one couldn't help harboring doubts about Manago's so-called deductions. When piecing together all factors, there seemed an undeniable gap in his reasoning process. It simply didn't address the core issue. Had there been any fingerprints from the Superintendent-General at the crime scene? Nothing of the sort existed—only that chestnut-burr head and official uniform, both identified under dubious moonlight through a romantic young girl's eyes, making them inherently unreliable evidence. Countless similar lion-headed pipes must exist, and whether it was actually the Superintendent-General or merely his uniform that breached the police cordon that morning remained profoundly ambiguous. For someone of Manago's cold precision, this approach seemed uncharacteristically slipshod. While inconceivable that a detective of Manago's caliber would overvalue a girl's testimony, the author insists we must recognize how this influenced his deductions more deeply than he realized. As for what could've caused such an improbable lapse—this vulgar writer posits Manago had fallen for Hanako. That desiccated pillar of austerity—in love! Yet this was no jest; tangible proof existed. Since the amateur house incident, readers surely noted how Manago treated Hana—excessively tender by half! Anyone familiar with his usual demeanor would've gaped in disbelief, certain Inspector Manago had either gone mad from hashish or regressed to childishness through novel overdose. Had they witnessed him contorting Turgenev's prose poems into pretentious affectations, their astonishment would've known no bounds—this wasn't the ruthlessly efficient Manago they knew. He absolutely wasn't some bleeding-heart feminist.

A gentleman he may be, but he was precisely the sort who wouldn't hesitate to wedge a pencil between another's fingers should necessity demand it. That was prose poetry... If this wasn't love's emblem, then what could be? On this point, even Hanako appeared perplexed. "Why show me such kindness?" she pressed at the crucial moment, to which Manago responded with an ineffably bitter smile. Not merely that—the cadence of his recitation! As if drawing one's heart into slumber... it was, in truth, the voice of a man enamored. Things had taken a dire turn.

As expected, once one of the Four Musketeers had left the chief’s office, Manago remained frozen in his chair with an indescribable expression, arms crossed. Anguish cast vivid hues across his cheeks as his eyelids drooped low like those of a man in prayer. Evidently another musketeer had flipped a switch, for the loudspeaker gaping on the wall now ceaselessly reported the wartime-like progression of investigations across Tokyo City and County in a shrill voice resembling a deranged parrot’s shrieks. The Kanda Squad from headquarters announced they had confirmed Ariake-so Apartments residents Iwai Michiyasu and Kawabata Fumie were hiding at the Ochamatsu gambling den and were mobilizing for a raid.

Manago abruptly snapped open his eyes. Though they opened, their thread-like narrowness gave no impression of widening. From those thread-thin eyes flowed a resolute light that revealed his resolve. Placing his clasped hands on his knees, he appeared to deliberate momentarily before rising abruptly from his chair. Taking up the great crow Inverness, he slipped his arms through it and slowly exited the chief's office. No trace remained of his earlier sentimental expression or brooding gaze. Instead, his countenance now held an unshakable firmness, not a shadow of doubt clouding it. ...Had Manago not yet lost his confidence? The composed self-possession faintly visible in his bearing likely stemmed from some definite purpose. What exactly was Manago planning to do now?

About fifteen minutes later, the automobile carrying Manago came to a stop before the gate of "Suzumoto" in Tsukiji Odawara-cho 1-chome. When he stepped on the wet stone and entered the entrance, the landlady who had appeared prostrated herself as if struck by lightning. After all, someone of Manago's stature would never be subjected to such slipshod treatment.

Having had the landlady guide him up to the second floor, he first entered the eastern room where Yamaki and Janet had stayed. It seemed Manago intended to first present evidence of the incident where Yamaki had slipped out of Suzumoto—which Indō Chūsuke had let slip. Yamaki’s room was a six-tatami mat space with a bay window, beneath which sat a small built-in cupboard. The window had low anti-intruder spikes attached, beyond which lay visible the fire station’s watchtower and St. Luke’s Hospital’s large building across the river. Beneath the window extended the kitchen wing at a right angle, its end abutting against the side of a pawnshop storehouse called Ishigami. Indeed, it appeared one could slip out effortlessly. Manago decided to try. He gripped the bay window’s upper frame, lifted his body and pulled up his legs—whereupon his toes automatically crossed the anti-intruder spikes and exited outside. When he gently set down his toes, he found himself precisely upon the roof ridge.

Manago illuminated the roof ridge tiles with his flashlight as he crawled forward. There was nothing particularly noteworthy. In this manner, he reached the end of the roof ridge. Separated by a narrow passageway of about four shaku, the other side became the storehouse wall. Large bent nails had been driven into the storehouse wall in the usual manner. By leaping onto and clinging to these, from where his toes barely made contact began the storehouse's base covering. If one could just leap onto the bent nails, descending all the way down would have been easy; however, since the storehouse's nails were positioned approximately one shaku lower than the kitchen wing's ridge, successfully leaping across this four-shaku passageway to reach them would have required considerable skill. Manago exited "Suzumoto," circled around to the alley entrance between the pawnshop and eaves, propped a ladder against the storehouse wall, climbed to the vicinity of the earlier bent nails, and thoroughly illuminated the surrounding wall surface with his flashlight. Without needing to look around much, he discovered on the wall surface intriguing pictographs sufficient to explain a person's actions. To explain what they were—three scratch marks resembling those made by claws. The storehouse wall was hard, so the claw marks weren't gouged very deeply; nevertheless, they were clear enough to discern—scraped vertically downward for about one shaku from a point roughly two sun below the bent nails. The evidence was clear. It became clear that Yamaki—that fool—had failed to grab the bent nails and been knocked all the way down. If one were to leave claw marks of this extent on such a hard wall, the claw tips must have been damaged. At the very end of the claw marks was a single spot where blood appeared to have congealed. The next morning, the mystery of Yamaki's three fingers with worn-down fingertips that had caught Indō's attention at Tentoku in the fish market—and the white wall debris lodged between their nails—was now resolved. Though why Yamaki had slipped out of "Suzumoto" at such an hour would remain a question, it now became evident that Yamaki wasn't the one who had left the three scratch marks on Ariake-so Apartments' entrance hall wall. An expert of Manago's caliber would surely have been able to distinguish whether the marks were made by fingernails or by some sharp-angled metal. This was why Manago had shown no sign of addressing the matter when Hana spoke earlier of Yamaki's mysterious fingernails. Then, the glass fragments from Yamaki's pocket watch would likely be found around here.

If that were found, Yamaki would at least not be the culprit who used a chloroform-filled ampoule to abduct the Emperor. As for this too, had it been Manago, he would have already distinguished whether they were fragments from the pocket watch's glass cover or from the ampoule when he saw them beneath the service stairs. When he descended the ladder and illuminated the paving stones of the passageway, sure enough, glass fragments were scattered there. Not only that, but it also became clear that he had injured the area around his left wrist when he fell. It could be faintly discerned by the bloodstain pattern of the left hand reflected on the white wall. There were also fingerprints, of course. He could have someone collect this later.

Just as he thought this would suffice, Manago turned back to Suzumoto and entered Indō’s room on the eastern side downstairs. This room was similarly a six-tatami space; across the hallway lay a cramped garden ending at a high earthen-like wall. The hallway bent sharply left in an L-shape, terminating at a wash area. To the left stood the staircase landing; turning down the hallway again led to the entrance. The wash area had a gourd-shaped window with bamboo latticework—looking up through it revealed two-thirds of the kitchen roof Manago had traversed. The remaining third near the storehouse lay hidden in shadow from the protruding pawnshop building. While Indō Chūsuke’s claim of seeing Yamaki escape across the roof from this window might not be immediately credible, the physical conditions for such observation were sufficiently met. Manago slid open the veranda’s storm shutters and carefully stepped into the garden. Frost damage had left the soil brittle—mounded like molehills with air pockets beneath—so even light objects would leave traces. Indeed, Manago’s shoes sank two sun into the earth as if stepping through ash. He scoured every inch but found no footprints. There had been no rain or wind in Tokyo since December 27th. When one of the Four Musketeers declared no escape traces through the garden, they referenced these inherent conditions. The room adjacent to Indō’s was vacant that night; Murakumo Emiko and saxophonist Wilson occupied one further back. Their garden side too showed no footprints. Regarding the entrance—learned later through interrogation—maid Sada kept watch until 5 AM in the six-tatami front room, chatting with colleague Chiyo over peanuts. They planned to visit Suitengu Shrine at six—too preoccupied with their freshly styled hair to rest. Exiting through the front undetected by them was impossible. Manago returned upstairs. Next to Yamaki’s room lay Fumie and Ronald’s quarters.

The window was fitted with lattice bars, and since there was a garden directly below, sneaking out through this window would be impossible. What remained were Hutchinson's and Iwai Michiyasu's rooms. Iwai's room lay at the hallway's end beyond the drum-shaped passageway, while Hutchinson's room occupied the far end of the opposing wing. Iwai's room consisted of six tatami mats with a three-tatami anteroom, facing northwest directly opposite Indō's room. Through its latticed window across Bizen Moat, the massive roof of Honganji Temple under construction loomed darkly within arm's reach. The window spanned one and a half ken, fitted with three wooden shutters that could be lifted when needed. When he raised these shutters, the entrance roof lay directly below, its edge bordered by a large black pine whose thick branches stretched over the tile-roofed earthen wall toward the front. Manago turned to face the nervously standing landlady,

“Who assigned everyone’s rooms last night?” he asked. The reply came that it had been Lord Iwai. Manago began examining the built-in cabinet and window frame beneath the sill, eyelids drooping sleepily as was his habit. Something odd caught his attention. Not that it was particularly remarkable. Rather, it seemed quite ordinary for such a place. To put it plainly—a nageire-style white plum arrangement in Hyōchikusai’s bamboo basket. Narcissus formed its base. There should have been nothing unusual about it, yet Manago’s gaze abruptly sharpened as he fixed upon it. Upon closer inspection, an anomaly emerged. Though clearly a Sōgetsu school arrangement at first glance, it had been positioned backward. Even an amateur would know better—no one skilled enough to craft this would make such an idiotic placement. The piece stood rotated a quarter-turn from its proper orientation. Manago turned to the landlady,

“Has anyone entered this room since then?” he asked. “By official order prohibiting entry,” came the reply, “we haven’t even peeked inside.” “A diagram would make this quicker, but I’ll try explaining verbally.” The bamboo basket sat where the center and rightmost lattice shutters met. Manago began an unusual experiment. He rotated the basket a quarter turn back to its proper viewing position, climbed onto the floor cabinet, and tried exiting through the window onto the roof ridge. The white plum branch protruding to the right caught on his trouser crotch, swinging it a quarter turn backward. This aligned exactly with the suspicious position he’d noted earlier. Through this odd sequence, it became clear someone had crawled out through this window. Manago walked along the roof ridge toward the edge, flashlight in hand. The ridge tiles showed no particular evidence. At the edge grew a large pine tree whose thick branches extended over the outer wall, nearly touching the roof. Manago shifted from roof to pine branch. Following the branch brought him effortlessly outside the wall. Below hung a concrete rainwater barrel—his toes naturally found its surface. A single leap brought him down. There stood Hutchinson’s roadster, left parked that night.

Manago shuffled across the ground in his socks and reentered through the entrance. He intended to investigate Hutchinson’s room, which was the last one remaining. As mentioned earlier, Hutchinson's room was located at the end of the left wing. With the entrance roof sandwiched in between, it was placed in an antipodal position to Iwai’s room. Hutchinson's room shared a similar design to Iwai's but differed in one aspect: since this window faced close to the street, it was equipped with low anti-intruder spikes instead of wooden lattice shutters, positioned to overlook Bizen Bridge across the thoroughfare. When examining the configuration of these anti-intruder spikes, they were structurally identical to those in Yamaki’s room. If Yamaki could have climbed over the anti-intruder spikes to slip out, then escaping from here shouldn’t have been impossible either. Beneath the anti-intruder spikes, the roof of the lower toilet extended toward the side street, and its edge met the thoroughfare immediately. Of the three conditions examined so far, this last case was the best. It had been arranged to allow for the easiest escape possible. Upon investigation, here too he found something strange. Beside the pillar next to the built-in cabinet on the paper-covered wall remained three faint grayish finger marks. A dark grease-like substance clung to fingertips, leaving faint traces on the paper-covered wall. The paper on the wall appeared to have been replaced close to year's end, with every part still brand new; apart from this, not a single stain or blemish could be found. When he brought his eyes close to examine the finger marks, he could tell from their positioning that they were traces from a left hand. They were from the left hand’s index finger, middle finger, and ring finger. Why were there finger marks in such a place? You’d understand immediately if you tried. From the roof ridge—crossing over the anti-intruder spikes—someone first placed their right foot onto the shelf of the built-in cabinet. With their right hand hooked on the window frame to support their body, they slightly lifted themselves and drew their left foot onto the built-in cabinet.

To descend onto the tatami without making noise, one's left hand would naturally reach toward the pillar there, gripping it while quietly lowering a foot onto the mat. The three finger marks must have been imprinted when someone clutched that pillar. Manago climbed over the anti-intruder spikes onto the roof. He returned almost immediately without lingering. The hands that had crawled across the roof tiles were now pitch black. This resulted from a tall bathhouse chimney on Odawara-cho 2-chome's backstreet—its soot fell on the roof depending on wind patterns. The three finger marks found their natural explanation here. Examining fingerprints would readily identify whose they were. These marks weren't from someone stealthily descending, but rather from a man returning via the roof who'd braced himself against the pillar with his left hand while removing soot-covered socks atop the floor cabinet. Faint dark circles on the cabinet boards showed sock-heel impressions—only from the left foot, with none from the right. Indeed, Manago's own socks left jet-black imprints matching their shape when he stepped onto the tatami. Manago too removed his socks. Having shut the sliding doors completely, he sat cross-legged on the tatami and once again bowed his head into stillness.

For what purpose had three individuals slipped out from Suzumoto and returned before this dawn's 5:20 AM wind inspection? This time precisely corresponded to when Matsutani Tsuruko was murdered at Ariake-so Apartments and the Emperor was abducted through the service entrance.

At this point, the case had taken yet another significant leap forward.

Even for the composed and meticulous Manago, this astonishment must have been considerable. That a hue resembling anguish seemed to pierce through his gloomy expression was something one could hardly deny as only natural. Manago had come here to verify Indō’s talkativeness, but he had now unexpectedly been forced to confront such a strange fact.

Dear readers, you may perhaps point out Manago’s oversight in having entrusted such a crucial verification to one of his subordinates, regardless of the circumstances. However, was this truly Manago’s error? If this were indeed an error, it would be something one could only call a natural disaster. In detective novels, a single detective pokes around even in the ashes of the hearth and monopolizes all the credit. However, in real society, people generally do not do such things.

Manago did not neglect the on-site investigation of "Suzumoto." In fact, he shrewdly dispatched the most capable of the Four Musketeers here and had them conduct a thorough investigation. The findings from the Four Musketeers' investigation showed no difference whatsoever from the results of Manago's own inquiry. They could find no evidence in the soil composition of the garden or in the entrance/exit conditions that anyone had slipped out. Moreover, the Four Musketeers skillfully interrogated each of the six Carnus Show members individually and obtained statements that there was absolutely no factual basis for any bedmate having slipped away from their side. There was absolutely no oversight in either the verification or interrogation.

As for this second-floor passage, it did not factor into the probability of escape. The reason was this—consider our Japanese-style houses within Tokyo's densely packed city limits: there wasn't a single dwelling from which one couldn't absolutely escape. That they hadn't factored this inherently permeable nature of Japanese architecture into their calculations couldn't be deemed an oversight on the musketeers' part.

It was only a peerless genius like Manago who could first perceive the movements of those individuals through a quarter rotation of the flower basket and the faint finger marks on the paper-covered wall beside the pillar. No—if one could put it this way, perhaps only Manago had the god of chance circling about him, so that no other genius, however brilliant, could hope to match this. Manago’s error hinged solely on this single point: his initial failure to employ his own peerless genius. However, once you reach this stage, it’s already akin to fate. The reason Manago did not place too much emphasis on verifying "Suzumoto" was that his film’s emulsion had already been exposed with an image of a certain individual as both the murder culprit and the Emperor’s kidnapper at that time.

At the entrance of Suzumoto, the sound of a motorcycle stopping echoed, and soon after, an inspector entered and reported that Tome's body had been discovered in O-Chamatsu's underground passage. Manago remained silent with his eyes closed, but in his usual languid tone,

“Withdraw the six performers currently appearing at the Nihonza immediately: Janet the gold-dusted dancer, Ronald the accordionist, Wilson the saxophonist, Mary the tap dancer, Jacques Linu the roller skater, and Miriam the vocalist… “I will return to headquarters within thirty minutes.” Then, clumsily clutching the rolled-up socks in his right hand, he stepped out of the room, his bare feet padding against the tatami mats.

29. The Matter of 25 Sen Per Night

And the Matter of the Champagne Bottle

Asakusa Shōten Yokochō—going a bit further led to Nihonzutsumi. Back-to-back with Bamichi lay a dimly lit side street colloquially known as Okan-dori. What they now called a simple hotel—a stay cost fifteen sen and even had a bath. When you registered at the front desk, the clerk placed a baton on his damp palm and offered it to you—those typical cheap lodgings lined the street one after another.

Upon entering was an uneven black earthen floor, tamped down by tabi work boots until it gleamed darkly. Blue phlegm, spit, and an indescribable stench rose from the earthen floor. A three-foot entrance step—so grime-caked that the wood grain was invisible—became stairs immediately; ascending these led to a thirty-tatami room spread with monk's tatami where they lay scattered like tuna at a riverside market, wrapped in futons made from re-dyed banners. Across a single corridor from this large room continued a small three-tatami space. Staying here meant special class. The lodging fee proved shockingly high—twenty-five sen per night. Trying to use a futon not made from banners would cost five sen extra. In the inner special-class room upon a thin futon sat—not cross-legged but with tuxedo-clad knees properly bent—a desolate figure: Yamaki Motokichi of Ariake-so's six residents, scion of the famed Coral King.

His hair was wildly disheveled, his face soot-blackened and almost devoid of color. His face twisted uneasily, his forehead carved with anguish-ridden wrinkles, his bloodshot eyes darting restlessly toward the entrance now and then. After having that suspicious secret meeting with Kawamata Fumie at Banseiken in Toranomon on the fourth occasion, he had vanished without a trace—only to reappear in this desolate scene by the ninth. The hem and shoulders of his jacket were caked with dust from crawling through who-knows-where, now sporting a hook-shaped tear at the elbow—a truly dubious sight indeed. No matter how you looked at him, this couldn’t possibly be the son of the millionaire Coral King. He resembled either a musician who’d lost his job to talkies or some Ginza back-alley bartender reduced to squalor. Truly, a human form suited to the nature of this place.

As the autumn wind sank into desolation, there came a sudden sense of footsteps halting outside the sliding door. Hearing this, Yamaki—contrary to his usual sluggish demeanor—leapt up from the futon, bounded in one stride to the window, and frantically slid open the glass pane, only to find it sealed by a heavy anti-intruder lattice and thick iron bolts that left no gap wide enough to squeeze his head through.

The figure outside the sliding door showed no courtesy, roughly yanked open the door and barged into the room, then placed a hand on Yamaki’s shoulder—Yamaki, who had been restlessly fumbling with an iron rod—and forcefully pulled him back. Though described with pretentious flair, this person was not actually a detective. On the previous occasion, before the raid on the O-Chamatsu gambling den could commence, one of the residents of Ariake-so Apartments—Iwai Michiyasu’s secret lover Kawamata Fumie, then a rising dancer—had safely slipped through the dragnet by taking an underground passage from O-Chamatsu to Ochanomizu Embankment hand-in-hand with him.

It appeared she had come straight here from Ochanomizu Embankment, with not even thirty minutes having passed since the police raid. Just as before, clad in a flame-colored evening dress, she burst into a room of this dubious-looking cheap lodging house in a dazzling manner reminiscent of Nijinsky's "Firebird".

After pulling him back and slapping Yamaki across the cheek with all her might—his face pale and trembling violently— “Why are you trying to run and hide?” she shouted, but apparently overwhelmed, buried her face in Yamaki’s chest and burst into sobs. Yamaki stood gaping like a fool, utterly lost, but soon tears began spilling from between his narrow, weak eyelids as he clutched Fumie with all his strength, “Me, run away?… Don’t be ridiculous. If I meant to run away, would I have gone through with the plan? Why do you have to be so suspicious?”

He slumped forward, sobbing, but then once again cast furtive glances toward the sliding door and abruptly lowered his voice, “By the way—there wasn’t any chance someone was following you, was there? If that were to happen, all our efforts up to now would go down the drain. ……Don’t go getting the wrong idea now. I’m not doing this because I want to protect myself at all. The reason I’m hiding in this miserable state is because I want to somehow stay with you and survive even one day longer. C’mon, try to understand!”

his voice trembling, took Fumie’s hand and clutched it desperately,

“I was a cowardly, hopeless pessimist who’d think about dying over the slightest blow to my pride—but ever since you became the anchor of my heart, I’ve come to hate dying. No matter what hardships I face, I’ve come to want to survive them with you. ……I thought if I said such cringe-inducing things, I’d be laughed off, so I’d never uttered them until now—but that’s how I truly felt. ……If you’re a hardened soul, then so am I—yet here we are at death’s door, our bodies rotted away by syphilis, finally tasting love’s depths. It’s an ironic twist of fate, but I’m overjoyed. For your sake, I wouldn’t hesitate to commit murder…”

His words caught hoarsely in his throat, transforming into hitching, choking sobs. Fumie sat sideways on the tatami, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands, but seeming unable to endure it any longer, she covered her face with both palms—tears overflowed from between her beautiful fingers, forming streaks that trailed down her arms.

Hoarse voices sang Izumo-bushi from the direction of the large room. One might call it poignant, but being out of tune, it ended up sounding utterly foolish.

After some time, Fumie wiped her tears and formed an indescribably lonely smile, "I ended up crying."

With that, she stuck out her red tongue with a flick and recrossed her legs into an unladylike posture, “Let’s stop with that talk already.” “You already know without me saying it.” “If we make it through safely, let’s go on our honeymoon to Kusatsu or somewhere.” Yamaki nodded obediently, “Yes—anywhere you want.” Fumie gazed at Yamaki’s face with feigned nonchalance, “Yamaki—the old caretaker was strangled in O-Chamatsu’s secret passage.”

Yamaki gasped, “Huh?!” “Is... is that true?”

“That secret passage—at Ariake-so, only I, Iwai, and you knew about it. How strange this is.” “Do you have any idea what might have happened?” “Th-that’s a joke.” “…But this has turned into something serious, hasn’t it?” “Who the hell did such a thing?”

Fumie hardened her gaze slightly, “You don’t have to pretend. “You’re the one who killed Tsuruko too, aren’t you? … I pretended to be asleep and saw everything you did this morning.” "You slipped out along the rooftops of Suzumoto—where on earth did you go?" Yamaki had been trembling his chin and looking down, but eventually raised his face—his lips now ashen—stammering haltingly as his tongue tangled, “I’m a murderer…—this has turned into something dire.” “I suppose there’s no helping it if people think that… But I swear I have absolutely no memory of it. …I’d promised someone not to breathe a word of this to anyone until tomorrow—that’s why I kept even you in the dark. But now that things have come to this, I’ll tell you everything.” “If you listen to what I say, you’ll understand whether it’s a lie or the truth.” “At least you…”

Fumie’s expression turned serious,

“I don’t think you’re lying,” “Go ahead and tell me everything. …Even if you really did kill Tsuruko and Tome, I wouldn’t abandon you over something like that—so put your mind at ease too.” “But listen—I know I’m being pushy—just one more thing. …Yamaki, you truly didn’t kill Tsuruko and Tome, did you? …You’re certain?” “Pathetic… You think I could kill anyone?” “I can’t even manage to off myself, let alone someone else.”

Fumie let out a long sigh—"Ah..."—and “Yeah, I understand completely. "I was absolutely convinced you’d done it, so I racked my brains trying to figure out how to save you no matter what. “Actually…”

“and explained how she had discovered the ‘Five Monk Curse Diagram’ beneath the tatami in Hana’s room,” “Suddenly remembering that, I felt bad for Hana, but I intended to pin Tsuruko’s case on her no matter what—so I skillfully fabricated evidence and first tipped off Iwai at ‘O-Chamatsu’ as my opening move.” "...No one besides me knew about sneaking out of Suzumoto, so I added all sorts of embellishments to the story and was absolutely determined to bring Hana down." "If that special delivery with your address had arrived at O-Chamatsu’s messenger just a little later, I’d have gone straight to Manago’s place... I was dead certain I’d already been found out." "I won’t pretend to be tough." “It was a lie—thank goodness. …Now, let’s hear your story.” “Depending on what you say, I’m prepared to face the consequences, so…”

Yamaki leaned forward, “You know how I’ve been running around like a madman since last spring—mediating that large diamond deal between Inui Jinpei through Indō Chūsuke, taking a ten percent commission while trying to steer clear of the document forgery side.” “...Just five days ago, they finished the preliminary inspection and settled on ten million yen.” “But on the 20th, a telegram came from Annam.” “It got out that His Majesty had taken the diamond. As rumors spread about securing independence funds, Li Guangming’s opposition faction started making noise.” “Even the French government couldn’t ignore it—they ended up ordering their ambassador in Tokyo to verify the claims.” “His Majesty was torn up about it. He even talked about canceling the sale at one point. But he realized that even if he backed out now, with those rumors already circulating, they’d find some excuse to force him to abdicate sooner or later.” “Abdication itself wouldn’t be so bad—but then they’d exile him to Madagascar or some godforsaken island like they did with the 11th King Ishin. He’d spend his days scraping out tunes on a violin or whatever until he died in misery.” “That diamond’s been passed down through generations of Annam’s imperial family—it’s King Sōryū’s rightful property.” “Whether he sells it or gets it appraised, there’s nothing wrong with that.” “If he’d just kept quiet and obeyed, they’d have torn off his limbs instead and left him penniless—wandering wretchedly till his dying day.” “Since they were going to depose him anyway, he decided he might as well sell it and use the money to seek asylum in Turkey or somewhere.” “The original plan was to send the funds to the Annam Independence Party’s Paris branch—but with all this talk going around, their branch was probably destroyed already. Any grand schemes were hopeless by then.” “On the evening of the 30th at the Imperial Hotel—that’s when he confided his decision to me. Even someone as refined as His Majesty looked utterly desolate... I couldn’t help shedding tears.”

“So, did Tsuruko know about that?”

Yamaki shook his head, “No—it’s unfortunate, but she didn’t know a thing. The public believed His Majesty was infatuated with Tsuruko, and he himself used that perception as an excuse to make frequent trips to Japan—but as you know, how their relationship began had nothing to do with His Majesty taking a liking to her. Iwai took it upon himself to arrange things single-handedly, but over time Tsuruko became utterly infatuated. His Majesty, swayed by sentiment, ended up going along with it—but as you know, once he’s drunk, there’s no telling what he’ll blurt out. He’s such a troublesome fellow that it seems he hardly mentioned anything about the diamond.”

Fumie was listening to Yamaki’s story with a peculiar expression, but suddenly spoke in a voice like someone rousing from a dream, “I see... So that’s how it was.”

Yamaki, noticing this,

“What do you mean, ‘that’s how it was’?”

Fumie adopted a nonchalant demeanor, “No, I was just saying it’s a pity.” she deflected. She wore an air of hidden knowledge. Yamaki, oblivious, continued, "...So after renegotiating Inui's terms, we finalized the handover for the 2nd—tomorrow night at ten o'clock at Atami Hotel." "The payment would be deposited across sixteen banks—New York's National Bank, Paris's Escorte Nationale, Rome's Rome Bank, and thirteen others—with full settlement via certified checks." “Inui’s clerk Matsushima would represent their side, while His Majesty would leave Tokyo at eight for Atami disguised as a spa visit.” “Once concluded, His Majesty alone would depart immediately for Kobe, board the P&O steamship Samari at noon on the 3rd bound for Penang, then take a passenger plane to Istanbul—the asylum plan was set.……”

Now, regarding what happened the next day—though this actually occurred last night—at the New Year’s party at “Paris,” when I got up to go to the restroom, His Majesty was waiting for me beside a potted palm tree. He said he had an urgent request: I must come to the kitchen door of Tsuruko’s house by 3:50 AM. “The situation has grown extremely dangerous,” he urged with uncharacteristic intensity. “You must come stealthily, taking every precaution not to be seen. If you simply reach the kitchen door by that time, I will come out myself. Please ensure there are absolutely no mistakes.” The gravity of his manner made me tremble, yet I also felt profound pity. Taking His Majesty’s hand to pledge my loyalty, he responded with an inscrutably desolate expression before smirking wryly. “Due to that matter, the French Ambassador will interrogate me at four o’clock on the morning of the second.” “That’s manageable enough, but…” His gaze drifted toward the raucous partygoers. “Assassins from Li Guangming’s faction—those trying to kill me—arrived in Yokohama on the 27th aboard the President Houva. I only just discovered this myself.” He kept his voice low yet urgent. “Under these circumstances, even I can’t afford complacency.” As he added, “They might already be coming here,” a rough-faced young man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight entered through the doorway behind Emiko.

The man wore a tuxedo, but anyone could tell at a glance he wasn't accustomed to such attire. Despite his youth, he moved with unnerving precision, his eyes sharp as daggers. Without ceremony, he planted himself at a back table and lit a cigarette—no drink ordered—his composure unnervingly absolute. His Majesty jabbed me with an elbow. "Speak of the devil," he murmured, nodding toward the newcomer. "That's likely our man—matches the informant's description perfectly." He winked conspiratorially. "You've no experience with this sort, I imagine? I've handled assassins before. Only way to survive is keeping them tethered to your side." A mirthless chuckle escaped him. "Call it Machiavellian rather than paradoxical—so long as I monitor him closely, I'm reasonably safe... I'll take him in hand now and keep watch till tomorrow evening." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't forget our arrangement." He withdrew like shadow dissolving into darkness. I staggered back to my seat in drunken pantomime, collapsing dramatically in the corridor as my mind raced behind the facade—this was my magnum opus of deception.

I could acutely sense that some grave incident was unfolding. Even so, His Majesty remained truly pitiable. Though he ruled five million subjects, he existed like a man without refuge across the three realms—his father exiled to an island, his younger brother poisoned, himself exposed to ceaseless danger day and night with no knowledge of when an assassin's blade might strike. I may be a worthless wretch of a man, but remembering His Majesty's trust in me until now, I resolved to do anything within my power to save him from peril... Enough sentimental musing. Now then—while being trodden underfoot by you and stealing sidelong glances—it wasn't long before His Majesty departed Paris accompanied by the assassin.

...When three o'clock came and I was about to head out to meet His Majesty, the Carnus Show crew announced they were going to Suzumoto next—a damned nuisance. But given how things stood, I couldn't very well back out alone, so I ended up tagging along with everyone to Suzumoto. My partner Janet proved an insufferable hindrance. Then you tactfully handled things so well I thought 'thank Christ,' only for you to barge in at the worst moment and start dithering. The appointed time was closing in—I was frantic. Apologies, but I schemed every which way to get you drunk—fortunately you collapsed straight off. Checking my watch showed 3:30 already—no time to dawdle. I slipped out of Suzumoto via the rooftops, tried grabbing the iron hook on the dead-end storehouse to climb down, but botched it spectacularly—fell straight down and smashed my lower back so bad I couldn't get up. No time for that—crawled toward Sakaibashi where a cruising taxi appeared—hopped in and rode to Sannō-shita. Got stopped three times at security checkpoints but slipped through easy enough—used a duplicate key to open the door—tore out the bell system's external cord—circled round via back stairs to the kitchen entrance—pressed my ear against the door and heard His Majesty and Tsuruko... plus another man's voice. That assassin no doubt—sounded plastered—high-pitched rambling. Checked my watch—3:45 AM. Waited two minutes—heard someone enter the dining room rummaging through liquor cabinet—then came the clack of kitchen door lock disengaging—door jerked open six inches—His Majesty leaned through clutching champagne bottle—thrust it at me whispering urgent-like "Keep this till tomorrow night"—slammed door shut and retreated dining room way.

...What on earth was going on with this champagne bottle? Looking closer, it was an unopened bottle tightly sealed with wire and wrapped in tin foil. When I shook it, the champagne frothed vigorously inside. Nothing seemed particularly unusual at first. I turned the bottle vertically and horizontally against the lightbulb, but the mystery remained impenetrable. Then I suddenly noticed—the base that normally tapered conically now had a diamond-cut false bottom. Frantically running my hand over the bottle's base, I found it completely flat... A cold sensation pierced through me from toes to crown. There was no need to spell it out—instead of a false compartment, those fifty million yen had been welded solidly to the bottle's base. My heart pounded like a temple bell gone wild; my vision blurred. In that critical moment, I couldn't devise any proper course of action. Thinking to hide it in my room at least, I descended the back stairs and tried climbing up via the main staircase when footsteps echoed from the entrance. Deeming this perilous, I hid beside the boiler room until they passed before bolting headlong from Ariake-so Apartments.

...Thanks to the champagne bottle, I slipped through the security cordon on my return with ease. After getting out of the taxi in front of St. Luke’s Hospital, I scaled the pawnshop’s storehouse once more and returned to my room. When I looked inside, fortunately you were sound asleep. ...After all, having made this journey wearing only a single sock, the soles of my feet ached unbearably. And the sock was caked with mud.... This was no joke—if they traced my steps from this mess, I’d be done for. I thoroughly wiped the mud from the closet shelves and tatami mats with my handkerchief, then went to the washroom to quickly rinse the sock before hanging it over the electric stove.... Having mostly settled things, I now pondered how to dispose of this champagne bottle. No matter how you looked at it, having something like this lying around in the room was odd. If I didn’t place it in the most natural location, there was no telling whether some minor slip-up might arouse suspicion. The most natural place would be where? The first thing that came to mind was this house’s liquor cabinet—but at this point, putting it there would seem odd.... Then it hit me: the refrigerator. Having settled on this plan, I carried the bottle downstairs toward the front desk. Finding O-sada and O-chiyo chatting beside the counter, I requested, “I’ll be drinking this for tomorrow morning’s wake-up call—put it in the electric refrigerator.” O-sada rose casually and headed toward the kitchen. Once I confirmed the electric refrigerator door had securely closed, I suddenly felt my tension ease and nearly slumped down right there. I crawled back to my second-floor room, but when I lay flat on my back and thought it over, everything up to now seemed to blur like a dream, feeling utterly unreal. Just then, Janet came to wake me, and you went back to Ronald’s room. Soon a night storm blew in and we twelve lined up in prayer bead formation.... That’s all there is to the story. “I believe I’ve explained everything without omission, but if anything doesn’t sit right with you, ask away. I’ll elaborate until you’re satisfied.”

Fumie was listening to Yamaki’s story with her chin propped in her palm but now glared sharply upward, “I understand. I don’t think you’re lying. But Yamaki, if by some chance someone saw you slipping out of Suzumoto at that hour, your story won’t hold up. The more you try to explain, the more you’ll paint yourself into a corner. After all, this isn’t some naive little incident.”

Yamaki once again assumed a timid look in his eyes, "But His Majesty will prove it for me. His Majesty would—" Without letting him finish, "What if His Majesty has been killed?"

Yamaki’s face twisted as if on the verge of tears, his brows furrowed, but after a brief moment, his expression suddenly overflowed with joy,

“Hey, Fumi-chan! I’m saved.” “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

and began frantically flailing about as if swimming through air, “Ah, sheer luck, sheer luck! I might just be saved… You see, as I was running down Munatsukizaka slope, I happened to glance up at Hanako’s second-floor window and saw her leaning on the sill like this, staring straight up at Ariake-so Apartments.” “The moonlight struck her face, making her normally too-pale complexion float ghostly white in the darkness, her features twisted into a terrifying visage like that of a woman consumed by vengeance.” “She looked ready to leap into the air any moment, hair disheveled like a wrathful spirit—it made me shudder. Anyway, if I left Ariake-so just before four and the incident happened around ten past, Hanako might’ve witnessed the whole thing.” “In my recollection, the moon had just shifted west and was shining directly onto the entrance window, so Hanako must have seen everything from her place.” “…If that’s the case… then I should be in the clear…”

Fumie abruptly opened her mouth, "So it's certain Hanako was leaning out the window. You saw her clearly?" "So she had that wrathful spirit's face..." "Was the light on in Hanako's room?" "No—pitch-dark." Fumie glared upward with a fierce look while deep in thought, then twisted her lips into a grin— "Hanako definitely saw it... Not just saw—she knew damn well beforehand something would kick off at Tsuruko's place this morning."

“Huh?! What’s that supposed to mean...” “There’s no reason or explanation needed, I tell you. Just think—has there ever been a single time when Hanako’s room light was off? She always keeps a five-candlepower electric light on because she says darkness makes her too fretful to sleep.… As for me, whenever I dash back late from Sannō-shita, I always feel relieved seeing that bright window.… So why was it turned off only last night? Even if it were New Year’s Eve, what reason would she have to make such a face and stare up at Tsuruko’s place at four in the morning?… It’s not like we’re in the dog days of summer—standing out in this freezing cold, letting the wind whip at her… that doesn’t make sense, does it. What a reckless fool! She'll catch a cold out there, I tell you.… This morning at Toranomon, when I laid a little trap during our meeting, she nearly had a fit—but now I’ve swallowed the reason for that wholeheartedly.”

Yamaki began jiggling his knees,

“So that means it was His Majesty who did the killing after all, huh? If it weren’t His Majesty, that stubborn girl would never just stay silent. Let alone if it weren’t His Majesty—there’s no way she’d nearly have a fit just because you set a trap for her. This is the greatest proof.” “Well, who can say?” “What do you mean ‘who can say’?! Precisely *because* His Majesty did the killing, that’s why the police made such a fuss, isn’t it? Even if you look at the evening paper’s article, you can clearly tell how extensively they’ve covered it up. It’s been disposed of in just five or six lines using six-point type, isn’t it? And if it weren’t His Majesty, they wouldn’t just leave us alone like this.”

Fumie looked up at Yamaki’s face with a sharp upward glance from beneath, "You’re right—they won’t just leave us be. "They’re scouring the city for us. "So Iwai and I scrambled our way into ‘Ochamatsu,’ I tell you. “Paris”— “they’ve already staked out both front and back, from what I hear. "And there’s talk His Majesty was snatched straight from Hibiya Park. "Everything’s taken a sudden turn—things are getting downright dangerous now.”

Yamaki suddenly paled, restlessly raising his knees as he spoke in a frightened voice—

“Then we can’t keep messing around here any longer. If they raid us even once, that’ll finish us.” As Yamaki thrashed about in panic, Fumie seized his hand and yanked him down to sit. “Why’re you panicking now like it’s some new calamity? If we didn’t have that business hanging over us, there’d be nothing to fear at all, would there?”

Yamaki’s face twisted as if he might burst into tears at any moment, and lowering his voice— “There’s something I’m afraid of. “…Actually, I have it here.”

Fumie gasped—"Huh?!"—and caught her breath,

“Is that… true? …Oh… what a fool…”

Yamaki darted his eyes restlessly toward the door while,

“I never meant to bring it here, but I ended up in this mess…” He gasped— “...So after leaving Ariake-so, I went straight to Suzumoto’s vicinity. I went there myself and—reconsidering how suspicious last night’s champagne bottle was—headed up to Akasaka’s ‘Kuretake.’ After having the maid take the bottle, I lay down until around four o’clock. But while going to the toilet, I casually glanced across the garden at the four-and-a-half-mat room and caught a glimpse of Emiko and Baroncelli.” “From what I can figure, Emiko’s definitely the one who led that assassin to Paris—and now that she’s come to corner me like this, her purpose is clear.” “I dashed back to my room and, cradling the bottle under my arm, tried to exit Kuretake’s gate—only to find Hutchinson leaning casually against the opposite side of the partial wall, staking out the place.” “I hadn’t expected him to be this quick.” “In desperation, I dashed into the side garden, smashed the bottle and took only the bottom, climbed over the wooden fence to emerge in the alley by the Catholic Church, then hailed a taxi near Kaikoku Bridge and fled here—that’s how it went.”

Suddenly, the sliding door between them clattered open, and from the supposedly vacant three-tatami room next door, Kōda Sessan abruptly appeared. No, it wasn’t just Kōda Sessan. Sakazuki Mamoru—Kōda Sessan’s usual partner—alongside Indō Chūsuke, Matsuzawa Heikichi of the Tokyo Gemstone Club, and one other man clad in black serge clutching a briefcase who resembled a process server—these five individuals entered one after another. They silently surrounded Yamaki and Fumie at the center and sat down without uttering a word. The three-tatami room instantly became packed to the gills.

Chapter Thirty: Concerning a Single Carnation

And: Concerning the Carefree Humming

Now then, Yūhi Newspaper reporter Furuichi Kaju, upon hearing a seemingly trivial anecdote from Annam Emperor’s intelligence chief Song Xiu Chen about how that morning’s crane fountain had sung Annam’s national anthem, suddenly saw through the truth of this tangled, convoluted case. Even as the Metropolitan Police Department’s entire apparatus—in a state of disarray too appalling to behold—strained every effort in their investigation to rescue the Annam Emperor from assassins’ hands at all costs and return him to his hotel by 4 AM tomorrow morning when the French Ambassador en route back to the capital would pay audience, it was precisely this same Emperor whom he realized was residing beneath the pedestal of Hibiya Park’s “Crane Fountain”—right under the police’s very noses. Ah—it truly was darkest under the lighthouse itself, he mused with his usual vulgar sentiment—and mustering all his ingenuity, he examined every possibility. But since one clearly could not enter from the pedestal’s direction, there was no choice but to conclude that someone had reached beneath it through some passageway. Kaju had been sitting on the bench for nearly an hour, grumbling in frustration, when he was suddenly visited by an unexpected inspiration and leapt up from the bench.

While Kaju had been diligently applying himself in the civil engineering department at Hokkaido University, he recalled having reluctantly pored over old maps such as the *Kyōhō Sen'yō Ruishū* and Ōkubo Mondonoshō’s *Tenshō Nikki* to keep up with Dr. Asami’s lectures on "Water Supply Engineering During the Tokugawa Period," through which he had studied the layout of the large underground aqueducts. According to that memory, beneath the area stretching from Shibatamura-chō to this Hibiya Field, the large underground conduits of the Kanda and Tamagawa Aqueducts must have crisscrossed in countless directions, resembling the labyrinth of Crete.

Musashino was originally a wild plain of marshy wetlands; if one were to dig a well, they would find either polluted water or seawater that rose and fell with the tides, leaving the area exceedingly lacking in clean water. When Tokugawa Ieyasu established his seat of governance in this land, he channeled water from Akasaka Reservoir and the streams beneath Kandayama into the city to barely meet its needs. However, as these waters were perpetually turbid and prone to drying up, in the 18th year of Tenshō [1590], he ordered Ōkubo Fujigorō to survey potential reservoirs. Upon discovering that Inokashira Pond’s water was suitable for drinking, Ieyasu had him construct the Kanda Aqueduct. Then, during the Kan’ei era under the third shogun Iemitsu, Tamagawa Seiemon was commissioned to create the Tamagawa Aqueduct drawing from the Tama River. Later, in the Genroku era, following Kawamura Zuiken’s designs, the Senkawa Aqueduct—sourced from Sanpō Pond in Shakujii Village—was laid. Large conduits were buried beneath the city streets, with catchment wells installed throughout to supply drinking water to the populace. As for branch water channels, there were three aqueducts: Mita, Aoyama, and Kameari.

To describe the path of these two major aqueduct conduits: The Kanda Aqueduct originated from Inokashira Pond in Mitaka Village, Kita-Tama District, combined with water from Zenpukuji Pond in Kami-Igusa to reach beneath Mejirodai, flowed along the base of Kohinata-dai through Kōrakuen Garden, crossed the Kanda River via a large conduit near Suidōbashi to supply water to Kanda, Nihonbashi, and Kyōbashi; passed underground beneath Hibiyamon Gate, and ultimately reached the moat near Sukiyamamon Gate. The Tamagawa Aqueduct branched off from the Tama River at Nishitama Noboramura, entered the city through Yotsuya Ōkido, passed through Toranomon and Tamura-chō to reach Hibiya, temporarily merged with the Kanda Aqueduct's large underground conduit, then split again to detour west from Yamashita-mon Bridge and ultimately reached the moat near Babanosakimon Bridge.

These were the main lines of the aqueducts, but from these large underground conduits branched countless subsidiary channels that crisscrossed beneath Kōjimachi, forming an immensely complex underground passageway rivaling even the sewers of Paris. Once within that large underground aqueduct, one could reach Kohinata-daimachi via Kyōbashi and Nihonbashi on one side, or arrive beneath Yotsuya Ōkido via Toranomon on the other—all without ever emerging above ground. Kurita Kazuyume's Tenmei Zasshu records how Ichibee—a peasant from Arikata Village in Adachi District—had his son Shin’nosuke, that infamous Inaba Kozō Shin’nosuke, utilize this vast aqueduct system to operate freely. On the night of September 16th in the fifth year of Tenmei [1785], following his usual pattern, he entered the then-defunct Aoyama Aqueduct's large underground conduit near Azabu Roppongi, leisurely strolled underground from Iikura to Shiba Shinbori, and abruptly materialized in the garden of Kuroda Bungo-no-kami's lower residence—only to be discovered by guard samurai, captured, and ultimately beheaded and displayed in Asakusa on October 22nd of that same year.

When one consulted the Tokyo Municipal Waterworks Compendium published in Meiji 44 (1911), it became evident that only the old underground conduit of the Senkawa Aqueduct—which had come under ownership of Iwasaki Hisaya's Senkawa Waterworks Company in Meiji 40 (1907)—had been dug up, while the labyrinthine networks of other large conduits still spread beneath greater Tokyo like spiderwebs, winding across over ten ri to this day. The reality of these massive underground aqueducts had faded from collective memory along with the old maps from Water Conduit Specifications, and few today knew that such strange subterranean passageways crisscrossed beneath asphalt-paved roads. According to the Water Conduit Specifications, these large underground aqueducts measured six shaku in height and four shaku five sun in width—a type of subterranean channel whose perimeter had been paved with Ōya stone, with four-ken-square catchment wells installed every two chō. Now moss crept over the surrounding stone walls, half-weathered and rendered brittle, yet one could still wander freely through their interiors. This secret passageway stood as nothing less than the most enthralling component among all urban mechanisms shaping that demon capital called 'Tokyo'.

Having unwittingly digressed into academic exposition while recounting Kaju’s deductions, I shall stop here for now. So then—from where exactly had the Emperor entered this aqueduct? Since this secret passage ran fifteen shaku underground, it should not have been easy to enter. If a large-scale construction project had begun in this area, the large underground aqueduct would have been severed there, exposing the entrance to the secret passage... when it suddenly occurred to him. At this very moment, large-scale underground construction for a broadcasting station had begun in Tamura-chō 1-chōme. Since it was a massive two-story underground structure, he reasoned the large underground aqueduct must surely have been severed there—somewhere in that construction site, the entrance to the great secret passage was undoubtedly gaping wide open! In other words, Kaju’s deduction had arrived at this point in one continuous stroke—that His Majesty must have entered from there due to some circumstance. For Kaju—whose mental gears typically ground with all the alacrity of congealed treacle—this constituted a remarkably nimble feat of deduction.

Having confirmed this, Kaju began running from Hibiya Park and raced all the way to the broadcasting station construction site. But just as one would expect him to charge straight in, he instead dashed past the 1-chome intersection toward Minami-Sakuma-cho. When he slid open the front door of the small-gated house behind the elementary school, he stomped up to the second floor without asking for guidance, brushing past the dumbfounded maid, and began frantically rummaging through the large bookcase against the wall.

This house was formerly the residence of Dr. Asami Atsutaro—a Hokkaido University professor and current consultant for the Tokyo City Civil Engineering Bureau—but it appeared Kaju had come here seeking old maps of the large underground aqueducts. In a frenzy, he rummaged through musty old bookcases until he pulled out a Japanese-style bound book labeled *Tenshō Nikki*. Tearing off the map attached to its end and stuffing it into his pocket, he snatched the small handheld flashlight atop the bookshelf and bolted from the house without a word. Hailing a taxi out front, he rode to Matsuzakaya’s entrance in Ginza. Approaching Xiu Chen—who stood dazedly at the street corner counting cars with disc-shaped license plates—he briskly ordered him to come to the Tamura-chō 1-chōme broadcasting station construction site in thirty minutes, then returned to Tamura-chō’s intersection in the same taxi.

When he entered the boarded enclosure, around the twenty-shaku-deep construction site, three concrete mixers sat dampened by the night wind while several trolleys lay overturned on rust-reddened rails. Steel bars and mortar bags rose in mountainous piles here and there, creating an undeniably imposing sight. Guided by his handheld flashlight’s beam, Kaju circled the excavation pit’s edge until reaching the night watchman’s hut. Holding his breath, he peered inside—but as expected on New Year’s Day, no watchman slept there. The space lay desolate, devoid of human presence. Returning to the pit’s rim, he surveyed the area and noticed a plank walkway attached to the opposite side. Circling around, he began cautiously descending to the bottom. At the recently completed foundation layer, the great hole’s perimeter exposed the earth’s cross-section like a frigid stratigraphic diagram. His gaze caught on a large canvas draped over the Uchisaiwaichō-facing wall—only there. Heart pounding, he rushed forward and flung the covering aside. Ah! Just as he thought! Not a single flaw existed in Kaju’s deduction.

Behind the canvas, the entrance to an age-old secret passage—reminiscent of Shinjuku's underground tunnels—yawned open like a drowsy beast stretching its jaws. Kaju gazed at the passageway entrance with the exhilaration of Christopher Columbus sighting Guanahani Island, but when his eyes absently dropped to his feet, he found something peculiar atop the leveled crushed stones. There lay none other than a single crimson carnation perfuming the darkness with its demure presence, as though it had bloomed spontaneously from the gravel. In this drab construction site devoid of aesthetic sensibility, nothing clashed more violently with its surroundings than this expensive early-blooming flower. Thus intensified was its coquettish allure that it seized Kaju's attention with unnatural force.

When Kaju picked up the carnation and examined it, he realized its stem had been cut short—clearly, it had been taken from someone’s buttonhole. Ah, this single flower not only lent a poetic touch to the construction site but also told of a crucial matter. ……His Majesty had entered the secret passage from here.

Dear readers, you likely recall. In the first installment’s scene at the bar “Paris,” Emperor Munakata Ryūtarō of Annam had worn a crimson carnation elegantly adorning his London-tailored tuxedo’s lapel. This was that very flower from that night. Kaju gazed at the blossom with gleaming eyes before declaring in a voice quivering with irrepressible triumph: “Ah! Just as I thought—my deduction held true. This confirms beyond doubt His Majesty lies beneath Crane Fountain. ...Right then—I’ll follow this old map to reach the pedestal’s underside and wring a statement from His Majesty myself.”

Muttering to himself, he slowly entered the secret passage. When he illuminated the area with his handheld flashlight, the walls of the cut-stone passage were entirely covered with unidentifiable gecko-like insects. As they all began sluggishly shifting in unison, the entire wall seemed to quiver. Stalactite-like formations resembling icicles hung from the ceiling, water plopping rhythmically from their tips. The musty damp air hung thick and stagnant, striking his face with oppressive weight.

The secret passage had sufficient height to walk upright without one's head touching the ceiling, but the footing lay unevenly elevated with crude stone pavement overlaid by gentle slopes that alternately ascended and descended. The dull rumbling overhead like distant thunder was likely the sound of train tracks. From this, Kaju reasoned he must now be walking beneath Tamura-chō Avenue. After continuing for about ten minutes, the secret passage unexpectedly terminated in a dead end. He frantically spread out the old map to check, but no such underground aqueduct was marked there. Clicking his tongue in frustration, Kaju turned back along his original path—only now noticing side passages branching left and right from the main tunnel, each stretching far into the darkness. After some deliberation, he entered the right passage. Yet no matter how far he pressed forward, the tunnel seemed endless. When he strained his ears, something resembling the sound of river waves reached him. Thinking he might have emerged near the moat, he began retracing his route. He tried returning to the three-way junction from earlier, but no matter how long he walked, he couldn't find it.

Looking around, Kaju found himself standing at what resembled a crossroads within the underground passage, from which roads ran out in four directions. On the verge of tears, he checked the map again, but he couldn’t begin to tell which path corresponded to which route. Thinking he might catch the rumble of a train, he pressed his ear against the wall to listen—and heard something like a hum. It was a carefree tone, like a cheerful drunken man humming a nonsensical song. When he listened carefully, it sounded like the chirping of ground insects and also like the scuttling of geckos crawling about. Regardless, he dashed into the left-hand path aiming to reach where the sound was coming from, but the end of that path split into three branches that snaked onward into the depths of darkness.

Kaju finally became lost in the labyrinth of large underground passages. When he glanced at his wristwatch, it was exactly twelve o'clock! Only four hours remained until 4 AM.

Part 10

31. On the Night View of Shin-Yoshiwara

And on Foxes Riding Horses

The New Jewel Year's dawn, when households first display their crests.

Great and small bamboo fences; vermilion-latticed display windows brilliantly illuminated by neon; New Year pine decorations rustling in modern style; the syncopated rhythms of dadara drums somehow tinged with jazz—such was the present-day Kikenjō.

Come springtime, along Gojūken-dōri—where rows of scarlet cherry trees would bloom with alluring flowers—stretched five or six establishments from its entrance toward Nakanochō: teahouses elegant with hemp curtains, their paper lanterns inscribed in pale ink... (Hasekawa) Fushimiya

is written in flowing script.

A second-floor eight-tatami room facing the street. There were two individuals silently sipping from their cups around a rosewood table at this very moment. One was Indō Chūsuke—adopted son of the notorious loan shark Inui Nihei and resident of the infamous Ariake-so Apartments—who in the previous installment had accompanied Kōda Sessan (the unscrupulous president of the Yūhi Newspaper), his accomplice Sakazuki Mamoru (Hibiya Park’s head gardener), and Matsuzawa (agent of the Tokyo Precious Stones Club’s Shimamura Tokubei) as they barged uninvited into the neighboring room where Yamaki Motokichi and Kawamata Fumie had been locked in crimson-passioned embrace, all while trailed by a bailiff-like man clutching a briefcase at Asakusa’s budget hotel.

The other was John Hutchinson—the Franco-Japanese mixed-race correspondent for "Havas" News Agency—who, in the sixth installment’s scene at Tsukiji Akashi-chō, had pinned "Carnus Show" manager Baroncelli against the railing of Akebashi Bridge at dusk, threatened him with accusations of either selling the Emperor to the Tsurumi-gumi or abducting him, left behind an odd parting threat before exiting the scene, and had not been seen since. Indō’s face showed sweat beading over his greasepaint makeup as he heaved sighs from his shoulders like a man who had dashed about to the limits of his strength. The carefully drawn eyebrows had streamed into an inverted V-shape at the outer corners of his eyes, rendering his face as absurd as a tragic mask from a Greek drama.

Hutchinson's face had transformed over the course of a single day into something unrecognizably harsh—sunken eyes now ringed with thundercloud-like shadows, his already intimidating features taking on an even more forbidding cast. To put it bluntly, he looked utterly gruesome—as if he’d just murdered someone—his appearance so ghastly it sent chills down the spine of anyone who saw him.

From both near and far came the booming rhythm of lively drums, yet this room alone lay steeped in oppressive gloom—its occupants locked in a tense standoff, stealing furtive glances as they sized each other up.

Just when this grave silent drama seemed poised to continue eternally, Indō abruptly opened his mouth with a strained laugh, "...There's a proverb about sails finding wind, but even serpents recoil at this viper's path." "When such commotions arise, this house alone becomes the sole refuge." "...I thought I'd had a brilliant idea rushing here, but lo and behold—you were already waiting, boss. It really made me realize there's always someone above you." "...Which makes me think...you too must have some hand in this incident."

With that, he parted his thin lips, their lipstick peeling.

Hutchinson placed his cup on the table with matching shrewdness in his expression. “When it comes to involvement, you’re in the same boat.” “After all, being one of Ariake-so’s residents counts for everything right now.” “You could easily get dragged into some ugly business if they lead you astray. Best not meddle when things are this hot—leave sleeping gods lie. Just keep your head down and wait for calm.”

“No, you’re quite right,” said Indō, while continuing to study Hutchinson’s face with probing intensity. “That aside, it’s turned into quite the uproar, hasn’t it? From what I’ve heard, it’s become the biggest police raid since the Metropolitan Police Department was founded—utterly ridiculous! I’ve just been scurrying around helter-skelter. Like I said earlier, when I was pinning down Yamaki with Kōda and the others at that cheap inn in Umamichi, they suddenly shouted ‘Police inspection!’ and we all panicked, rushing outside—only to find this absolutely terrifying scene.” "...At the entrance to Shōten Alley, police trucks had stopped, and they were raiding all the cheap lodging houses on both sides—scooping through every nook and cranny like a net—you know." “Realizing this was bad news, we rushed back into the house—since you could escape through the back alleys all the way to Yoshino Bridge—and then everyone, enemies and allies alike, ended up kicking up the gutter planks as we dashed out toward Kogawamachi.” "I alone managed to reach Sumida Park in good order, but when I looked, police lines had already been set up at every corner of the park." "I doubled back to Saruwaka-chō, but that didn’t work either." At the corner of Sanchōme, they were swarming—a crowd of police officers. “Cornered with nowhere to go, I turned toward the streetcar avenue—just then a Minami-Senju-bound tram arrived by perfect timing. I jumped on it to Namidabashi, then took a taxi through Imado before finally managing to get here—that’s how it went.” "There was a moment when I thought all was lost." “After all, I was stuck with that notorious Kōda—if they arrested us together, there’d be no end to the trouble…”

he trailed off evasively, his tone defensive. Hutchinson grinned, "Well, Kōda might've shared the same sentiment as you, boss. That aside—what exactly went down when you pinned Yamaki? Spit it out in detail. With that silver tongue of yours—let's hear it."

he said coaxingly. His words were glib, but his face had taken on an unpleasant pallor, revealing a desperate determination to extract the story by any means necessary.

According to Manago Akira’s investigation at "Suzumoto" from the previous installment, it had been confirmed that between 3:50 AM and 5:00 AM this dawn—the timeframe when Matsutani Tsuruko was theorized to have been murdered by someone at the Ariake-so Apartments—Iwai and Hutchinson had also slipped out of "Suzumoto" via the rooftops. Judging from Hutchinson’s strained expression as he hid in the teahouse, one might suspect he held some grave connection to this incident. However, setting that aside, when Hutchinson made such an invitation, Indō immediately took the bait—thrusting his jaw forward and lowering his voice with exaggerated gravity,

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Hutchinson, until just now I’d only thought Yamaki killed Tsuruko and stole the Emperor’s diamond.” “But…”

With a flippant gesture, he knocked his forehead,

"But when I heard Yamaki's unsolicited confession in the neighboring room, I realized it was completely off the mark."

"This has gotten rather convoluted, hasn't it? So?" Indō recounted how he'd witnessed Yamaki slipping out of "Suzumoto" and returning via the rooftops, then explained how he'd sold this information to Shimamoto's gang to pocket ten thousand yen.

"However, we couldn't find Yamaki's whereabouts—the crucial piece missing." "Just as everyone was growing frantic, word came from Shimamoto's underling—Fumie had just entered the cheap inn at Umamichi." "When reports suggested Yamaki might be there too, we rushed over with bailiffs in tow and hid in the three-tatami gloom of the neighboring room to eavesdrop—there was that bastard Yamaki, cornered by Fumie and spilling his guts through tears." "[...] at the 'Paris' year-end party, I'd been asked by His Majesty to sneak over to Tsuruko's kitchen door around 3:30 tomorrow morning and was entrusted with a champagne bottle containing a diamond in its false bottom. While loitering at 'Kuretake' in Tsukiji, some shadowy figure cornered me—driven to desperation, I smashed the bottle to retrieve the diamond and fled mindlessly to that flophouse—"

“I see—now that I’ve heard this and reconsidered—Yamaki can’t drive a car.” "The fact that Yamaki isn’t lying becomes perfectly clear from that alone." “Every detail lines up.” “Hmm... That’s a peculiar story indeed.” “The fact that Yamaki can’t handle a car is something I know full well.” “Yet if the Road Star moved, we’d have to conclude someone besides Yamaki slipped out of ‘Suzumoto’ around the same time—but among us six, only three can drive the Road Star: myself, Mr. Iwai, and Mr. Indō.” “So then—what does this signify?”

Hutchinson seemed lost in thought, his cheek propped against the car, when suddenly he let out a throaty laugh— "That aside, Mr. Indō—if I may be so bold, allow me to offer my insights into this matter of Yamaki's desperate predicament." "...From my deductions, I believe it must have gone down roughly like this." "Well now—that's how the five of them ended up surrounding Yamaki and Fumie and sitting down together." "With the evidence right there on them, things moved quickly." "They thrust that forged notarized document with the old man's seal—or whatever it was—in his face, manhandled him to forcibly seize the goods... only to find it wasn't a diamond at all—just some worthless glass bead." "...Hey now, Mr. Indō—that's how it was, wasn't it?"

Indō gasped in astonishment, rendered speechless for a moment before floundering like a fish out of water— “H-how do you know that?” Hutchinson replied with affected nonchalance, “There’s simply no alternative.” “Now that I’ve heard your account—you said the diamond was welded to the champagne bottle’s base, correct?” “Just consider—you don’t weld a world-class flawless diamond to some glass bottle. It would ruin the stone! Only a madman would attempt such idiocy.”

gazed at Indō’s face with a look that seemed to say "utterly absurd,"

“You gentlemen may not be aware, but that is neither welding nor anything of the sort. It’s inherently a bottle with that kind of upper base to begin with.…… In Huế, Annam, there’s a brewing company called ‘Bonizol Brothers Company.’ They market a champagne called ‘Emperor,’ for which they’ve crafted an upper base of rosette-cut glass modeled after a treasure secretly stored by the imperial household. The champagne itself isn’t particularly palatable, but well—this mechanism has become something of a specialty, so in Annam, there’s not a soul who doesn’t know of it. I could have a dozen or two shipped over for you if you’d like, but for them to be running around frantically clutching the base of some glass bottle—now that’s an outrageous scandal. It truly has an air of the utterly fantastical, I must say.……As one would expect of His Majesty’s refined methods—this delicate orchestration has effortlessly taken shape as a work of satirical fiction. Oh, no... Heh, heh, heh...”

he burst into uncontrollable laughter. After laughing uproariously, “The saying ‘To deceive the enemy, first deceive your allies’ ain’t just some naniwa-bushi ballad verse." “Since everyone’d already cottoned on to Yamaki brokering the diamond sale, making it look like they handed the real thing over to that sap lets the genuine article dodge the heat—for a spell." "The more that gullible fool Yamaki Motokichi believes it’s legit and goes scramblin’ for cover, the better the ruse works." "That’s where the Emperor’s sharp eye comes in—picking Yamaki for the job." “Now if they’d given this glass bead to a sharp cookie like you? Wouldn’t have flown half so smooth." “You’d never stuff some trinket in your pocket and go hightailin’ around without checkin’ if it’s real, now would ya?" “...So there you have it—the whole diamond-and-Yamaki mess tied up neater than a Kabuki finale." “Not a loose thread left dangling." “Clear as that champagne bottle’s bottom.... That settles that score, but your Road Star’s midnight joyride needs pickin’ apart proper.... Let’s lay cards flat—your room’s prime real estate, Mr. Indō. Closest to the shitter and back gate." “Hold your nose through the cesspit crawl, shimmy along the baseboard to the far end, scale that fence—you’d slip outta Suzumoto without leavin’ so much as a toe print in the garden dirt.”

He said with a calm expression. Indō looked startled and averted his eyes, but soon assumed a defiant expression, "Heh, heh—well, I anticipated such a development might occur, so I meticulously clarified my comings and goings in advance." "If it came to light, I figured that part would be dug into anyway—so I roused Mary from the enemy side and kept her drinking with me until the Road Star returned." "...Well? Do you think this counts as an alibi?" "If that's not good enough, I've got other arrangements ready…"

Hutchinson said in a tone one might use to coax a child, “Oh, is that so. It does, it does—if that’s indeed the case, it’s a solid alibi. So then, that would mean the one who moved the Road Star was either yours truly here, Hutchinson, or Mr. Iwai. Well now, this has turned into quite a dangerous situation.”

Indō raised one knee in a coquettish manner and contorted his lips into a cruel sneer, “Mr. Hutchinson, you’re playing dumb too. ...Come on, confess—you’re the one who tore off in the Road Star, aren’t you? I know more than that.” Hutchinson retorted in a dismissive tone, “Hohoho, might there be some sort of evidence for that? I can’t just let that slide.”

Indō mockingly stroked his slender chin, “According to Yamaki’s account, you—alongside Emiko and Baroncelli—drove Yamaki into ‘Kuretake’ and staked out the gate with an innocent face. But as I said earlier, since it was Emiko who guided the assassins to ‘Paris,’ if you’ve been colluding with such people, we can’t let you, Mr. Hutch, claim to have played *no role whatsoever* in this incident.”

At these words, Hutchinson sprang up from his seat as if propelled, trembling as though stricken with malaria, but finally managed in a fragmented voice— “Th-that… about Emiko and Baroncelli being in cahoots at ‘Kuretake’—is that true?” “Are you certain?” Indō gazed fixedly at Hutchinson’s disarray with a look of deep satisfaction, “Yes, there was apparently no error in that observation.”

Hutchinson slumped his head as if struck by lightning and stared downward. When observed, his shoulders heaved like waves, and the fists on his knees trembled uncontrollably. It became an exceedingly grotesque sight.

Indō’s expression grew even more cruel, “You seem quite grief-stricken.” “If I’ve upset you somehow, I’m sorry.” “…But really, whether you kill Tsuruko or spare her makes no difference to me either way.” “But y’see, I just hate being left out—I’m the jealous type. …When I went back to Ariake-so Apartments this morning to change clothes, it really hit me again—those folks there are downright stingy-minded.” “If you wanted to do some work, you should’ve just said so and asked for help! But no—sneaking around trying to handle it alone is why everything’s turned into this mess.” “Serves you right!”

Hutchinson raised his bloodless face, bloodshot eyes darting restlessly as he laughed with indescribable ferocity, “Now it all adds up. “…She planned that seduction scheme. “…I’d been madly in love from the start—if she’d tried that approach, even Baron would’ve been helpless. …Not knowing that…I rashly broke it off…Ah…How excruciating it must’ve been. “What a wretched thing I did. “And yet…”

He muttered these things under his breath, then hung his head once more and groaned as if weighed down by a thousand thoughts. After a moment, he abruptly looked up. “Mr. Indō… That was truly invaluable information you’ve shared.” “You have my gratitude.” “But now that I have your attention—there’s one more thing I’d like to ask.” “I understand you were summoned to Ariake-so Apartments—could you tell me exactly what time that was?”

“Oh? That’s what you’re asking? …Since I left ‘Paris’ almost right as Mr. Iwai arrived, it must’ve been around nine-thirty.” “You got in just fine, didn’t you?”

Indō wore a bewildered look, “What do you mean?” “There were a large number of police officers there, weren’t there?” “No, there wasn’t a single one to be found.” “As I tried to enter the entrance, the old gatekeeper woman came out and said, ‘This morning, Miss Tsuruko got drunk and jumped out the window—what a whimsical thing,’ laughing.” “Thinking to myself *what she was getting so worked up about*, when I said *that must’ve been quite an ordeal*, they spouted off about how the police had already come by before six this morning to take Miss Tsuruko’s body away, so everything was all settled.” “When I asked, ‘So, can I go into the room?’ they said there was no question of yes or no.” “While thinking His Majesty’s authority truly is formidable, I immediately headed to my room…”

Hutchinson had an unusual gleam in his eyes,

“Strange… So, Mr. Iwai is lying.” “Huh?!”

Hutchinson’s face stiffened sharply, “Have you already forgotten? Even though he’d hurriedly bid us farewell saying he was returning to Ariake-so, judging by Mr. Iwai’s appearance when he entered ‘Paris’—still wearing last night’s tuxedo—I asked if he hadn’t gone back to his main residence after all. He claimed there were so many police officers stationed at Ariake-so’s gate that they absolutely wouldn’t let him inside.” “However, according to what I’ve just heard, both the autopsy and investigation were properly concluded before six o’clock, and all police personnel had already withdrawn before we were released from Akashi Station—leaving not a single guard remaining at Ariake-so’s gate.”

He stared fixedly at Indō’s face with piercing eyes, “Why on earth would he tell such a pointless lie?” “Strange business… But if that’s the case… there’s another bizarre detail… Didn’t you notice it, sir?” the fact that red soil had clung thickly to the heels of Iwai’s shoes. “For someone as fastidious about his appearance as Mr. Iwai usually is, this was utterly unthinkable—which is precisely why it caught my attention. But when you think about it—these days, you couldn’t find that kind of red soil anywhere in central Tokyo even if you tried. In other words—Mr. Iwai lied to us about returning to Ariake-so Apartments and must’ve spent that hour and a half before appearing at ‘Paris’ running around some backcountry road.” “…This has turned into quite a suspicious scene.” “On one hand, there is the fact that His Majesty was abducted from Hibiya Park by someone around nine o’clock this morning and taken somewhere, and on the other hand, there exists a person who was running about at that same time with his shoes covered in red soil.”

Indō cut in with a face that seemed to belittle the other person, “With all due respect—why must we dismiss the possibility of him having already been killed?” “That’s because the government has prepared a stand-in for His Majesty at the Imperial Hotel.” “As you may know, the window of His Majesty’s room at the Imperial Hotel faces the second-floor window of the ‘Nippon Chōhei’ Building.” “From that window—if you look from afar—you can catch glimpses of His Majesty’s room through the lace curtains.” “I observed without missing a single detail—using a telescope.” “However, what my eyes captured was someone who vaguely resembles His Majesty but is undeniably a complete stranger… If His Majesty had been killed, even a government that prides itself on its reputation would have no means left to act.” “Even if they’ve planted His Majesty’s decoy, it’s far too late for that to make any difference now.” “—Do you see now?” “As long as a His Majesty who isn’t His Majesty remains at the hotel, it proves the real one still lives somewhere.”

With that, he gulped down the chilled sake and hastily pulled his coat close, “At a time like this, I don’t care about your lectures. “To be honest, I’d planned to wait here for whoever I thought kidnapped His Majesty, pin them down when they were cornered, and rescue him. But it seems my assumption was wrong—the culprit must be elsewhere. …In that case, I can’t just keep lounging around here.” “I’ll be making another desperate dash.” “Well then, you just take your time.”

With that, he hurriedly stood up. Though he was artfully talking his way through it, one couldn't deny that—depending on how you looked at it—he might be trying to escape Indō's relentless questioning. Indō seemed to sense this too, immediately cutting in with a razor-sharp voice: "Well now—quite the flurry you're in." Hutchinson, halfway out the door, spun around sharply. "Still dragging things out as ever, eh? Quit badgering me so damn persistently. Someone of your standing wouldn't grasp this, but the mental horsepower I've got working here is first-rate. If you're that hellbent on seeing proof, I'll show you. I'll ring up the decoy right now—come along to the telephone room downstairs."

With that, he led the way downstairs, called the Imperial Hotel's front desk, and imitated that characteristically ominous, insinuating tone: "This is Inspector Manago Akira of the Metropolitan Police Department. I have an urgent matter to report to His Majesty. Connect me to his room immediately."

When the polite voice withdrew, a gravelly, composed voice reached the ears of the two men.

“Hello, this is Munakata. Who might you be?”

Hutchinson involuntarily gasped sharply and exchanged glances with Indō.

“Hello, this is Munakata speaking—” “Ah! Your Majesty!” “Ah, Mr. Hutchinson… What’s the matter, calling at this hour? Is there something unusual…?”

It was unmistakably Emperor Munakata’s voice. As if tickling the ears of the two bewildered men, the Emperor’s supremely composed voice resonated.

32. The Tooth-Hardening Ceremony

The Matter of the Surprisingly Ordinary Entreaty

Emperor Munakata Ryūtarō of Annam awoke on his own bed.

He felt as though he had wandered through some dark, oppressive place in prolonged agony—yet when he looked around, he found himself within the tranquil setting of his own bed at the Imperial Hotel as usual. He remembered up until this morning's dawn when he had left the assassin behind in Tsuruko's dining room and slipped out through the kitchen door, but found himself unable to accurately recall anything beyond that point. In the midst of a feverish, malignant sleep, whenever he hazily opened his eyes, there was always nothing but oppressive darkness surrounding him. In all his life, he had never encountered such terrifying darkness. It was a darkness bearing such terrible pressure that he felt his very flesh might be crushed at any moment. He could not clearly determine where his hands were or where his face lay. His body seemed to have melted into the darkness, leaving only his soul lying there—or so it felt. As he desperately crawled about trying to escape this terrifying chaos, something moss-like and slimy akin to reptile skin clung to his palms, making every hair on his body stand on end. That indescribably unpleasant sensation still resurfaces vividly in his memory, but finding no particular grime upon examining his palms, he could only conclude it must have been a dream.

When he looked at the bedside clock, it had stopped at eight o'clock. It couldn't actually be eight o'clock. No footsteps or streetcar sounds echoed through the streets, and the late-night atmosphere hung palpably in the air. Yet he couldn't tell whether it was deep night or approaching dawn, yesterday or today. He felt as though he alone had been severed from time's flow, left adrift until now. He tried to sit up, but it was as though his backbone had vanished—his body refused to cooperate. When he finally managed to sit upright and absently glanced down at his chest, a slip of paper was clipped directly over his heart. Suspicious, he picked it up and read. On its surface were the following words hastily scribbled in pencil.

To Inspector Manago Akira of the Metropolitan Police Department I am now caught in grave danger. If I do not return by 3:00 AM on the 2nd, please commence the investigation immediately. The entrance is the Shibatamura-chō Broadcasting Station Construction Site. Turn right at the second corner, left at the sixth marker, right at the fourth. 2nd–1:10 AM Furuichi Kaju

2nd, 1:10 AM - Furuichi Kaju

He read it over and over but couldn't comprehend its meaning. Eventually finding it too tedious to ponder, he tore it into shreds and tossed them into the wastebasket. As his head pounded fiercely, he decided to cool his forehead and entered the dressing room. Examining his face in the mirror revealed no changes except the absence of last night's disguise—the false beard lost somewhere along the way.

Washing his face with cold water and gargling, his head began to clear a little. He settled into the armchair and lit a cigar. Still—what on earth had happened to Tsuruko? She'd been lying there deathly pale on the bed... But whether that had been dream or reality, he couldn't clearly distinguish. Clicking his tongue at the bother of thinking further, he picked up the newspaper from the table and began flipping through it absently. To his surprise, there was such an article.

His Majesty the King of Annam’s New Year’s Greetings During His Stay in Tokyo

Imperial Activities Since the 22nd of last month, His Imperial Highness Emperor Munakata Ryūtarō of the Annam Empire, who had been staying at the Imperial Hotel, celebrated his imperial birthday in Tokyo. His Highness, who had long been an admirer of Japan, graciously appreciated the traditional New Year soup with mochi prepared in the ancient tooth-hardening style, herring roe, dried sardines, and other dishes, and in excellent spirits received New Year's greetings from the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs and others. Furthermore, this morning when the high-ranking official of Annam, Mr. So Shuchin, arrived in the capital, His Highness showed great delight by personally welcoming him as far as the reception room and engaging in various conversations until evening.

It was a four-page evening newspaper called *Yūhi Newspaper*, delivered on the evening of January 1st. According to this, it would seem to be late at night on New Year's Day—yet no matter how deeply he searched his memory, he had no recollection of eating New Year's soup with mochi or receiving New Year's greetings from the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs.

Taken aback, he carefully read through it once more—this was absolutely no misreading on his part. Following the article, as per the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs' account, it noted that His Highness had appeared to have a slight cold but remained in his usual good health, demonstrating profound understanding of Japanese New Year customs—thereby affixing an emphatic seal of approval to this bizarre meeting. So while I lay drunk in deepest slumber, someone must have impersonated His Majesty—gorging on dried sardines and spouting superfluous courtesies.

Was this some kind of joke, or one of those inscrutable stratagems from the Li Guangming faction? If a joke, it was in wretchedly poor taste; if a conspiracy, pathetically trivial. What could they possibly hope to achieve by having someone devour herring roe and exchange pleasantries in my stead? The more he pondered, the more senseless it became—a tangled skein of absurdity defying comprehension.

When the Emperor pressed the call button, the usual head bellboy entered with his customary deference. "Is there someone called So Shuchin here?" "He is staying here, Your Majesty." "Have him come here at once." Shortly after the head bellboy withdrew, a man with curly hair and gimlet eyes—his face resembling a captain from Nagasaki-e prints—entered with a shambling gait. Standing upright before the Emperor, he gave an unsteady salute,

“Ah, Your Majesty has awoken? “...Had we known it would come to this, we should have said that despite our sincere efforts to attend to Your Majesty, we were truly at our wits’ end.” “No matter what we did, Your Majesty fussed as much as possible and even recited various hums and such—it was truly beyond our control.” The Emperor glared at the man’s face with an uncharacteristically severe frown. As he listened to these nonsensical, drunken excuses, a surge of anger welled up within him,

“Who the hell are you?!” he barked.

Shuchin blinked rapidly, but when he saw the Emperor's face glaring at him with a terrifying gaze, his own expression suddenly twisted as if on the verge of tears. "Alas, Your Highness must still be under the influence of drink—there can be no other explanation." "Your Highness had graciously pledged to bestow medals upon our return to the homeland—even ministerial positions we were surely to receive! Yet how could one as wise as Your Highness have already forgotten such promises? This is inconceivable, and thus we..."

The Emperor drew his face taut and declared in a voice of regal authority,

“Shut up! Who are you?”

and bellowed again. Shuchin, astonished, leapt back about three steps in a single bound, and in a voice so panicked it seemed to choke his breath, “Intelligence Director attached to the Emperor of the Annam Empire, So Shuchin.” “Are you telling me that low-ranking official is staying at the same hotel as I am?” “On whose authority did you presume to commit such an audacious act?” “N-no!”

Shuchin abruptly burst into tears, “This is indeed an unexpected rebuke from Your Highness.” “The fact that I have repeatedly declined must surely be within Your Highness’s recollection.” “What I have done is indeed nothing but obeying Your Highness’s imperial command.”

“You seem quite drunk,” he said, “yet you dare appear before me in such a state. You’ve got some nerve, you bastard. Demotion alone won’t suffice—prepare yourself for worse. …No doubt this newspaper nonsense stems from your careless tongue. …Hey—when the hell did I eat dried sardines?” “It’s not my fault! This reprimand comes as a most unexpected surprise—indeed, I find myself in a dreamlike state of disbelief. When the newspaper reporter came earlier, I humbly inquired what should be done regarding the sardines, and Your Highness commanded, ‘Just write that I ate them!’ Moreover, our intoxication resulted solely from obeying Your Highness’s order to ‘not mind and go all out’—this ultimately proves our loyalty to duty.”

The Emperor strode toward Shuchin with large steps, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragged him roughly toward the door, and kicked him out into the hallway with all his might. Unable to contain his mounting anger, he was about to return to the parlor when—through a gap in the door—a girl of about twenty flew in like a beautiful whirlwind. After her, what appeared to be plainclothes officers scrambled in pursuit, but upon encountering the Emperor’s displeased glare, they fidgeted their way back to the far end of the hallway.

The girl crouched trembling behind the sofa like a small bird frightened by a storm, but when she saw the Emperor close the door and approach her, she sprang up from the floor with a desperate, clinging look in her eyes. Seizing the Emperor's hands, she began kissing them frantically, “Your Majesty, Your Majesty… Please don’t be angry with me. “I wouldn’t come visiting at such a late hour unless something terrible had happened. “Please don’t come to dislike me over this. “If that were to happen, I couldn’t go on living.”

With that, she pressed her face against his chest.

The girl seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn't place where he'd seen her. Today was clearly shaping up to be one damned strange day after another.

The Emperor gently pushed the girl aside, and she sank into the sofa, burst into a single wracking sob, then raised her tear-streaked face. “Your Majesty, the police seem to have decided I’m the one who killed that person.” “Detectives have been tailing me since evening, and they secretly searched my room.” “I... I’d hidden something important under the tatami mats... but they finally confiscated it.”

Her eyes took on a maddened look again, “But you see, there’s a reason I can’t blame you for thinking that way about me… I’ll tell you everything now—I was jealous of that person.” “Ever since the day I saw Your Majesty’s photo at that person’s place, I became like that… I… I always wished that person would just die.” “But I didn’t kill that person.” “……Please, I beg you to believe that much.” “……If they mistake me for a murderer and sentence me to death as punishment for cursing that person—well, that’s my own fault, and I’ve no right to blame anyone. But if even Your Majesty thinks I’m a killer… I couldn’t even die in peace.” “Please, just say it once with your own mouth—‘You didn’t kill that person.’” “And then…”

With that, she closed her eyes dreamily, “Finally… just once… please kiss me.” The Emperor stared at Hanako’s face in astonishment, but as the absurdity grew increasingly unbearable, he remained standing beside her and spoke in a blunt tone: “I have been patiently listening until now, but I don’t understand any of this at all. No matter how long I listen, it’s pointless. Let’s end this here. I don’t know anyone like you, and even if you are troubled by something, it has nothing to do with me.”

When Hana heard this, she sprang up from the sofa and glared at the Emperor with that terrifying expression of hers—always teetering on the brink of hysterics—but then suddenly let out a shrill wail, covered her face with her sleeve, and bolted from the room like a wounded beast. The Emperor was resting his cheek on his desk with a complex expression blending bewilderment and anger when—rippling through the late-night air—the soul-shaking ring of the desk telephone erupted. The Emperor pressed the receiver to his ear and cheerfully responded, “Ah, Hutchinson!” But gradually, a look of intense fear spread across his face, and he began speaking rapidly in Annamese. At that moment, the door suddenly opened, and Shuchin entered with three detectives in tow. Standing abruptly at the threshold and pointing at the Emperor, he solemnly declared.

“Gentlemen, that man is the imposter Emperor!”

Thirty-Three: The State of Puzzled Heads Deep in Deliberation

The Matter of Extraordinarily Unexpected Developments

The scene shifted abruptly to the Minister of Home Affairs' official residence in Nagatachō. Seated around the large conference table were five individuals: the Ministers of Home Affairs and Foreign Affairs, their respective Vice-Ministers, and the Director of the Eurasian Bureau. All bore expressions of utter exhaustion—some clutching their heads while lying face down on desks, others having undone their waistcoat buttons entirely as they gasped for breath. Meanwhile, others lay sprawled starfish-like in chairs; some hugged their knees and rocked anxiously, each sitting in indescribable postures. It was a scene of complete dissipation resembling what Daumier might have depicted as "The End of a Banquet," though in truth, reality was nowhere near such a state.

When one looked up at the conference room clock, it was precisely twenty minutes past one in the morning. The train carrying the French ambassador was already nearing Shizuoka, yet with the kidnapped Emperor’s whereabouts remaining utterly unknown—the authorities’ anguished deliberations surged with unstoppable momentum, truly beyond all comprehension…

The clock’s pendulum marked each passing second with precision, its sound reverberating in their ears like thunder. No matter how they wept or screamed, only two and a half hours of life remained. Should they fail to find the Emperor before the French Ambassador’s arrival, catastrophe would follow. Whether accused of their habitual secret politicking or suspected of orchestrating this affair themselves—though blameless—the government would not only face dire straits; with Franco-Japanese relations already strained to breaking point since leaving the League, the international turmoil this incident might unleash could spiral beyond all prediction.

Another complicating factor was that Emperor Munakata’s frequent visits to Japan—despite his pro-Japanese stance—had already become a serious diplomatic issue in France proper. Compounding this was the widespread belief in certain quarters that Japan, on the heels of withdrawing from the League, had begun pushing to restore its suzerainty over the Annam Empire. Given these circumstances, it remained impossible to predict what catastrophic storms this incident might unleash. Moreover, if the assassins were to prevail and, as stated in the informant’s phone call, they were to dump the mutilated corpse in a prominent location in central Tokyo, then even if there were several ministers’ heads, they would not suffice.

If the Emperor had already been assassinated, under those conditions an obvious result should have immediately manifested itself; but given that no such report had yet emerged, his life was still preserved at that very moment. At this juncture, that was their sole glimmer of hope—yet even that reassurance proved terribly fleeting. That dreadful report might be delivered at any moment. The government’s existence hung by a thread. From the two ministers down to the bureau chiefs, they were all exhausted from the tension and had fallen into a state of somewhat reckless abandon, sprawled back in their seats—a situation that was, again, unavoidable.

Time flew like an arrow as the moments passed, and the large clock’s bell resounded with a merciless clang to announce half past one. The Foreign Minister, who had been sunk deep in his chair with bellows-like breathing, sprang up as if recoiling from the seat, tore off his necktie, and slammed it onto the table,

“Damn it all, I can’t breathe!” “How much longer must we wait for answers?!... You there—Home Minister! Is this the pitiful state of Japan’s police?” “Where’s the Superintendent General?” “Did he toddle off to bed already?” “And the Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau?” “He charged out two hours ago and hasn’t even bothered to report if that festering boil’s been lanced!” “What in God’s name is happening?” “How fares the investigation?” “Look here.” “It’s nearly two o’clock.” “Weep or wail all you like—that train creeps closer to Tokyo by the minute.” “Gentlemen—what do you propose we do about this?”

As if about to suffer a stroke at any moment, he stood there with his face turning purple in rage, but the group remained petrified like fossils, not uttering a single word in response. The Foreign Minister finally erupted, “Are you dead? Or asleep? “Or have you steeled yourselves for seppuku? “If you’re not sleeping, then say something—anything!” Just as he raged like Ashura incarnate, the Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau came rushing in breathlessly. The sight of him sweating profusely in this frigid air—his complexion deathly pale—suggested yet another unforeseen catastrophe had erupted.

As soon as they caught sight of the Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau, the entire assembly sprang up from their chairs like a swarm of spring-loaded mice,

“What’s happened? What’s happened?” “Chief, is it good news?”

they all clamored in unison. The situation descended into chaos. The Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau sank into his chair and wiped his brow with a handkerchief, looking as though he were at death's door— "If only it were good news... But once again, it's..." —and clutched his head as if wishing to disappear. The Minister of Home Affairs grew impatient, "What's gone wrong now? Spit it out quickly—save your sentimental justifications for later."

The two vice-ministers also pressed in from beside him, “What’s happened?” “What’s started now? Out with it quickly.”

The Superintendent General of Police Affairs Bureau timidly raised his face and, "Well... this is truly... most unexpected... Just now, Prosecutor Naruo from the Prosecutor’s Office called—Inspector Manago of the Investigative Division has requested an arrest warrant for the Superintendent General. Upon reviewing the circumstances as constituting an urgent emergency... they immediately issued the warrant." "I intend to report this to the Justice Minister shortly, but given the gravity of the matter... he insists I cannot disclose its contents at this time."

The assembly sat frozen in silence, merely exchanging glances, until at last the Home Minister spoke in a trembling voice: "Manago's arresting the Superintendent General! Wh-what on earth is the meaning of this?"

The Superintendent General of Police Affairs Bureau also appeared utterly perplexed, "So you see... it simply won't coalesce..." "We can't let matters rest here. We must summon Manago and hear his account."

The Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau gave an indescribably bitter laugh and, "I haven't neglected it. I called Manago immediately, but he curtly dismissed me, saying it wasn't the time to report yet. No matter if I threatened or coaxed him, he simply wouldn't comply. It was quite a struggle. After all, as you know, he's such an obstinate man—once he decides not to talk, no authority can make him open his mouth. Given that he's such a meticulous and cautious man, he wouldn't do something so rash without absolute certainty—and if that's indeed the case, then this situation grows all the more dire... I've never been this confounded before—utterly at a loss..."

The Director of the Eurasian Bureau twisted his thin mustache nervously, "You won't know unless you try. Where on earth is he now? Let's just have him summoned."

he declared in a grave tone. The Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau once again clutched his head, "I must confess I had not yet reported this, but another incident has occurred."

With this, the room once again descended into chaos. The Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau surveyed the assembly with a gaze tinged with pity, “This morning, Tome—the housekeeper from Tsuruko’s residence—was discovered strangled in the underground passage of a gambling den called ‘Ochamatsu’ in Surugadai. “…Manago has gone there now to investigate…”

The Minister of Home Affairs pressed impatiently, “Who is the perpetrator? Do you have any leads?” As he pressed, the Superintendent General of Police Affairs Bureau gestured to calm him—“There, there—” “Please wait—even pressed so urgently... Since Tome was intimately familiar with the victim’s daily life, we had been combing every blade of grass for her whereabouts—only for matters to end thus unexpectedly. That lead snapped clean off, halting our investigative strategy. Fortunately, we arrested one resident under investigation at Ariake-so Apartments—Murakumo Emiko—and by prying open her mouth, we may yet obtain unexpected leads.” “Today at the ‘Ochamatsu’ gambling den I mentioned earlier—a welcome event hosted by Rube Base—both Iwai Michiyasu and Kawamata Fumie were present. The former fled at the first whiff of danger, but per the gambling den messenger’s confession, Kawamata Fumie should be heading to Yamaki Motokichi’s hideout near Umamichi’s budget inn. We’ve already deployed forces—both should be arrested shortly.” “Though we’ve reached a critical hour, pursuing these three to the utmost will surely unravel this thread. I believe traces of the Emperor’s kidnappers may surface through this line.” “However...”

With that, he stroked his forehead, "However... yet another troublesome matter has arisen..."

The Foreign Minister let out a low groan,

“Is there still more? What on earth is it this time?”

With that, he too collapsed face down onto the desk.

The Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau murmured in a voice that seemed to shrink from its own words, "...This is... profoundly difficult to report... The truth is... the Emperor's body double we painstakingly crafted... has fled from the hotel this evening... We're conducting searches with utmost urgency... yet his whereabouts remain unknown at present... I ought to have... informed you sooner... but found it... excruciatingly difficult to broach... and thus... I..."

The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs suddenly flared up, "I knew it would come to this." "When you proposed creating the Emperor's body double, I trust you haven't forgotten how I vehemently opposed it." "The reason I insisted honest dealings would bring ultimate victory was because I foresaw exactly this situation." "Look here - we've reached an utterly irresolvable impasse!" "If it comes out that we all conspired on this botched scheme, the government's honor will be completely ruined!" "And even without that - if the public learns not a single soul in the Foreign Ministry knew the Emperor's face? That alone would be beyond disgraceful! After all your grand declarations about never letting him escape - what do you have to say for this fiasco?" "You, Ōtsuki-kun - this is catastrophic negligence!" "Of all people to uncover our plot - some tabloid hack! And you let him waltz right out of the hotel!" "This is disastrous." "They're probably typesetting an extra edition as we speak." "Ōtsuki-kun - how exactly do you propose to clean up this mess?"

The Minister of Home Affairs also flushed crimson,

“Superintendent General, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.” “That’s going too far, you!” “This isn’t mere incompetence—it’s beyond the pale!” The Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau lowered his eyes shamefacedly,

“No matter what you say, I have no words to respond… but we have immediately dispatched officers to the Yūhi Newspaper and Kōda Sessan’s mistress’s residence, and have taken thorough precautions against any danger from that quarter…” The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs clicked his tongue in exasperation, “Don’t spout such nonsense.” “Even if you secure the newspaper office, printing presses exist everywhere.” “As if they’d lack the means to put out an extra edition! What nonsense!” “What to do? What to do?” they pressed in from all sides like a troupe of female gidayū narrators clustered around a stage, reducing even the Superintendent General of Police Affairs to a pitifully vulnerable figure—when suddenly, as if to punctuate the chaos, the desk telephone’s bell erupted in a shrill clamor.

The Superintendent General of Police Affairs Bureau lunged for the telephone receiver, nodding vigorously as he pressed a palm over the mouthpiece and turned back to the assembly, his face radiant with triumph. “Please remain calm—that body double bastard has reportedly returned to the hotel.”

Having delivered this report, he pressed the receiver back to his ear and resumed his urgent conversation—but his expression gradually darkened until—“Understood.” “Then put the Annamese Intelligence Director on the phone,” he said in a voice as thin as a mosquito’s whine.

Before long, a shrill voice—like nails scraping against splintered wood—came rushing out of the receiver with the force of a sudden storm. The Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau had been bowing humbly to the voice on the telephone, but then he covered the mouthpiece and turned to face the group, "No, truly—with this piling up of disasters, I don’t even know how to begin apologizing." "Another disaster has occurred... That fool has finally shown his tail and been exposed as a fake emperor... Fortunately, the Intelligence Director doesn’t seem to have noticed we created a body double, but he’s apparently flown into a rage and had the bastard trussed up like a mummy." "If only he’d stopped! But that idiot kept ranting about 'disrespect' and 'discourtesy,' which only infuriated Shūchen further—he barged in with such murderous rage you’d think he’d kill him any moment." "What should we do?"

The Home Minister thumped the table, “Very well, why don’t we let them do as they please? Tell them I don’t care if they smash him to pieces—do it thoroughly, I say!” he laughed contentedly and dryly. The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs interjected, “However, we cannot simply leave matters at that. If that impostor were to let slip something about being forced into becoming a body double in desperation, we should take him into custody and toss him somewhere out of the way—how does that sound?”

The Superintendent General of the Police Affairs Bureau nodded and,

“That’s an excellent idea. Let’s make sure he doesn’t escape again by securely locking him up somewhere.”

Having said that, he immediately called the hotel, summoned the duty officer, conveyed the command, and then sat down in his chair with a relieved expression.

When the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs saw this, he pursed his lips again, “Ōtsuki-kun, it’s a problem if you just sit there looking so unconcerned. Immediately go to the hotel and do something to placate that gentleman—kindly.” The Foreign Minister sat with his head bowed in contemplation, “Will things settle down just by placating him? I wonder.” “If word were to reach the embassy that the Emperor has been missing since this morning, that would truly become an unmanageable situation.” “This has turned into quite a troubled predicament.”

The group exchanged glances, could only mutter "Troubled, troubled."

Manago opened the door to the Metropolitan Police Department’s Investigation Division Chief’s office and returned. Following him entered one of the Four Musketeers—a pale-faced man who looked like some scientist’s apprentice. Manago walked to the side of the chair with his usual leisurely stride, then sat down there in a posture that looked as if he had gathered himself up like a bundle of tattered rags. At a glance, contrary to his usual cold ashen demeanor, he displayed an uncharacteristically cheerful air.

After all, this man whose gloomy appearance resembled a specter straying from a graveyard couldn't show any cheerfulness remarkable enough to stand out. As usual, he kept his eyes sleepily lowered and his head hung in disarray, yet his small pupils moved with nimble vitality between narrow eyelids like living fish. An ordinary person might not have noticed, but those who knew Manago well could discern from this that he now dwelled in a state of triumphant satisfaction.

Manago listlessly reached out and flipped the switch on the loudspeaker beside the bookshelf, triggering a gravelly-voiced *Report* to blare forth. (The six individuals staying at Ariake-so Apartments this morning; the male and female actors of the Carnus Show who accompanied them; as well as Murakumo Emiko and others arrested from Ochamatsu have been detained at the Metropolitan Police Detention Cell.) Kawamata Fumie and Yamaki Motokichi are currently under pursuit but have not yet been arrested. Indō Chūsuke has just been arrested at Shin-Yoshiwara Hasegawa Fushimiya. Iwai Yasumichi and John Hutchinson have shown traces of activity in the vicinity of Koto and are currently under pursuit. Yasui's gang of ten members has shown traces of movement from Tsukiji to the vicinity of Yūrakuchō, and this is also currently under pursuit. (End)

“Have you still not uncovered any leads on Louis Baroncelli, the manager of the Carnus Show?” (There is no report yet.) Manago turned off the switch, gestured for the Musketeer to proceed, and spoke in his customary icy tone— “Explain this to me—why had Tome been killed in such a place?”

The Musketeer, his expressionless face mirroring Manago's own cold demeanor like a perfect replica, began in a monotone: "Shall I first present our assessment? ...According to my forensic analysis, Tome was killed at a separate location before being transported to Ochamatsu's underground passageway. The time of death likely fell between 5:00 PM and 6:00 PM today—during the interval between the Carnus Show's matinee and evening performances. The crime occurred at the construction site of Nipponza Theater's basement theater-in-progress. The murder weapon was a concrete block slab. The perpetrator is a police officer— of superintendent rank or higher."

“Explain the circumstances of the murder.” “At five minutes before five PM, when the Carnus Show’s matinee ended, Tome left Nipponza with Sakazuki Etsuko—Kōda Sessan’s mistress—and arrived at Sukiyabashi Bridge’s edge. At that point, Etsuko recalled she had left a package at the cloakroom without retrieving it. She instructed Tome to wait there, returned alone to Nipponza to collect the package, and came back to their original spot about ten minutes later. Finding Tome gone, she assumed she had gone to run an errand. After waiting at the bridge’s edge for roughly fifteen minutes with no sign of Tome’s return, Etsuko concluded she must have gone home alone and departed.” “Meanwhile, during this approximately ten-minute interval, the perpetrator lured Tome into the underground construction site, seized an opportunity to strangle her neck from behind with an old rope, but failed to kill her due to resistance. They then struck her right facial region with a concrete block slab measuring approximately thirty centimeters square and six centimeters thick, causing fatal injuries. Afterward, they dragged the corpse out through the stage door near the guardhouse, loaded it into a vehicle, transported it to Ochanomizu Embankment, unloaded the body near Nagai Hospital’s vicinity, dragged it once more along the embankment into a hidden passageway, and abandoned it at the discovery site.” “The rationale for concluding the perpetrator was a police officer is twofold: first, the three evenly spaced scratches left on Ariake-so Apartments’ walls this morning were identically repeated across Tome’s throat and chest; second, minute fragments of gold braid from an armband remained lodged beneath her right fingernails.” “If this morning’s investigation determines Matsutani Tsuruko’s murderer to be a police officer, then based on these reasons, we conclude Tome’s assailant was likewise a police officer.” “A comparative investigation between the wall scratches at Ariake-so Apartments and those on Tome’s chest revealed identical intervals of 2.1 centimeters between marks, creating wound channels with distinctive wall characteristics that matched perfectly.” “We determined Nipponza’s underground theater construction site as the crime scene because autopsy results showed hemorrhaging beneath Tome’s skin forming Nippon Tile & Block Company’s trademark imprint—specifically, the engraved N.T.B. CO. pattern.” “…When we first examined the corpse, we observed only a dark red abrasion on her right eye socket and deemed it insignificant. However, the autopsy revealed severe fracturing at the skull base—injuries we concluded resulted from being struck with a heavy, broad-surfaced object on a flat plane. Following Nippon Tile & Block Company’s instructions, we investigated Nipponza’s underground theater construction site and discovered a slab stone with bloodstains matching Tome’s right eye contusion in both shape and size.” “The old rope initially used around Tome’s neck had been stretched along the boundary between completed and unfinished concrete block areas. Mortar residue on the rope confirmed its partial use during the crime.” “We concluded the crime concluded before six PM because when the lighting technician descended to repair an electrical malfunction in the underground power room at exactly six o’clock, he reported seeing no corpse-like object.”

Manago, with an impassive manner,

“I see. That’s roughly how it is. But you say they strangled the neck first and then struck the face with a concrete block slab—that is incorrect. That rope wasn’t used to strangle the neck—it was looped around the neck to transport the corpse. They wouldn’t have had time to make such an elaborate knot just to strangle someone, would they? Furthermore, examining the ligature marks reveals they extend from beneath the jaw upward to below the ears but do not continue beyond that point. This too confirms that the rope was not used to strangle the neck but rather to drag the corpse from the scene... Still, why resort to such an odd method? If they could have simply carried it out, why did they go to the trouble of looping a rope around the neck and dragging it?”

"If that is the case, I believe they resorted to such a method in order to quickly remove the corpse."

Manago nodded,

“That’s possible too. In most cases, dragging something out is quicker than carrying it. However, in this case, there was a more inevitable reason at play. As you’re aware, it has been established that Tsuruko’s killer suffers from severe kyphosis with spinal scoliosis and is additionally lame. Having said this much, there’s no need to belabor the point further. The fact that he didn’t attempt to carry the corpse but instead looped a rope around its neck to drag it—this is precisely the method one would expect from a man with such physiological defects. In other words, it was his ingrained habits that compelled such actions. From this detail alone, we can conclude the perpetrator is identical to Tsuruko’s murderer.”

Manago said this while taking out what appeared to be a document sealed in an envelope from his pocket and placing it on the desk, "I'm returning your resignation. "The reason being there's no grounds for you to resign. "When you conducted the Suzumoto investigation, you failed to discover evidence that Yamaki had slipped out via the roof. "This is what you're citing as your resignation reason. "While one might call this negligence, such an oversight doesn't constitute resignation grounds. "The matter lies beyond possible limits - it's neither oversight nor blunder. "As I said earlier, anyone could slip out of such an open-structured building without leaving traces. Your failure to find evidence doesn't equate to negligence. "In my case, thanks to Hana's testimony obtained through Indō Chūsuke, I finally uncovered that evidence. Without it, even I might have missed proof of Yamaki's escape... Moreover, had Yamaki been Tsuruko's killer, this oversight might be unforgivable. But since alleyway evidence proves Yamaki isn't the culprit, his Suzumoto escape holds no direct significance. "However suspicious the actions, they violate no laws nor constitute crimes. "As for why Yamaki slipped out of Suzumoto - we'll determine that through later investigation. Yamaki's disposition can be decided then."

The Musketeer—whether capable of emotion or not—remained unblinking, his demeanor glacially detached as he responded: “With all due respect, I find myself unable to accept your generous proposal in its present form. Even were leniency granted regarding Yamaki’s deviation, I have additionally overlooked evidence suggesting Iwai and Hutchinson slipped out of Suzumoto. Having reached this point, this constitutes more than mere oversight—I believe I no longer retain the right to serve as your assistant for even a single additional day.”

Manago slowly raised his face and stared directly at the Musketeer’s face. "In Hutchinson’s room, on the shelf of the floor cabinet, there were circular soot marks left by a sock heel and traces of three fingers from a left hand that had involuntarily supported the body’s center of gravity against a pillar." "In Iwai’s room, we observed a phenomenon where a white plum branch placed atop the floor cabinet had caught on the edge of clothing or similar material, causing the basket to rotate sideways by about a quarter turn from its proper position." "In summary, Hutchinson's room contained only evidence of external entry—no proof of departure existed." "As for Iwai’s room, only evidence of departure was found—none indicating return." "Given the considerable accumulation of bathhouse soot on the roof beneath Iwai’s window, it would have been difficult to re-enter the room via that roof without leaving traces." "Yet during the inspection, Iwai was undeniably present in his room." "Therefore, we conclude Iwai never slipped out of 'Suzumoto.'" "Regarding Hutchinson—examination of the fingerprints on the pillar revealed the middle finger’s tip was more than half missing, likely due to injury." "If that’s the case, as you know, these cannot be Hutchinson’s fingerprints." "Since those prints don’t match Hutchinson’s, it follows he didn’t slip out of 'Suzumoto' either."

"Then how should we interpret these two unusual circumstances left in their rooms?" "It's straightforward, isn't it? Someone entered Hutchinson's room through the window via the roof and exited through Iwai's room window before the inspection... I've largely deduced who that was. Neither Hutchinson nor Iwai challenged this man during his entry or exit. More significantly, we must assume he held composed discussions with both Iwai and Hutchinson - hardly someone overtly suspicious. I conclude this was likely a member of the 'Carnus Show.' Consequently, there were seven 'Carnus Show' personnel present at Suzumoto during that timeframe."

Manago stood up from his chair and moved toward the telephone. "How many members of the 'Carnus Show' who went to 'Suzumoto' this morning with the six from Ariake-so Apartments are being detained?" ("There are seven in total.") “State their names.” ("‘Gold Powder Dancer’ Janet, ‘Accordion Player’ Ronald, ‘Saxophonist’ Wilson, ‘Tap Dancer’ Mary, ‘Roller Skater’ Jackson, ‘Singer’ Miriam, and ‘Acrobatic Dancer’ Henry.")

Manago returned toward his chair while, “It seems my deduction was not mistaken.” “The seventh guy who came in through Hutchinson’s window and went out through Iwai’s is that man called Henry.”

The Four Musketeers gazed intently at Manago’s face with solemn expressions, "I see, I fully understand." "Be that as it may, there is one more matter I would like to inquire about." “We had refrained from all presumptuous inquiries as you do not favor them, but the time is nearly two o’clock—only two hours remain until four.” “……And what exactly is to become of the Emperor?” Manago maintained a composed expression,

“The Emperor—he should have returned to his hotel by now.” “I made it abundantly clear to Matsutani Tsuruko’s killer—the Emperor’s kidnapper—that there’s no escape left. If they want any leniency, they’ve no choice but to follow my unspoken orders.” “Of course, returning him won’t erase crimes already committed. Even if they hand back the Emperor alive, I won’t loosen this grip once I’ve seized their collars.” “Not if it were the Superintendent-General himself. Not if it were God Almighty.”

Just as he was saying this, an unarmed policeman entered and reported that Hana the seamstress had come to visit. Upon hearing this, Manago’s expression underwent a most peculiar transformation. What appeared to be either a smile or an inner light seemed to spread across his entire face.

As the policeman exited, Hana entered in a state of frantic disarray—her voluptuous beauty disordered—and suddenly rushed to Manago’s side,

“Mr. Manago! Mr. Manago! There’s a fake emperor at the Imperial Hotel! The man there now is a completely different person!” Manago took Hana by the arm and settled her into a chair,

“How did you know that man was an imposter?”

Hana responded in a surprisingly firm tone, "How... That’s something only I can know." "I can’t tell you why." Manago showed not the slightest surprise. Leaving Hana’s side and moving toward the telephone, "Then that must indeed be the real Emperor," he muttered. But these words never reached Hana’s ears. Manago pressed his mouth to the telephone receiver and ordered in a low voice to be connected to the hotel. He then asked whoever answered about the Emperor’s current status—instructing them to check whether he could visit immediately by inquiring after His Majesty’s schedule. The reply proved unexpected. The Emperor had been thrown into Hibiya Police Station’s detention cell on orders from the Police Affairs Bureau Chief.

Manago left the chief's office after giving Hana a brief greeting, an indescribably sardonic smile playing across his face.

When Manago went to check the detention cell at Hibiya Police Station, an unexpected incident had occurred there. Someone had broken the iron-barred window of the detention cell and kidnapped the Emperor.

The watchroom clock struck 2 AM with a groggy sound.

By 4 AM, only two hours remained. How would this be resolved?

Part Eleven

34. The Barred Window Affair

and The Late-Night Monologue Affair

Now, when Chief Inspector Manago opened the door to the detention cell where Furuichi Kaju had supposedly been thrown in, the interior was an empty shell. There was no need to lift the tatami mats—the cramped space made it obvious at a glance whether anyone was inside. Hibiya Police Station was a wooden-framed concrete building akin to a barracks—crudely constructed—but still, as long as it bore the name "detention cell," there was no way one could easily escape from anywhere. So when he looked around wondering where he had escaped from—indeed, the cell window was shattered and dangling.

A window, mind you—not some high-class window with glass panes fitted into it. A square opening had been made, into which about five iron bars were set. There may be those who know it—that vexing Barred Window through which winter winds, and in summer the western sun and armies of mosquitoes, pass freely. Three of the window’s bars had bent, twisted, and tilted, creating a gap that seemed just wide enough for a person to slip through. Common sense would dictate—or rather, even without resorting to common sense—it was only reasonable to conclude that the detainee had escaped from here.

However, according to detention cell regulations, such windows were typically installed approximately seven feet above the floor—meaning that even if one stretched upward, they could never reach it. Moreover, even rusted iron bars remained iron bars—they were certainly not made of candy. Unless one used a stepping stool and applied considerable force, under normal circumstances this window would not break so easily. When he pulled open the cell door and saw that the figure he sought was not where it should be, even Manago stood frozen.

Even for an expert like Manago, this must have been an utterly unexpected event; he stood frozen at the cell entrance with a look of gut-punched astonishment, his expression gradually contorting into something fearsome—eyes nearly splitting at the corners as he glared up at the window, teeth clenched tight between his jaws— “Damn it!” With a groan-like growl, he proceeded into the cell in a seemingly deranged manner, his antiquated Inverness coat sleeves flapping wildly as he began lunging toward the window with such ferocious intensity that it seemed he might bite through the iron bars. The shadow of wings spread thickly throughout the room, making it seem as though a great monstrous bird were madly flying about the place. For Manago, whose demeanor usually maintained an ashen composure akin to dead ashes, this behavior somewhat transgressed conventional norms, carrying a ghastly quality.

After repeating those bizarre movements incessantly, he suddenly whirled around and dashed out of the cell like a whirlwind, shouting fragmented words that were difficult to make out. If such rough work couldn’t have been done from the inside, then this must have undoubtedly been carried out from the outside—so Manago would now set out to confirm that fact. Sure enough, after about two minutes had passed, Manago appeared outside the detention cell.

There was a somewhat spacious vacant lot, surrounded by a concrete wall. This area wasn’t often frequented by people under normal circumstances, and the vacant lot’s ground had been left broken and ragged as if from frost damage. If one were to examine the ground thoroughly, every detail of what had transpired there should become as clear as day. Now, when Manago shone his flashlight on the ground beneath the window, there was not a single footprint to be found—let alone any marks suggesting a ladder had been placed there.

Manago Akira remained deep in gloomy contemplation for some time, but then ordered an officer to bring a ladder, climbed it, and began meticulously examining the detention cell's window. There was nothing particularly strange about it.

It became clear that someone had come along the roof to above this detention cell, looped a rope with a hook around the iron bars, and violently bent them. Marks where a hook had been hooked at the base of the iron bars remained clearly visible.

That aspect being acceptable, upon closer inspection, there were no signs that anyone had escaped from there. The gap between the iron bars was just barely wide enough for a person to slip through, so if someone had simply clung to a rope lowered from the roof, they could have escaped with utmost ease—yet there was not the slightest trace of such an attempt.

On the window frame, years of dust and grime had accumulated to a considerable thickness, but upon inspection, it showed a solid and undisturbed state. If someone were to forcibly squeeze through this narrow gap, they would naturally leave some evidence of it on this dust—yet absolutely no such traces could be found. This silent witness testified mutely that no one had escaped from here. The situation had taken a decidedly peculiar turn.

If the detainee had not exited through the cell window, then there remained only one possible way out. In other words, it would mean he had exited through the detention cell's entrance in an utterly ordinary manner.

But hold on a moment. To put it that way makes it sound simple, but this was neither a smoking room nor a free rest area. A strictly guarded detention cell. Just because one wanted to leave didn't mean they could freely saunter out as they pleased. The police, as an institution, generally didn't permit such liberties. In fact, it was only through Manago's discovery that the Hibiya Police Station authorities had learned of this fact, and they were expressing considerable dissatisfaction with it.

Now, the one who had escaped was no mere detainee—such a lenient term hardly applied.

There was only one individual—save for Manago and that sole person—whom the prosecution authorities foolishly believed to be Furuichi Kaju of Yūhi Newspaper, the man they had just thrown in here: an impostor who had long masqueraded as His Majesty and caused endless trouble for the authorities. But absolutely not—from 1:40 AM for roughly twenty minutes, the one confined within this cell was no vulgar individual like Furuichi Kaju. Now, they had stirred up a war-like commotion unprecedented in the history of the Metropolitan Police Department, combing through every blade of grass across five neighboring prefectures—and the one they sought was none other than Emperor Munakata Ryūtarō of Annam himself.

Even that bordered on the fantastical, yet His Majesty—the Emperor who had arrived uninvited—slipped away once more in just twenty minutes. Having blinded both stringent security and the ever-vigilant guard's watchful eyes, he boldly made his exit through the detention cell's entrance.

Shall we call it heartlessness, or perhaps irony? Had the domestic and foreign ministers and the entire prosecution authorities—now frenziedly pursuing His Majesty’s whereabouts—learned of this fact, they would surely have choked with tears of emotion at heaven’s exquisitely cruel arrangement. Even Manago must have been somewhat taken aback by this excessive display of feigned ignorance. When he looked, he found himself suspended mid-ladder, staring blankly up at the moon. At first glance he appeared dazed, yet within his heart a thousand thoughts must have chaotically swirled—this could be discerned even from the anguished groans he occasionally let slip.

The Hibiya Police authorities formed the hypothesis that the detainee known as Furuichi Kaju, exploiting lapses in surveillance, had repeatedly thrown himself at the window bars, forcibly bent those already prone to tilting, slipped through the gap, and fled along the roof.

However, this hypothesis was mistaken. In fact, Manago himself had fully acknowledged—after numerous attempts—that such a feat was utterly impossible, and first and foremost, no one had exited through that window. Even so—what possible necessity could there have been for His Majesty to escape from here? His Majesty had been mistaken for Furuichi Kaju and thrown in here, but if that were the case, he should have persistently protested by explaining his true imperial status—there was no need whatsoever to stage a jailbreak.

According to accounts, when he was about to be arrested at the hotel due to Shūchin’s accusation, he had reportedly put up quite a fierce resistance; yet once brought into this cell, the detainee suddenly appeared to calm down, “No, this is more than I could have wished for.”

With that, he reportedly lay down on the tatami mats in a carefree manner. Presumably, His Majesty the Emperor had resolved to wisely utilize this fortunate coincidence. For protecting oneself from the assassins' fierce pursuit, there was no more suitable place than this. Otherwise, given His Majesty's resolute character, he would never have endured such unfortunate treatment with groveling submission. He must have persisted in resisting to the end. Considering that they did not subject him to such treatment, it should be surmised that His Majesty was generally satisfied with this situation, and therefore had not the slightest intention of staging a jailbreak. Not only that, but there was no reason for His Majesty—that unconventional sovereign—to have been subjected to such a violent act in the first place.

When one followed this line of reasoning to its conclusion, there was no choice but to think that His Majesty had been taken from here against his will. In other words, he had been skillfully abducted by some party. What kind of bastard would dare pull off such an audacious scheme? After all, such an outrageous act as abducting a detainee from this place wasn't something any ordinary person could pull off, no matter how much they racked their brains. Fundamentally, the police as an institution were structured without vulnerabilities when it came to such matters; therefore, unless one was thoroughly versed in police mechanisms and their particular circumstances, one could not accomplish this. They had executed such a difficult feat with lightning speed in a mere twenty minutes or so. They must have been highly skilled professionals.

At this point, everything seemed laid bare. The detention of Furuichi Kaju here had been classified as confidential—apart from government stakeholders including both the Ministers of Interior and Foreign Affairs, and a handful of police officials directly handling this matter, no one else knew this fact existed. Furthermore, those who knew that the person detained under the name Furuichi Kaju was in fact the true Emperor were limited to a particular individual within the prosecution authorities and Manago alone.

Now, Manago Akira, suspended mid-ladder in that peculiar posture as described earlier, appeared momentarily dazed as he gazed up at the sky; then, abruptly releasing his grip, he spoke in a desolate tone: “Damn it—there’s one of his accomplices in this police force.” “...If I had known that...” He muttered in broken phrases, his burning gaze lifting to the detention cell window. Immediately above Manago’s head, the detention cell window gaped open like a mouth with missing teeth. The iron bars embedded in that mouth-like opening twisted into X-shapes and O-shapes, as if testifying to the sloppy methods of that time, their pitiful state starkly illuminated by the pale moonlight.

Even so—if they had abducted His Majesty through the detention cell entrance—why would they go to the trouble of bending the window bars so violently? Yet upon careful consideration, this wasn't some strange or mysterious affair. It was nothing more than a trick to make it seem His Majesty had been taken from here. They didn't want anyone noticing he'd been removed through the cell entrance. They needed people to believe someone had broken this window to snatch him away. They couldn't risk anyone realizing this was an inside job by the police. That meant they must have done this after spiriting His Majesty away. After all, making such bizarre modifications would've been impossible with His Majesty present. Put bluntly, it was a method that took everyone for complete fools.

Then—who exactly were they trying to deceive in the first place? There could be no other target. They wanted to blind the eyes of Manago, who would inevitably conduct this verification. Since that morning, even someone of Inspector Manago Akira’s standing had been excluded from preparing the Ariake-so crime scene, barred from entering the site of the crime, and subjected to other extraordinary humiliations and obstructions—yet here again, someone was employing underhanded means to hinder Manago’s investigation.

Even Manago—a man as rigid as winter-blasted timber—could no longer stomach such lavish hospitality; with a bone-deep scowl of indignation, he ground his teeth while glaring holes through the window, until finally bursting forth with violent eloquence:

“You fool! If you thought such tricks could take down this Manago, you’ve gravely miscalculated.” “...Now then, Superintendent—this morning’s footstool and slippers meant to stage Tsuruko’s suicide showed some finesse, I’ll grant you that. But really—this? You may be clever, but regrettably overplay your hand.” “Had you skipped this knife-work trick, I might never have suspected your involvement.” “...This amounts to scattering your calling cards at every turn.” “At least through my eyes it does. ...And yet—trying to blind me with such crude methods? Isn’t this dumb act of yours overdone?” “Do humans even possess the right to mock others so brazenly? Eh?” “Superintendent.” “...Given this repeated provocation—even I’ve reached my limit.”

With that, he thrust his clenched fist toward the sky as though the person he sought were right there. “I will show no more mercy.” “You seem to underestimate Manago too much.” “I’ve been waiting all this time for you to come to me voluntarily.” “Even I—who am called cold-blooded and inhuman—can comprehend this much poetic sentiment.” “...If you insist on taking advantage of my humility and persisting in this attitude, I will absolutely show no mercy.” “...Well now, Superintendent, you turned out to be quite the philistine after all.” “You appear incapable of grasping the jest that one ought to tuck their tail and flee when defeated.”

In this manner, Manago had continued his protracted, vehement monologue—so impassioned it could be called reckless—when abruptly, as if snapping back to his senses, he glanced around. His face instantly reverted to its usual cold gloominess; he quietly descended the ladder and strode into the Hibiya Police Station building. Upon interrogating the guard on duty, he learned that His Majesty’s abduction had been carried out in this manner.

The young police officer, freshly graduated from the training institute, had been off-duty that day and had gathered with his family for a modest celebration when the commotion escalated into a full-blown incident, leaving the station entirely unmanned. Consequently, he was suddenly summoned from evening onward to guard the station alongside five colleagues. Now, around 1:40 AM, when the detainee in question was brought in, they confined him in the cell through standard procedures. After hanging the key ring on the guard station wall and catching his breath, it was as if triggered by this—one after another, incomprehensible phone calls began pouring in, while lower-class citizens kept bringing in pointless quarrels. Consequently, he was forced to abandon his post, overwhelmed by multifarious duties until he had completely forgotten there was a detainee in the holding cell.

Around what appeared to be shortly after 2:10 AM, he noticed an unfamiliar, tall policeman with anchor-broad shoulders heading toward the detention cells. However, at that very moment, as he was wrestling with three drunken men, he failed to register the man's facial features. Even that might have been my own hallucination. "I'm afraid I cannot clearly state that part," came his uncertain reply.

Elaborating in detail would be endless—it was best left at that for now. If that were the truth, it would largely align with Manago’s deductions.

Exiting Hibiya Police Station, Manago Akira entered Hibiya Park through Kasumi Gate.

Just then, a crescent moon like an eyebrow broke through the clouds. The pale light illuminated the park's path.

The night deepened endlessly, all surroundings fallen silent save for the sound of wind whistling through pine needles. Manago thrust his bony shoulders upward as he passed beneath the wisteria trellis and reached the pond's edge. Beside the gazebo stood a solitary arc lamp. Its light blazed futilely across the deserted path where no human shadows stirred. Manago stood rigid with crossed arms, fixing an unblinking gaze upon the crane fountain. This was exactly the same position where Manago had stood that very morning.

The grand old pine stretched its arm-like branches over the water; the fountain's crane appeared to perch precisely upon one of its boughs. The arc-lamp's light reflected off droplets cascading from its beak, creating an uncannily lifelike impression—as though a breeze perpetually rustled its feathers. Ah—was it about to take flight? The bronze crane spread its broad wings and gazed skyward as if dreaming. One might think the sculptor who crafted this bronze figure understood mono no aware—the pathos of transient beauty. Undoubtedly they had sought to express compassion for this wretched crane—bound eternally to its pedestal, condemned to spout water through endless ages—by at least granting it this noble pose.

Manago, after a moment, uttered a sound, "In this world, can such a thing as a 'crime without purpose' truly exist? If such exists, then this morning's 'Singing Crane Fountain' incident is precisely that. At first glance, one might think Kōda or Sakazuki had rigged something inside the crane—but why would those slippery eels resort to such desperate measures that would get their tails caught so easily? That was likely some criminal scheme by someone other than Kōda or Sakazuki—but it's too far-fetched, and I simply cannot discern its purpose. For my part, I would assert purposeless crimes cannot exist—yet confronted with this fact, I cannot help but waver... This is indeed some crime, but what does it mean that neither purpose nor motive can be discerned? What harm was inflicted through that incident? What criminal effect achieved? Even those remain unclear. This too seems connected to the current case somehow, but the nature eludes me... And yet I recall how Dr. Kanekiyo kept tilting his head—not only was this melody sung in Hyōjō mode when it should have been Ichikotsu-chō Ryoen, but why did it carry such plaintive resonance in the miyako-bushi scale? What could that have signified......"

He muttered to himself, then soon looked up at the sky with a resolute expression, But indulging in lamentation here won’t get me anywhere. What remains unclear still remains unclear. It’s somewhat unexpected, but be that as it may—first I’ll tie that guy up, then adapt to whatever new developments arise.

Muttering to himself all the while, he glanced back at the crane fountain again and again with evident reluctance, then walked off toward the flower beds with unhurried strides.

35. The Eloquence of Subterranean Creatures

And the Matter of Lord Kai-no-kami Nanbu

In the world of fantasy, is science ultimately powerless? This sorcerous Tokyo—a realm of specters and goblins—had attained such unfathomable intricacy that even Manago's exceptional perceptiveness ultimately failed to penetrate the crane fountain's great secret. He had drawn within a single step of it, yet in the end proved unable to grasp it fully, departing with unresolved regrets.

This must be what is called the jest of fate.

At this very moment, directly beneath where he had been standing underground, that amiable country bumpkin—Yūhi Newspaper’s tabloid reporter Furuichi Kaju—was continuing his bizarre activities under circumstances unprecedented in all of history. As described in Chapter Nine, beneath the area from Shibatamura-chō to Hibiya lay an underground network where branch aqueducts of the Tokugawa period’s Kanda and Tamagawa Waterworks crisscrossed in all directions.

In the mid-Meiji period when modern waterworks were installed, these aqueducts were abandoned; now, aside from a few civil engineers, none even know of their existence. Yet the discarded great aqueducts became underground passageways, extending over ten-odd ri and crawling beneath Tokyo like a spider's web. Originally, the construction of these aqueducts had not been executed under a unified plan but expanded incrementally as needs arose. Consequently, the branch aqueducts diverged in utter disorder, forming a vast labyrinth of unparalleled complexity—in no way inferior to the fabled maze of Crete. Once one entered here, it would be utterly impossible to return above ground.

In other words, Kaju was in the most bizarre location within the urban mechanisms that formed the demon capital "Tokyo". The landscape illuminated by the flashlight emerged as a place resembling the bottom of an old square well with neither entrance nor exit. Its size might have been about four tatami mats, surrounded by crumbling Oya stone walls. Over moss that grew without gaps, a teeming mass of salamanders squirmed and crawled, writhing against one another. The ceiling was crisscrossed with conduits of various sizes, from whose gaps stalactites hung like icicles, steadily dripping moisture.

In that bizarre environment, Kaju sat cross-legged with a thud, bent his body toward the flashlight's glow, pressed rough manuscript paper against his knees, and diligently scribbled away with his pencil. Even by tabloid reporter standards, there was no need to write articles in such a place—one might think this took sheer lunacy too far. But judging by his countenance, this was clearly no mere bout of eccentricity. Even Kaju, usually unflappable, had his forehead drenched in cold sweat, his expression one of extreme urgency as he breathed like bellows. Looking closer, he appeared to be struggling for air, occasionally making convulsive gestures to loosen his collar.

To clarify the present circumstances, let us briefly backtrack and recount Kaju's subsequent actions. That evening at Hibiya Park's pondside, upon hearing from Shūchin that the crane fountain had sung Annam's national anthem that morning, his fundamentally straightforward nature prevented him from getting entangled in convoluted reasoning. He immediately intuited that the Annamese Emperor must now be beneath the crane fountain. Boldly relying on an old map, he plunged into this subterranean labyrinth harboring unfathomable secrets. Wandering about in a manner akin to Holberg's *Niels Klim's Underground Travels*, he suddenly heard an absurdly carefree humming drifting from nowhere. It was that cheerful "Cicada Song" from Offenbach’s *Orpheus in the Underworld*. It was a carefree tone, like a cheerful drunkard humming to his heart’s content. Given the nature of the place—so eerie that even Kaju shuddered and recoiled—he strained his ears... Ah, that was unmistakably Your Majesty’s voice: witty and carefree.

Kaju seemed to have momentarily forgotten all his previous anxiety and fatigue, and as usual, raised his underdeveloped, shrill voice,

“Finally got him! …‘A Record of Conversations with the Annam Emperor Confined in the Great Underground Aqueduct’—that’s it.” Whew, whew... After all that painstaking effort—Furuichi Kaju landed the greatest scoop in journalism history. From what he could see, His Majesty seemed quite amenable; there was little chance of being turned away now. “Come on—full speed ahead!”

And so, utterly elated, he recklessly pressed forward toward the source of the voice. After retracing the same path back and forth and advancing while reattempting several times, Your Majesty lay carelessly spread-eagled on a bed of moss in a slightly wider underground passage, continuing to hum leisurely. At this pitiful sight, even Kaju couldn’t help but grow annoyed. He abruptly approached him, grabbed his shoulders, and began roughly shaking him while— “Your Majesty, Your Majesty—no matter how you look at it, this is far too flippant of you!” “You have no regard for others’ feelings—how dare you lie sprawled out in a place like this!” “Because you were kidnapped, things above ground have been turned upside down in an uproar, you know.” “You need to get a grip… Your Majesty! Just because I tagged along with you and ended up going to that no-good mistress’s place, the disasters I’ve suffered since then have been downright unbearable to witness.” “Hey, wake up and at least sit up properly!” “You’ve got to stop causing trouble for others. ……I just don’t know what to do with you.” “I’ve never seen someone as high-maintenance as you.” “Since there’s no other way with how things are tangled up, I’ll carry you out of this hole on my back—but in return, you’ve got to let me write up our interview, got it?” “At the very least, you should do that much—or else you’d owe me a debt of gratitude. …Well then, Your Majesty—why on earth were you lying around in a place like this?”

In this manner, he kept up a ceaseless stream of chatter while shaking Your Majesty wildly, but the figure remained limp and unresponsive, offering no resistance whatsoever. Even Kaju was at his wit's end, glaring irritably at the Emperor's pathetic face—mouth agape in deep slumber—when suddenly, an eerie voice echoed from nowhere. Though he had been somewhat overwhelmed by the relentless strangeness up to this point, there was no denying that this voice was truly uncanny. If one were to describe it, it was as if subterranean creatures were chirping in the depths of the earth, or a gentle breeze was passing through high treetops—an indescribably faint presence that echoed from nowhere. Not only that, but the voice was whispering such unexpected things.

“Your Majesty, the one muttering to himself over there would be you, wouldn’t it?” “Can you hear my voice?” “...I’m Furuichi Kaju from the Yūhi Newspaper, who went drinking with you last evening.” “...Ah, have you understood?” “I am Furuichi of the Yūhi Newspaper.” “...After all, you disappeared so suddenly—you can’t imagine how much effort I put into tracking down your whereabouts.” “After racking my brains over various possibilities, I finally managed to track down your whereabouts by taking a hint from the 'Singing Crane Fountain.'... You see, I’m currently in the basement of Hibiya Public Hall, but due to certain circumstances, I can’t enter that area. However, I can get you out of there.” “...Your Majesty, where you are right now is extremely dangerous.” “If you keep dawdling there, you’ll endanger your life.” “Come on, hurry up!”

Things had taken an utterly unexpected turn. Someone was perfectly imitating even Kaju's intonation. An unknown individual was using Kaju’s voice to lure Your Majesty toward them. Kaju started running again, but even a tabloid reporter like him had pieced together the entire logic of the case from this much alone. Your Majesty had not been confined to this underground passage. It seemed he had entered of his own volition due to some circumstances. As for the villains—they knew Your Majesty's whereabouts but lacked knowledge of the entry path here. By making such statements, they were attempting to lure him within grabbing range. The reason they'd hastily begun digging Hibiya Park's embankment toward the pond now became fully clear. Through that shovel bearing the Nozawa Group’s brand left in the hole, the voice’s owner was naturally identified as one of their accomplices.

For Kaju, this was truly an unexpected windfall. One scoop after another left him no time to breathe. Just how far would this case escalate? When I recalled everything since last night—since leaving Paris with Your Majesty in tow—the case had piled upheaval upon upheaval like some serialized penny dreadful. Now a climactic chapter was being grafted onto it. What's more, I might wring the truth from this bastard's throat. As a tabloid hack, how could I let such a golden chance slip? Alright—I'd use His Majesty's voice for an interrogation. If I botched it and got killed, so be it. They'd stolen my vocal gimmick first—no grounds to complain if I borrowed royal tones now. "I'll do it," Kaju resolved. The sheer brass of this plan was admirable—his daily poetry recitals had clearly paid dividends.

However, given that, it was troublesome for Your Majesty to remain here—he might start humming at any moment and become dead weight in an emergency—so I decided to have Shūchen take him back to the hotel one step ahead. When he checked his wristwatch, it was exactly 1:15 AM—Shūchen must have been waiting at the broadcast station construction site for some time now. Considering contingencies, he wrote a note addressed to Manago stating he was in this underground passage, fastened it to Your Majesty’s chest with a clip, then hoisted him onto his back with a grunt and began walking toward the exit.

This time, it was no trouble at all. He reached the entrance to the broadcast station construction site with little hesitation and, peering through the darkness, looked up at the walkway above—there was Shūchen pacing idly around the trolley. After rolling Your Majesty onto the crushed stones and pinching his own nose, “Hey, Shūchen. “I’m completely plastered and can’t move a muscle. “C’mon, hurry up and haul me back to the hotel. “What’re you dawdling for? “Move your ass, you damn fool!”

Watching Shūchen come scrambling down the plank in astonishment, I retreated back to my former position. Now there were no lingering regrets. As I stood poised to spring my trap with bated breath, that same voice drifted over once more from nowhere.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! What are you dawdling for?” “Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” “I told you it’s dangerous to stay there!” “Quickly, come over here!”

Kaju flared his nostrils and, doing his best to mimic Your Majesty's voice,

“Oh, I had been asleep.” “…That voice belongs to Furuichi Kaju-kun.” “Exactly what danger are you talking about?” “First, why don’t you start by explaining that?” “Admittedly, this place may be filthy, but in my estimation, I see no particular danger here.” “Oh, I’m at my wit’s end with your endless patience!” “This is no time to be droning on about such things!” “I’ll explain everything later, so just come over here now!”

“If you say ‘Come,’ I will go, but how exactly am I supposed to get there?” “There’s a thin iron pipe running above your head. Please walk steadily along it toward me.”

When he looked up at the ceiling, he saw about three iron pipes of various sizes running slightly higher up. In other words, he realized that the strange voice was coming from one of them. That pipe was functioning as a speaking tube.

Kaju began to walk step by step along the pipe. Sure enough, as he walked, the voice gradually grew nearer and clearer.

Even so, this distinctive voice—guttural, raspy, as if mocking people—was certainly one I felt I'd heard somewhere before. That was also not so long ago. Just two or three days ago, I had heard that voice somewhere—that voice which had left such a vivid impression on me... Ah, if only I could figure out who it belonged to! That thought raced through Kaju's head like wildfire. But try as he might, he couldn't recall whose voice it had been.

As he shuffled forward while glaring at the ceiling, he suddenly lost all resistance under his feet; his body floated momentarily before plummeting like a stone and was slammed onto something unpleasantly hard.

His back had taken a terrible blow, leaving him unable to get up for some time, but when he finally managed to lift his body and grope around the area, he realized he seemed to be at the bottom of a deep pit. When he felt around, something damp and moss-like brushed against him. Frantically clawing through the moss in wild panic, he finally felt the handheld lamp brush against his fingertips. When he lit the lamp and looked around, he discovered that he was indeed in a place like the bottom of a wide, deep old well. Because he had been walking while staring at the ceiling, he carelessly fell into such a place. The edge of the vertical shaft must have been over ten shaku above. Of course, even if he stretched or jumped up, he wouldn’t reach that far. Even someone as stout-hearted as Kaju couldn’t help but shudder at this.

Until now, I had nonchalantly brushed off the danger, thinking I could just escape if things got bad, but now, far from escaping, my very life was at stake. He could feel the blood drain from his head down to his heels.

This had become a disaster. Just what kind of place had he fallen into? First, he needed to verify that. With trembling hands, he took out the underground aqueduct map from his pocket and traced the path he had just taken. He finally understood. On the map was a well symbol with "Nanbu Residence Reservoir Well" written in red beside it. Kaju had fallen into the well of Lord Kai-no-kami Nanbu's residence. Since Lord Kai-no-kami Nanbu’s residence was supposed to be precisely where Hibiya Public Hall now stands, he could at least grasp that he was currently underground near that area. The villain who had tried to lure the Emperor had not been lying when they said they were in the basement of Hibiya Public Hall.

However, even with this realization, there was no change at all in Kaju’s dire predicament. No, on the contrary, the direness of the situation had only grown clearer. When he looked at the map, he realized that from the position he had notified Manago of, he had come here through a complex maze of winding paths. Even if Manago saw Kaju’s letter and came to rescue him, he couldn’t possibly navigate this maze and make it all the way here. Even if he could, he couldn’t possibly explore all these countless side paths in just two or three days. It was nearly despair itself.

Well then, should I boldly confess the truth to the owner of the voice and have them rescue me? No way! If they found out I was Kaju, they’d kill me rather than let me live. Still, it would be better to rely on that slim chance and wait for Manago to come to my rescue.

He had worked himself into a frenzy, hurriedly turning over various thoughts in his mind when the voice echoed again.

“Your Majesty, where on earth are you?” “You can’t afford to dawdle there like this!” “Please come quickly.”

Damn it, what should I do? Was there no way to cleverly bluff and subtly let Manago know I was here? ...No matter how much I thought about it, a decent idea wouldn't suddenly materialize. The only option was to improvise with that same reckless approach—charging forward blindly.

“No, I’m truly in a predicament. Though I dearly wish to go, it appears I’ve become quite unable to do so.” “What’s happened?” “I’ve fallen into a hole.” “Is that so?” “You can tell from my voice, can’t you? It echoes from somewhere deep.”

“I see.” “That’s certainly true.” “Is that a deep hole? Can you absolutely not climb out by yourself?” “It’s absolutely impossible.”

The owner of the voice chuckled under his breath—"Hm, hm, hm"—and,

“That’s most convenient.” “You shouldn’t say such cruel things. You’re being a bit too cruel, don’t you think?” “Hey, Your Majesty. Listen. You see, while abducting you, we nearly got caught at a security checkpoint in Tamura-cho—wasn’t that inconvenient? So I hid you in an empty side hole at the broadcast station’s construction site. But somehow, you’ve ended up beneath the Crane Fountain. This has me stumped. I went in through that hole and tried many times, but I just can’t reach you. I had no choice but to start digging through the park embankment toward the pond, but this too was thwarted by interference. In the end, I came here and used this old gas pipe as a speaking tube, calling out to you at random.”

“Oh—so you aren’t Mr. Furuichi Kaju after all.” “You’re the villain, then?” “Yes, precisely.” “I am indeed the villain.” “Please try not to be too startled.”

“I’m not shocked,” “But this is utterly unexpected.” “So what did you mean to achieve by abducting me?” “No—more importantly—what exactly did you plan to do once you lured me there?” “Because there’s something I must make you confess.” “If I dangled hope of escape before you, you’d babble any secret—wouldn’t you?” “After all, staying there means starving to death.”

About ten minutes earlier, Kaju could indeed have scoffed at this slick-talking banter. But now, he couldn't even muster a laugh. That was exactly right. "So, what exactly do you want me to tell you?" "In other words, I would like you to tell me where you've hidden the diamond you brought with you."

“Ah, you’ve finally shown your true colors.” “If we’re talking true colors, I showed mine long ago. Tell me where you hid it. Then I’ll pull you out of that hole.” “How very convenient. But the fact remains—you can’t actually reach me here.” “No need to fret. We’ve finally located Ōkubo Mondon’s ‘Water Supply Specifications’ map in the Agricultural University library. My men should retrieve it shortly—once they do, reaching your little nook will be child’s play.”

“That’s rather difficult to believe. If both the diamond and my life are to be taken, I’d rather not say anything at all.” “The one trying to assassinate you isn’t me. It’s two people: a certain influential figure and Hutchinson. I have no need for your life.” “I’ll take you at your word for now. But let me consider this matter further. ...That said—how did you come to know I brought the diamond?”

“Yes, from Matsutani Tsuruko herself.” “……In truth, Tsuruko was a spy we had placed on you.” “I see—that explains much. But why did you kill Tsuruko?” “She’d genuinely begun falling for you and stopped obeying our orders.” “With all that, it became terribly inconvenient.” “This morning, Tsuruko was supposed to take the diamond from you and deliver it to us. Not only did she fail—she turned defiant and started showing dangerous signs. So we killed her.”

“That was a cruel thing to do.” “I never told Tsuruko where the diamond was hidden.” “We realized that afterward.” “That’s why we need to hear it from you directly.” “Logical enough… But if you’re meant to rescue me, should you really be spilling secrets like this?” “It makes no difference.” “Once we have the diamond, we can leave Japan within the hour.” “You needn’t worry.”

“I’m beginning to understand.” “That makes perfect sense.” “So how do you propose to rescue me?” “You must set the conditions.” “You’re more principled than I expected.” “Impressive.” “……Then let’s proceed thus.” “Call Chief Inspector Manago Akira at the Metropolitan Police Department immediately. Have him hear these exact words: ‘Furuichi Kaju, Lord Kai-no-kami Nanbu.’” “That will suffice.” “Furuichi Kaju, Lord Kai-no-kami Nanbu… Like this?”

“Exactly.” “Will you swear to make the call before going to search for the diamond?”

“I swear.” “……Now then, tell me where the diamond is.”

Now then, where should I say it is? At the very least, it needed to be somewhere convincing enough to temporarily satisfy this cunning villain... Kaju desperately mustered his meager wit, busily contriving one scheme after another. "What's wrong? Where's your answer?"

In his desperation, he suddenly hit upon a peculiar idea. If it's there, even he should be convinced. This morning, when Your Majesty, Tsuruko, and he were having a late-night meal together, Kaju stood up in Tsuruko’s place to go fetch ice from the kitchen, where he noticed that part of the wall near the doorway had been repaired and was still damp. That was what he had just now suddenly remembered. “Now then, Your Majesty, I’d like to hear your answer.” “I shall tell you. To tell the truth, I was just now bidding farewell to the diamond. …You see, I thought it was dangerous, so I had it plastered into the wall of Tsuruko’s kitchen. You know that spot on the wall they repaired next to the door leading out to the corridor—it’s in there…”

The owner of the voice clicked his tongue in evident vexation—tch tch—and

“Ah, I had a feeling about that.” “We searched everywhere else thoroughly—only that spot remained unchecked.” “You’ve won this round, Your Majesty… But… that is the truth, isn’t it?” “If I go there and find nothing, I’ll return at once to kill you.” “This is life-and-death work for me too.”

“Even if you leave me be, I’ll die anyway.”

“Because that outcome isn’t certain—that’s precisely why I’m coming to kill you. …Well then, goodbye.” “I pray this ‘goodbye’ proves as permanent as possible.” The voice ceased to be heard after that.

Kaju plopped down heavily onto the moss in a cross-legged sit and, while glaring around at the surrounding walls,

"Hmm،this had taken a bad turn. This time،it was really going to be my end... I had done my utmost trying،but whether I had improved this desperate situation or made it worse remained unclear. I didn't know if that bastard would contact Manago as promised،and if they didn't find the diamond،he would come here to kill me... Just because I had done something unnecessary،it seemed I had managed to mess things up even worse. There was no use thinking about it. In any case،it wasn't going to turn out any way but how it was meant to. Given how few paths led to survival at this point،I had better steel myself for death... Still،it was unbearably infuriating—to think I would end up as bleached bones while sitting on an earth-shattering scoop like this،no matter how I looked at it. Moreover،it was utterly pathetic that I would rot away here without ever understanding why. When my corpse was discovered،at least this whole affair could be understood through the detailed article I'd write as my will. Now that would be a reporter’s worthy end... Oh،right. Before the flashlight’s battery died..."

Muttering this, he pressed the manuscript paper against his knees, bent his body toward the lamplight, licked his pencil repeatedly, and began scribbling in great panic. There was a certain gallant air about him.

36. The Instant Photograph

Commonplace yet Gloomy Footsteps Manago sat at his desk in the Investigation Division Chief’s office, cheek propped on his hand, hurriedly scanning the interrogation records of six individuals—Yamaki Motokichi, Indō Chūsuke, Kawamata Fumie, Murakumo Emiko, Kōda Sessan, and Sakazuki Mamoru—and seven members of the “Carnus Show” troupe.

Yamaki’s testimony showed no discrepancies from the account Hanako had heard from Indō and relayed. He stated that he had slipped out of Suzumoto that night to fulfill his promise with Your Majesty and retrieve a champagne bottle containing a glass diamond set in its upper base. Indō’s testimony mainly comprised his eyewitness account of Yamaki sneaking out of Suzumoto, concluding with his declaration that Baroncelli, Emiko, Hutchinson, and Iwai were suspicious—no, now that he thought of it, absolutely everyone else was suspect too. He kept prattling unnecessary additions like, “Though I alone am naturally excepted.”

Fumie testified tearfully that she had been anxious because Yamaki was undertaking such an uncharacteristically large job, and things had indeed ended up like this. Kōda and Sakazuki, speaking with one voice, recounted how astonished they had been when the crane fountain that should never have sung did so, then matter-of-factly described their recollections before introducing the conversation between Yamaki and Fumie they had eavesdropped on at a firewood-inn in Asakusa. This largely aligned with the statements from Yamaki and Fumie.

Next came the interrogation records of the seven members of the "Carnus Show". Among them were several unexpectedly revealing statements. Upon reviewing the affidavits, he discovered that of the six Carnus Show members who had stormed Suzumoto Inn alongside the six Ariake-so residents that dawn, only two had properly engaged their assigned opponents: Mary—the tap dancer paired with Indō—and Miriam—the singer partnered with Hutchinson. Janet, who should have been with Yamaki, had instead been with Ronald (Fumie's designated opponent), while Jacklyn—originally paired with Iwai—ended up alongside Wilson (Emiko's counterpart).

In other words, Iwai and Emiko, Yamaki and Fumie—the four of them, having avoided their original partners, had altered their pairings in this fashion. To be sure, he had already heard from Hanako about Yamaki and Fumie and understood their purpose, but the existence of another such permutation beyond that came as a surprise.

Manago picked up the pencil,

Iwai—Emiko

As he wrote this down on paper—Iwai—Emiko—he suddenly lost his earlier briskness, his expression darkening abruptly. For what purpose had Iwai and Emiko avoided their original partners? That likely had nothing to do with affection. Considering Yamaki and Fumie’s case, rather unsettling associations came to mind. According to Manago’s prior verification, Iwai should not have escaped through the window; however, with this new fact having emerged, he would have to verify that aspect once again. Even the ever-confident Manago appeared somewhat daunted in the face of this new fact.

According to Manago's deduction, another member of the "Carnus Show" had entered through Hutchinson's window and exited via Iwai's room window, with this seventh person having been identified as a man named Henry from the acrobatic dance troupe—but...

Henry was promptly summoned. Manago Akira was no longer the picture of unruffled composure. That he had grown quite serious could be discerned from the ferocious gleam that shot forth like lightning from between his drooping eyelids. Manago’s deduction had not erred. Upon interrogation, it became clear that the one who had entered through Hutchinson’s window was indeed this man. Resenting that he alone had been left behind, he had come to his mistress Miriam’s place to vent his bitterness. He had entered through an easy-access point without knowing it was that room, but it turned out to be Miriam and Hutchinson’s room.

Though he resented it, he was so used to such treatment that he didn’t get particularly angry. Coaxed into a pliable mood by Miriam and Hutchinson, he was given a drink, then exited through Hutchinson’s room window and returned to the Chikuban Naples Hotel. Manago had been listening intently but suddenly raised his head. “What time was it when you left ‘Suzumoto’?”

“Exactly 4:30 AM. I clearly remember the clock downstairs striking 4:30 AM when I was about to leave through the window.”